Tag Archives: entertainment

Massage as a profession or occupation

At about 8 o’clock PM.

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?

 

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Who’s Soul did Frankenstein’s monster have?

“‘…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.
Victory Frankenstein  and the creature. 

4th fave song… bunch of goons !

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.


On my mind when i woke up….


I know what I write here. It is the pun-rock curse. A fan, promoter band thing. As a fan it was my dream to meet the bands and the promoters. The intimacy and friendships that formed are endearing for me. There was a time and place about eight years ago that I brought two bands together. Rikk Agnew Band (cult of ‘58) and The Black Widows (carry a big stick). It was a time when the San Fernando Valley was beaming with a few hot spots or punk and alternative music hubs. My one promotion time right after a 10-year  Flipside Fanzine flopped. My mom had just died and I had two boys that needed me at 8 and 16 and I was acting like the teenager… for a while.  Eight years ago is fast growing time for two boys. Life is new and exciting. Eight years for a 52-year-old is slow and precious. I introduced A Pretty Mess and Rikk Agnew and Panic Movement to a good night of old-time buddies and new ones. I was trying to bring together many aspects of the scene at that time and place that I loved. I like small shady clubs and intimate encounters. It was a happy night of loud live music. I was delighted and still think about that night often. I see that the Rikk Agnew Band and The Black Widows will be playing at Cafe NELA coming up this month. Sweet. I guess seeing this event brought back a few fantastic memories. So much has changed but this is so surreal & feels good to my old punk rock bones.


https://www.facebook.com/events/2180430575536192/?notif_t=event_calendar_create&notif_id=1535937037942310


A special power-up Super hero from Flopside Comics…

Something is in the air here at Flopside Comics ! Whirling power ramp-up takes down the EVIL! Bring down the power of assholes of highest degree ! Bring clarity to the opposing chaos and negative propaganda! A direct and focused SUPER FUCK! It’s real magic!

A promise of bliss and orgasmic creative variables for the incorruptible !

You know what I’m talking ’bout!


IMG_1729


Pancakes… in the hot oil…

Trump’s lawyers are in the hot oil… they have ruined their bright

reputations !!

and have become pancakes with pesto… Testaroli..  with pesto and garlic… and lots of cheese…. eat them down Mr. Trump…. hahahahah poor Rudy and Emmet…



Flopside COmics.. Be More than an assholi !!!!


July moves into August

July moves into August. A time of justice and heat, a time of foresight and deep. For me it is about news… some bad and some good news. I have known this time of the year to be delirious dark and forbidden. Today it has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.

Between our psyche and the cosmos is magic. Magic moves between our hidden unconscious coming forth from our dreams. Yes, that Magic coming with psychic foresight of knowing. Real causality or synchronicity does not matter to me. Natural magic! I live all combinations.

Yesterday we went to Naval Air Station Point Mugu. Driving to Ventura from the San Fernando Valley can be harsh on a Sunday. We found a little farming street to follow down to Point Mugu. It romances the beautiful Pacific Ocean. Which is why we were there.

My dad was a WWII Veteran. As kids we enjoyed fishing on the pier that is located on this naval base.

Husband and I sat in our car for sometime. Wondering if we could approach and visit the pier for old memories. We did. A tight solider asked for husband’s driving-license. As the solider was taking the license from husband, I explained my family story. Before you could think we were quickly told to make a U-turn. No good byes or safe journeys.

Point Mugu has since merged with nearby Naval Construction Battalion Center Port Hueneme to form Naval Base Ventura County (NBVC).

We ended up at Port Hueneme Historical Society Museum. A sweet little place that smelled pleasantly old! The building was filled with old women and older history items. Outside the rather small building were many monarch butterflies. Hub bobbing around ourselves like best friends. We were then told the story.

It sounds like a magical potion. Milk weed, Cosmo flowers and chrysalis. It was the story of how someone took the time to love the process of this lovely butterfly. All it takes is a little love and a few nasty weeds to attract the attention of nature’s finest beauties.

Today upon my waking up I enjoyed a very good dream. A dream I have been waiting for since my mother’s death. It was a closure dream. In this dream husband opened the front door to the usual UPS knock. There was another package, another calculus book, or similar book, for the kids. Then we heard another knock on the front door. This time I opened the door. From top to bottom the front door was filled with packages. My husband gave me a guilty look. A pouting praying mantis face.

“It is not Christmas time,” I said.

I pulled out one of the packages.  A large white one. A box that might conceal a dress or new pants. Then I saw on top the name ‘Holly’ written in cursive.

“How could mom give me this after her death?”

A wonderful gift from her. That is what mom would do. Write our names on top of our gifts. It was her writing…. I know it by heart!

Today has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.


Summer Poem # 1



My oasis
And cave.

Not reaching out
But reaching within.

Agathos daimon holds my heart
Humidity holds me back.

“Coninuctio” “in mercurio”
Planting seeds
Which do not ripen.

Outside my oasis
Seeds dry in the heat.

Inside the cave
I listen to Mercurius speak.

“The desires of the mind
Will take you nowhere.”


Summer pit… looking for Dulcinea ?

Griffith Observatory

It feels heavy this summer. We went and got our first donuts in months. One from Blinkys and it was OK. Been going there for 27 years and the place is not holding up to it’s once high standards. Too expensive. They use Pine Sol now and it smells more like an old sleazy bar than a donuts galore bakery. The corner of Topanga Canyon / Dumetz is not holding up either. Not the place of red-hot love, hippies hitchhiking or getting a cold tall glass bottle of Doctor Pepper on the way to the Whisky A Go GO to see some small time punk bands of a small town punk scene.

I guess my Muses are in the South of France this summer leaving me dry as the sun here this summer.

Anyway while looking through some old pictures on my computer I came across the images above. A little inspiration form the cosmos … that can do it somethings.  Oh ya and a song from the film Man of La Mancha !


 

A Daily “Fuck” Gazette To Jeff “THE WEASEL” Sessions and To Donald “JACKASS” Trump…

A dream…. of whirling triangles…


To Jeff “THE WEASEL” Sessions and To Donald “JACKASS” Trump…

I had a dream…. last night … or was it a vision….?!

As told to us by Mr. Shit~ anarchist, atheist with a loving good conscience and beyond….

Mr. Shit woke up this morning with something on his mind. For an old punk with dementia he can be as sharp as a dull knife. He talked about whirling triangles that spoke of “…four combinations of wisdom,” and he talked about how he was part of the fifth part of the whirling triangle equation. “Me, Juno the Asteroid Goddess and the naked Grace AGLAEA.” He told us that it was a puzzle to him and as symbolic as hell or heaven… yet seemed as real as could be!

He told us about the strange dream. He also told us how he was born. He yelled that he remembered his story and yelled this, “He was born from a woman, in an alley, on a bus crossing a border.” This came to his mind because in his vision / dream AGLAEA told Mr. Shit that, “I (she) was born from the thought of Apollo the Hermaphrodite!”  Mr. Shit also told us that Juno said she was born from chaos. Singing that, “She stands up for Women’s rights!”

Mr. Shit told us that in his dream he was in an alley. He walked up to a trash can. He saw many things there, yet a couple of books were glowing. He opened one of the books and he read…

Visit orphans and widows in their distress~ James 1:27” and again flipped through the book and read, “Thus says the Lord: Do Justice and righteousness and deliver from the hand of the oppressor him who has been robbed. And do no wrong or violence to the resident alien, the fatherless, and the widow, nor shed innocent blood in their place.” ~ Jeremiah 22:3

He flipped through another book. He read an outlined quote.

“Have you considered him who calls the judgment a lie? That is the one who treats the orphan with harshness, And does not urge (others) to feed the poor. ~ (107:1-3) Holy Our ‘an.

In his dream he fell back and one of the books fell with him because the whirling triangles moved about him. He was dizzy with wonder. Yet a strength held him up with two large green rough legs. Like claws from another mother. She told Mr. Shit about the exodus of all people, animals, and creatures of the earth… and beyond. This is a mantra that we need all remember.

“You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” ~ Exodus 22:23

Silence moved upon us all as we sipped our cold ice-teas. We will focus on the quotes from those books from the trash can! For coming upon us are days of justice and good conscience.

Mr. Shit drank lots of ice coffee. He told us that going back to sleep was not an option!