Time is mine now “like good angels, walk at either hand.”

As the year comes to a close or “crashing close’” as a friend of mine described it I just feel like I am “drifting.” Yet in my heart and mind I feel something stirring as projects, impossible goals, and dreams. If I can live as long as Betty White did there are numerous things to aspire too. I call my muses to agree with me. I call upon my imagination of hopes and possibilities and by the Graces I will be happy in my cave during a pandemic that crosses this border between two years of 2021 and 2022.

I start with a new random book pick and first paragraph I see to read. I pull the mighty hand of praying mantis and so the book is found. I open the book and so I see a quote and now I write it down.

“Filial and fraternal love must satisfy her, and grateful that such ties are possible, she lives for them and is content. Literature is a fond and faithful spouse, and the family that has sprung up around her… is a profitable source of satisfaction to her maternal heart… Not lonely… not idle, for necessity, stern, yet kindly teacher, has taught her the worth of work: not unhappy, for love and labor, like good angels, walk at either hand.”

“Happy Women” Essay by Louisa May Alcott. / Pg. 171 The Heroine with 1,000 FACES By Maria Tatar


Time movement

This is my winter solstice poem for 2021


Water drop in time. by Hudley Flipside 2021

There is something

Real and magical

Between a breeze

And the top of a

Pool of water

An in between language

A pattern of symbols

Mandalas, ancient texts

It gets talking so fast

I don’t understand it all.

Then Silence as is now.

I wait

Beginning again

A rich diplomatic dialogue

Transcendence

Old time ancient rhymes.

Spirit moved across the face of the waters still…

How it moves upon the face of my waters

This ancient

Rogue tongue….

Breathe it in …

A constant story

For us all

rebuilding

renewing

Inspiring life to unfold …

An in-between place

I wait for the elves …

The Fay move …

stretch and turn.

Mythos of punk in a story…

John Crawford Revolutionary Fetus Cartoon series image 1980.
Drawn directly on my leather. X-8 originally gave me this jacket.

My story is a tributary that flows into a larger living water of music that is beyond me now. For all those that were there from the beginning I know you have a story to share too.

~ Hudley Flipside



2019 is when I completed the template for The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing on my memoir. Catching images and people that still run through my psyche. Just the other night in a dream I ended up backstage. The door opened and before I knew it five big punks from a band, and I were taking pictures. Their friendly arms around me made me feel inclusion. It was a time that still haunts me. As in every generation of my life. All are unique times. Vastly changing and different generations. Yet I wrote My Punkalullaby as my two boys were growing up. It is not a perfect story, but it does hold a mythos of punk rock. I just got my complete copyright for this book. I am celebrating three years of mission complete as my book sails into the world. A true rebellious history by a young woman who help document a punk rock scene. It is comforting to know that several of the bands I loved are still out playing. There is not a scene like there once was but now the punk genre is solid and so the story moved forward.

Below is an excerpt of a Christmas day 1978.

“One empty Christmas day, Crazy Keith and I took the bus from South Gate to Woodland Hills where my folks lived. We hadto make a stop in Hollywood to transferbuses. The hollow feeling as we waited for thebus on Hollywood Boulevard still impresses me with the echo of merry-go-round music.

A miniature one was going around and round on top of a truck parked nearby. There was an offbeat sound of music, and trash filled a lonely boulevard before us. An old lady downthe street walked slowly toward the bus stopwhere we sat. She was searching in trash cans.

When she reached us, the skinny crippled woman held out a half-eaten apple. Not as a gift but for money. I lost Crazy Keith a year later somewhere to someone and quickly gotover his obnoxious, talkative, and controlling personality and moved on.”

~ MY PUNKALULLABY, HUDLEY FLIPSIDE


Ritual helps…

Limited Run Block Print by Matthew Hunt
https://www.facebook.com/kittykiller13

“And so, the stars see you.

While you drift away they have their own courses and they watch you.

And listen, they already know your name.”


I viewed part of Bob Dole’s church funeral yesterday. I was touched by a song You Never Walk Alone sung at the event from the musical Carousel. A favorite musical of mine. Richard Rodgers (music) and Oscar Hammerstein II (book and lyrics) 1945. I had to look deeper into this event.

At this funeral I heard and saw diversity shared. I saw President Biden, the 42nd President Clinton and even the only person not wearing a mask Texas’s Ted Cruz.

Trump was not there because he and Bob Dole had a falling away over last year’s election issues.

I was surprised not seeing President Obama. Yet Tom Hanks talked at a WWII memorial after the service. A memorial that Bob Dole willed into being.

A ritual like this brings diversity together. Even in such troubling times. Strange conspiracy theories and political conflicts are uncomfortable to see, and now I feel our country is lost. I feel lost.

I listened to, storyteller, author, and scholar of mythology, anthropology, and psychology, Michael Meade’s podcast MOSAIC VOICES last night and he talked about how important ritual is. The act is all inclusive.

And whether a person is conscious of even being part of ritual … rituals bring us tighter together. It is an inclusive and wonderfully experienced reality to share.

Concerts and clubs or music and bars bring people together to join in this type of ritual. I have learned that this is what brings us together tighter. To experience this inclusiveness. As a cave dweller I miss this.

As the Winter darkness embraces us this solstice, I feel the darkness. Uncomfortably so. Yet it is up to me to find the light and share in the light where I can find it in this overwhelmingly troubled world.

Michael Mead also shares a poem entitled “When You Get Lost” by William Stafford.


What Happens When You Get Lost

By William Stafford

Out in the mountains nobody gives you anything.

And you learn what the rules were after the game is over.

By then it is already night and it doesn’t make any difference

What anyone else is thinking or doing because now you have to

Turn into an Indian.

You remember stories and now you know that the tellers were

Part of all they told.

And everyone else was, and even you.

They’re all around you now, but if you’re afraid you will never find them.

And those questions that people always ask-

“What would you do if…”

They have their own answer right now- nothing.

Some things cannot be redeemed in a hurry no matter what the intentions are.

What could be done had to have been done a long time ago.

Because mistakes have consequences that do not just disappear.

If evil could be canceled easily it would not be very evil.

And so, the stars see you.

While you drift away they have their own courses and they watch you.

And listen, they already know your name.


I find ritual in writing too and I think,

“Oh Boy, I got to write this down!”

This holiday season 2021 I have decided to buy all my Christmas gifts from friends who are part of the ritual of the creative life. All artists are mostly local and some in other states.

I want to share in their joy. What it is for an artist when they feel someone enjoys their work. Also, to experience the wonder of something created and willed forth into this world as an expression that has value to the artist and me. That is inclusion and that is the ritual.

My way of experiencing ritual and bringing light into the world and beyond!



A dame dumps on a long-time friendship.

JOHNNY O’CLOCK

Trouble….!

Mr. Noir Alley cool man said he has viewed this film six times and does not get it. What is it about? Like most Film Noir it is not so easy for some to get it.

As when reading literature or watching Film Noir it does not always follow a linear journey. Sometimes it is like walking labyrinth and you just got to let the heart feel the way.

Love and it’s shadow are the main players here. Good and rotten characters are par for the course that play in different hubs that always lead to the moments of awareness. Therefore, I love Film Noir.

Johnny o’clock is a wise guy with a decent heart. He is part of many hubs. People and their problems are his game, what he capitalizes on. We are watching or dealing with a person and their light and shadow or their psyche.

Such as Harriet Hodson & Nancy Hodson or Nelle & Guido Marchettis. Also, the good and bad cop. Inspector Koch or Chuck Blayden are played against each other in their own hub through this labyrinth.

Inspector Koch and the Good Johnny

Love is not always mutual, and crime does not always pay for everyone. Sometimes a hunch is stronger than an intellectual wise guy.

The film JOHNNY O’CLOCK has a nice flow and touches all those erogenous places. Smooth, jumpy and sadness as well as hate & love infuse the atmosphere of this film.

Official Trailer Forbidden Beat

I love being part of the heart beat of punk rock… looking forward to holding this book in my hands… Happy to be included in this book. A joy, really!

https://hudleyflipside.com/2021/09/18/punk-drummers-whose-heads-exploded-with-a-big-loud-bang/

open to mama’s influence…

Esoteric knowledge is affecting a vast part of our modern culture. Having known this through foresight for years I realize that within our unconsciousness is magic, brightness and truth, directly opposed to a contrary reality, part of our often diabolically troubled world.


Synchronicity, the doppelganger, mystical numbers, and foresight are things I have talked about with my sons as they grew up. Reading Grimm’s fairy tales, watching scary films, other dimensions, and hope, are qualities I have magically graced upon them. They both are scientists and know their math and computers… yet they are still open to mama’s influence.

Recently my son had his best friend over to watch a film. Oldest son is converting his old room into an office for game streaming and my publishing company. Two sons and Sebastian watched Jordan Peele’s film US. (2019 film).

My son told me it was like having “my mama standing right next to me” talking about all the things you always talk about. I have not viewed the film, but I am intrigued because I recently released an image to Jordan’s new horror film coming out next year. Now that is a small, interesting synchronicity.

Oldest Son and Sara Taft California

Also, son told me that the town of Santa Cruz CA is in the film US. He was born in Santa Cruz Ca in 1992.

I think he is part of my often-misunderstood delusional world of foresight. Where art imitates life or life imitates art. This is less about me and more about my son. I don’t really want to see a film that entertains what I experience in real life. Yet I feel bitchin’ that my son and Jordan Peele get it!

Cheers to Tito, books out @ Pre-orders…

1978- Los Angeles Flipside # 10 Photo Al Flipside.

“When you’ve jumped the fence into the bath

we will understand if you have the last laugh.

Just as things seem as they were before,

down with the field up with the air conditioner.”

~GBH Forbidden Zone.


Before we got our new fence it was a forbidden zone for our cats. The fence had holes and was leaning over into the neighbor’s yard. To make a long story short we decided to just go ahead and fix it with a new fence…

“A flash of lightning. Dionysus becomes visible in emerald beauty.”

~ Pg. 65 Dithyrambs of Dionysus / Friedrich Nietzsche  

No longer a forbidden zone, it once was a dark night when the rains came with lightning and took our Football kitty away from us. Was it the hole in the fence and the neighbor’s German Shepherd? Was it the nasty drug dealer now gone due to the dumb bloke being taken away by the police? Or was it an alien mutation … it sure looked like one. If you do not know what I mean look it up? Finally, it could have been the other side fence that is also now new. It was replaced a couple of years ago. A jump over by local twister trickster coyote? Coyote told me this,

“Nope not me.”

What was once a forbidden zone is not forbidden anymore.

This autumn has its forbidden zones. I must be honest my once explored forbidden zones have become zones of good fruits of wonder.

I am turned on because a hearty harvest has come in. It feels good. Here are some projects I’ve been part of. Here is the harvest…

Where The Wild Gigs Were –~ Tim Hinely & Friends, HoZac Books.

https://hozacrecords.com/where-the-wild-gigs-were/?fbclid=IwAR0UFeZvrMwWWWWDJcrgfMkPDgw8Y6MSyEwQ_M8wU1rkLoZfGA95uJPZqZg


New Wave Chicken, Steve Hart, Art Issue, Fluke Publishing,

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 185246509_1785559494950149_3029390388761368667_n.jpg

https://fluke.bigcartel.com/product/new-wave-chicken-9

FORBIDDEN BEATS S.W. Lauden, out on Rare Bird Books.

I must say the “wheeling and dealing” is fun and sometimes hope filled activating. A learning experience. Contributing in a new way I am like our new red western cedar dog ear fence.

I am shining from the inside out.

The back door man is not someone I deal with … it is all up and up now.

It is amazing when a major film company takes the time to mail you an original designed t-shirt. It feels nice to be valued and treated with respect.

So, the new fence got some dirt, mulch and a couple of lavender plants.


Universal Pictures Feature Production, Universal Pictures is in production on a theatrical horror motion picture by Jordan Peele (Get Out, Us).


This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is img_3576.webp
Tito Larriva Los Plugs. Oct/8/2021 Origin ID-AHCA Alex Bovaird t-shirt.

My Punkalullaby

Excerpt from MY PUNKALULLABY a paperback Memoir


I fell into the punk underground, but I was not a groupie or reject from an earlier

music scene. I was one with the punk scene,

and I tumbled into the mystery of it. I had a

voice again like I did when I was that young

tomboy. The punk scene was like Halloween,

Christmas, horror films, and freedom all at

the same time. Overwhelmed, I felt as though

I was in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,

mimicking Puck— taking on the images that

were around me without question.

I was becoming one with my punkalullaby. I coined the word punkalullaby.

It means that the whole time I was in the

punk rock scene, from beginning to end, it

was all about a song. One song to the next

pulled me throughout the scene. Once that

loud music got into my blood there was

nothing like it. I was socially awkward, wild,

and morally uncultivated. I was a perfect

product for the Los Angeles punk rock scene

because I was someone that the normal

culture had completely abandoned. Yet, here I

was, welcomed into an underground

counterculture.

It was my turn to create a name for

myself. I became a punk rocker. I would spit

in your face if I hated you. I’d hit you if I

loved you. For the first time in my life I felt

power.

I cut my hair, painted my nails black and lips Revlon Blackberry.

My bellbottoms

were thrown out and replaced with black

straight legs. I shopped at thrift stores and

navy surplus stores for my clothes.

For twenty dollars, I could buy a

complete wardrobe. I wore cowboy boots or

rain boots. I collected badges and put them

on my shirts. These badges were of local

bands and images that were important to me!

I started buying punk rock records and

listening to punk rock music and continued to

listen to the radio.



We must explore!

The Naked Grace…


These times are asking us to go within. Over the generations we have taken this journey within. By choice, by accident and spiritually. Through drugs, side effects from prescribed medication or by magic.

A song can amplify this reality. A writer can share the experience. Songs filled with lyrics are poetry put to music. The images come forth and touch us. These three songs came to mind today when I was out in the garden pulling tall grass from the rich soil. It all came together. The dark earth holds things. Pulling on the grass and releasing the soil is a forward effort of movement. The dark moist earth has a relationship with our psyches.

I believe that unless we willfully take this inward journey as an individual it will be forced upon us. On a personal level or a generational level is how it goes. Anytime we suppress our shadow, blame others, or spread hate it is bound to a generation. Are we not observing this right now? Songs can help us. I need them like I need flowers in my garden or kitty cats to hug.

Here are three songs that explain this journey variable. From the 1960s Catch the Wind by Donovan is a peaceful song.  Dead Man’s Party by Oingo Boingo is an amazing song that shares some interesting historical mysteries.  The Forbidden Zone by Charged GBH, one dose and you take their hand into a strange journey of a musician’s psyche.

♦Donovan is an unusual songwriter and folk singer that touches upon the light side of our psyche. He reminds us to remember the beauty in life. It is around us and in us if we go looking for it. Our psyches do often look back at us. We can reflect on this soft beauty from time to time.

“When sundown pales the sky

I want to hide a while

Behind your smile

And everywhere I would look, your eyes I’d find.”

♦Oingo Boingo’s song is remarkably interesting and worth listening to intensely. As a young punk back in the late 1970s I had an Oingo Boingo badge on my jacket. I was approached by a couple of punk chicks who mocked me and belittled me for wearing it. A time when the first signs of punk cultism started to show its ugly face.

“I was struck by lighting, walkin’ down the street

I was hit by something last night in my sleep

It’s a dead man’s party who could ask for more

Everybody’s comin’, leave your body at the door

Leave your body and soul at the door.”

“For Crowley, who was a painter himself, the artist ranked above the magician on the totem pole of illumination, and he considered poetry and art as precious tools for transforming one’s innermost psychic visions.” Chapter Spencer Kansa, Pg. 92 Wormwood Star, The Magickal Life of Marjorie Cameron.

♥A wild journey inward to the shadowy psyche is found in the book City Baby from Highgate to Hawaii… Life, and GBH by Ross Lomas.

“This went on for hours. More and more of the same. It was incredibly intense. God and Jimi and Anne Carpenter and the devil and the fucking taxi driver, fighting over my soul right up to the point I passed out in exhaustion.” ~ Chapter neil sedaka, Pg. 120.

“Take my hand and we’ll explore,

The forbidden zone.

When you’re in your own tree,

But don’t know if anybodys home.”

Jimi Hendrix was playing guitar while Anne was a nun of salvation may show us that his journey was amplified by many elements as a fight for his soul. When the shadow opens to us it is always a powerful trip. I find that Ross most likely is stronger for his experience. A bite like this prepares us for real outward tragedies as we are facing today.