I love this picture that my son took of me. It is that time when I united the male and female within me symbolized by my two tattoos of Dionysian Hollyhocks.
I was reading that Indian Gurus’ overall goal is to unite all religions of the world. They also talk about a united male female god. This is very simplistic I know. Also, the religions of the world have tended to be very male oriented. As most cultures or all cultures for the last two thousand years. As a religious studies major in college, BA and Masters, I always had a thorn in my side. With in-depth Jungian Psychology I have found the answers to many of my concerns. For me it was uniting the masculine and feminine within myself, or in Jungian terms the anima and animus.
I have a “hard-on” for life. Even within the diversity of life right now. I can’t help getting one when I see flowers in bloom and the whole of nature in a type of rapture. Welcome Spring. It is not the male kind of hard-on but it something inside. Not sexual but very blissful-orgasmic at times
Now I try to feel it as often as I can. When I get the hard-on for life. Flowers blooming, a song, my friends all help to amplify this experience.
It is ironical for me to have these feelings while also having to balance it out with my compassion for what we are all going through now. I know it is a dark time, a real challenge for all of us in different ways.
I am mindful of those suffering. They are not alone when we think upon them. I have love in my home that comforts me.
Also, the human Ego is my friend. I think that males and females have a different relationship with their Egos. I feel males need to let their Egos float downstream a little. I think females should ride their Egos. It is good to be admired as it is to admire another. I like the feeling of appreciation as well as when I feel the feelings of appreciation for another.
As a female riding her Ego it is like riding in a canoe. Sometimes the river is smooth and glossy. Other times it is a prissy fucking nightmare. Yet we need to express our realities to the world as I am doing here.
Amazingly we are still alive. Punk Rock Bowling with the celebration of 40 Years of the Circle Jerks and Charged GBH this spring. I am besides myself with joy to be attending. Yes, all the bands seem interesting, yet my history also includes Madness. When I was a 19-year-old punk I was looking for a 45 by Prince Buster entitled Madness. This stirred me on a strange journey to a Los Angeles record store. They never could locate that 45 for me. Then the band came touring. At least the name of the band was right. Playing the Whisky A Go Go. I remember dancing to the band with Kick Boy Face from SLASH MAGAZINE (my first Punk Rock correspondence.) (Slosh and Flopside) It was grand beyond grand. Imagine it all coming together again.
Some of my best punk memories.
I am standing in this image next to Ross’s first bass guitar case. He gave it to me. He bought a new one. I lost it. Yet, my mom had put it in a special place. After her death we cleaned out the basement and their it was. How happy that mom preserved some wonderful punk history. I still have it and will give it “will it” to my sons. I love it like punk rock. I hope I am not sucking on Ross’s “tits” when I say I love him too. Thanks for thinking of me back then. All the best and looking forward to Las Vegas for a week of punk and beyond bliss.
Life can be many things at once. Goodness and badness, light and dark, friends and enemies. These are the polarities that we are facing currently in our world of extremes. Even though there is a third path, as in the fact, regardless bees are still making honey. Just go outside and find a bush with flowers. If you live in the very cold you may have to wait until spring. Here is California my hanging rosemary is going to town. The sound of bees is my convent to the earth. My repetitious theme song is by 10 Years After, If I Could Change The World. Redone by another band more on the punk side. So here we come to the core of my focus. The 60s, and the late 70s, and 80s. A decade each.
The 60s were an amazing time for free thinking and youthful rebellion against corruption. A sick government and a terrible war. Yet in this illuminated time darkness was born by the name of Trump. Likewise, the 80s a new music scene revolutionized forward with unclassified music that became divided and classified. Still mighty awesome. Then we have the general Qassim Soleimani who was just assassinated, who was born as a prime one for the punk scene.
Donald Trump born June 14, 1946 (age 73). He was prime for the 1960s as his youthful young adult time. Hippie time. Now we have the general Qassim Soleimani who was born March 11, 1957. He was born at a prime time for the genesis of the punk rock phenomenon. A punk.
The most creative times and inspired times in history the dictators are born. In the darkest times and in a vacuum of hate the best are born that humanity has to offer this troubled earth. In generational time frames a hippie kills a punker.
Nonetheless, do not lose sight of what is now happening right now. We have a few knights rising to the call. I can see their light crescendos in the darkness. Very androgynous like most bees.
Too much listening to Elton John and remembering my crush on Bernie Taupin. Foggy dreams. Dreams where the threads of remembering can’t be pulled down into this world. A changing mixture of memories swirling around me that I have experienced in real time. Remembering my, heart heart ~fun fun, days as a youth and teenager.
As sitting under the pool table in the boy’s room reading Mad Magazine and Playboy. Alfred E. Neuman or cartoonist Gahan Wilson went on to inspire me in my own fanzine. Where I created images or doodled between the pages.
Magazines are now becoming obsolete. Newspapers stands too except for the billionaires that do resurrect some. A fight that is not going to win.
To my teachers that came from those awesome perverted magazines.
“And we went to California and up and down the Pacific Coast for a day and a half, settling at last on the sands of Malibu to cook wieners at night. Dad was always listening or singing or watching things on all sides of him, holding onto things as if the world were a centrifuge going so swiftly that he might be flung off away from us at any instant.”~ Ray Bradbury. The Rocket Man
“I’ve been a cunt since 1975.”- Elton John
Rocket Man explained a lot about Elton John that confused me since 1975. I love autobiographical stories and memoirs. What a joy! Elton John shared his psyche with the world. A healed psyche that was given more then a second chance.
The film has that real deal 1970s thing going that sprang forth from the late 1960s. The chance that two genius dudes like Elton John and Bernie Taupin found each other is amazing. So grateful! I enjoyed the integrity, depth and darkness shared in this film. The world of rock & roll was not romanticized.
Fun musical choreographed dance scenes moved through the film. Bernie Taupin’s lyrics enhanced by being sung clearly and slowly made me want to sing and dance along.
I love Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s music especially the years between 1971-1974. I include in this review a conclusion with an early song written 1971 entitled Friends. I think the song Friends was a song of amazing foresight. As if Bernie knew the journey ahead would be a difficult one. Especially for Reginald Kenneth Dwight!
Sunday May 26 will be the time to join with punk comrades and celebrate our originators and characters of the early California punk scene. The Avengers, the Dils and the Alley Cats.
In memory of Jimmy Wilsey
I stumbled into the early punk scene. The Australian Saints and the San Franciscan Avengers gave me the courage to go and see any other alternative underground bands on my own. I found myself melting into a wild alchemy of youths that had something to say. We were finding our voices. All the unknown characters were there, nobodies creating a scene together. We were wild and knew all the songs by heart by The Dils, The Alley Cats and the Avengers.
I will be there handing out some badges joining in the event in memory of our youthful rebellion that is still the heart beat of this crazy continuity of punk rock that still drives our DNA onward,,,
The Avengers, The Dils and The Alley Cats + many special guests (A Celebration of the Life of Jimmy Wilsey) at Echoplex
The unpredictable Crazy days are far behind me and the routines of life have set in. Family and cats bring the little rituals of life which brings symmetry into the chaos of living such as; racing through traffic and surviving, watching current politics and not having a heart attack, and realizing that we all die. It is comforting to know that we live in a recycling universe, or so it seems. The point being within the light and darkness of life are the routines of everyday living that does bring joy.
Last night was a normal trash night. The difference in the routine is when husband said that there are two cars parked in our unmarked-marked trash can places. The usual sounds of annoyance on his part made me think about visiting with our new neighbors and asking them to move one of the cars so we might have a place for our trash cans.
The green sweat coat with 1976 on it pulled over my shoulders and I was off. I found myself in front of the neighbor’s house. Placing a knock knock and then pushing a ring ring upon their door and door button. Something expanded when I heard the ring ring.
It was a different kind of ring ring. It being a tasteful and alluring sound. The front door was half window and I could see in as one of my neighbors looked back at me. I mumbled something about the trash cans. The neighbor’s eyes widened open. Dressed in a light blue robe, looking confused my neighbor opened the door slightly. Having a face that was angular like something out of a Pablo Picasso paining such as Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907 during his cubism period; caught me off guard.
The new neighbors had radically changed the format and structure of the house since the last owner. As the door opened there was only a white hallway that met about half way through the house. Directly on the wall before me was a giant painting of what looked like a Toulouse-Lautrec, Jane Avril Dancing painting. Yet this painting was one woman with her leg up and a giant red dress like a blooming flower. Once there were two rooms here one leading right and one left. One into a game room and the other into the kitchen. Not anymore. Straight ahead was a veil into another reality.
Our conversation was quick. I told the neighbor our problem. Nicely I was told that each of them had a masseuse come out for a special treat message and that the cars were theirs. I was also told that both of them were almost finished.
Like clockwork each masseuse left in their two separate cars. I put out my two trash cans under the crescent moon of a very dark night. Feeling nicely surreal and wondering about our new neighbors?
“‘…from that moment [he] declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against [Frankenstein] who had formed [him] and sent [him] forth to this insupportable misery.'” (Shelley, Frankenstein , Chapter 16, p. 121)
Once upon a time I found the novel by Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, the new Prometheus. I became friends with Frankenstein’s monster. He was not the film version because I looked to the quality of his brilliant soul. I wrote a short story entitled, Who’s Soul did Frankenstein’s monster have? I put the story in a folder and took it with me wherever I went. I was inspired and torn by my insight. I felt I may have understood something no one else ever dared to wonder about. This was back in the 1980’s. Then, as busy, and as careless as a young punk might be, I lost the folder at a Mexican restaurant up-town Whittier, CA. This loss haunted my nights. Back then backing-up-files was not so easy. This may have been before floppy disks? I did not make a copy of my short story of a monster’s revelations. I did keep the little doodles about the story which I will share today. Maybe I did not misplace the folder. Maybe someone took it and still has it?
As one gets older time seems to bend backwards . It comes towards you so you can say hello again to those times of youthful inspiration.
I looked through all of my plastic boxes to find these images in my art closet. So glad the doodles were safe and not lost.
My 4th favorite song is Vandals – I Want To Be A Cowboy .
As a young punk all the words were being thrown around. Anarchy, chaos, discord and mayhem. It rang around me via songs, voices and written lyrics and published fanzines. and punk friends. I never thought the ideals I supported would manifest via a gangster presidency? These words were used as ways to inspire creative freedom. This words for me meant the ability to do things on your own terms to help others not to tear them apart. To confront cruel authority, not to create a foundation for dictatorship or fascist tendencies. So much for deconstructivism if born again AA punks’ side with the enemy. It is a wake up call for us all. How to keep a conversation going is not always possible. Humor as, it was only for a fun experience, can be thrown in there. Yet I am keeping my integrity at my hip. My mind set to do it myself. As always, it may not be popular.