A reading from my novella To Ride A Painted Pony Wild
Chapter 3. Headless Horseman Road
A reading from my novella To Ride A Painted Pony Wild
Chapter 3. Headless Horseman Road
Just in case you didn’t know you can order Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Anniversary Issue #54 (replica) in the US, Canada, UK, Germany, India, France, Italy, Spain, Japan, Brazil, Mexico, Australia. Amazon Kindle Print On Demand is available there. Save on shipping fees. A mighty good deal. promotional hashtag…. #losangelesflipsidefanzinetenyearanniversaryissue
For Sale Here…
Only a new cover otherwise this is a replica of the original but better. The yellow patina is gone, and the pages are all straight. If you want it without all the fuss and facelift you can still purchase the squirrely eBook. It is cheaper. This issue of Flipside was originally printed on newsprint, paper, so the pages did yellow with time.
I put a great deal of time into making this paperback into the sweet little punk rock number that it is. Some punks have told me that this was their punk rock bible. It is Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine issues one through fifty. A lot of punk voices. The integrity of what punk was at any time during the original punk rock scene is shared here.
Flipside Fanzine number 54 captures the continuity and real experience and thoughtful wild exuberant expression of many interesting individuals. It was a passion of mine to share in this documentation of a scene. It still is which is why I continued over the years with this project to have a new handheld Flipside 54 for anyone who may want it. I think it is very special, in a punk kind of way, I hope you will enjoy it too.
Within this paperback book is our history of the early punk rock scene. We at Flipside covered that scene thoroughly, what we wanted to cover that is. It is best you read the editorial included at the beginning of this paperback to get a real sense of who we were. Ten years of documenting a scene included in issues one through fifty is a great deal to read. A magnifying glass may be needed.
I always say the proof is in the pudding. Shift workers who worked on each issue are clearly defined in each issue. This is what I mean by proof. Always a lot of hands in the cookie jar at the Flipside house. Suffice to say I’ll let this spectacular punk documentary speak for itself with a giant community of punk voices.
I recommend my memoir My Punkalullaby as a sidekick to this paperback book. Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine the Ten-Year Anniversary Issue (replica) is a punk rock opus and I am very proud of it.
I guess it was up to me to reprint it…
Be More Than A Witness,
The Seminary Of Praying Mantis Publishing
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,,,
Images taken from various Los Angeles Flipside Fanzines.
People are strange when you're a stranger Faces look ugly when you're alone Women seem wicked when you're unwanted Streets are uneven when you're down When you're strange Faces come out of the rain When you're strange No one remembers your name When you're strange When you're strange When you're strange ~ The Doors
Julie sang the above song to me. We were on the hill playing. She acted like she made it up. I knew that maybe she did not. This song marked a change in the neighborhood. The 16 and 17-year-old boys were smoking funny cigarettes.
I am writing this because of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s story. Maybe her narrative was not successful in stopping the nomination to the supreme court of Judge K. I believe she told the truth and with great risk to her family and to herself. I admire her honesty. So, in support of her naming those who assaulted her, I will name mine. Mike Hansen and Michael Myers (maybe more). Dr. Ford is free now yet the lies and darkness within Judge K’s being will continue to manifest until it destroys him. Maybe not today or tomorrow but eventually. That is how karma works.
The mid 1970s and early 1980s held wild times. A new sexual revolution that became dark fast. I did not live far from where Roman Polanski was arrested, at Jack Nicholson’s home, for the sexual assault of 13-year-old. I knew the girl who was drugged and then molested. I never imagined something like that would happen to me. Drugs, sex and fun was fundamental at that time. Luckily, my mom and dad kept guard. They were not always interested in school stuff, but they did keep guard. I was protected from the house down the hill. A single mom with an empty nest most nights. Except for the teenage boys.
The endless drug parties were unchecked by the adults in the neighborhood. Michael Myers, no relations to the character from the film Halloween, ruled there. Any girl 13 to 16 was not safe from his advances. The peer pressure was enormous!! Once he was 18 he continued to make his moves. That is where Mike Hansen came to my aid. He was my boyfriend who protected me from the age 15 to 17. Until Mike cheated on me and we broke up. I started going out with another boy who was a friend of my girlfriend’s boyfriend. We dated on and off for about 6 months.
Mike Hansen wanted us to get back together. One night he invited me to a party where he was living with Mike Myers. They lived in an old apartment next to a local Catholic Church. It seemed safe enough. A few friends were over and someone handed me a beer. The next morning, I awoke naked and alone in Mike Hansen’s bed. I did not remember anything from the night before until years later. This narrative gets worse because I became pregnant. As a 17-year-old my voice was invisible. I was confused and overwhelmed.
Pregnant with two boyfriends. It was not a good place for a 17-year going on 18 to be. The bad words spoken, tension and moral pressure made me crazy. Mike Hansen wanted to entrap me into marriage. I said no. The other boy was helpful, but he soon broke up with me. I blamed myself. It was not until years later that the images of that night came forward. Memories became clear to me. Around the time after giving birth to my first son at 34. Yes, slowly it was clear to me. I will not go into the years of grief and despair that I worked though.
Looking back, I remember Mike Hansen was mad at me, so I assume he or another drugged me and let me be raped by whom ever was at the party. I feel that they planned it with intent and foresight. In a sense I felt relieved that I remembered this. I felt sad too for a long time. I did not regret the abortion back then. It was intuitively the best thing to do. I realize that now.
Today I went back to the apartments. I don’t live far. The apartments have expanded. There are more parking areas. The apartments are now secured and closed from strangers. The apartment where Mike Hansen and Mike Myers lived are at the corner of Serrainia Ave and Ventura Blvd. or De Soto Ave and Ventura Blvd. The streets change as one crosses Ventura heading west.
As a kid I knew this area. I walked by these apartments everyday, Jr. High School and later in High School. A few of my friends went to the Saint Mel Catholic School right near the apartments. Across the street, where there is now a Wells Fargo Bank, there was a 7- Eleven. My friends and I could get a Slurpee for 10 cents. Why wouldn’t I feel safe there. It was where I grew up? My dad owned a building only a few blocks down on Ventura Blvd. My family had history here.
Julie Myers was a good friend of mine. Even though her brother and I never got along. Yet, like her bother, I never could really trust her. The late-night stories she told me. I listened to her tell me stories about both her brother and Mike Hansen. They were revealing. They pursued girls. I heard many stories that made me jealous and unsure. Something wasn’t right. I guess I was one of the girls too. I never believed Julie’s stories…. maybe I should have.
Trump’s lawyers are in the hot oil… they have ruined their bright
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 !!!!
Don’t forget we have been spreading the satire for years… and have a few bubblegum Flopside COmics that highlight this complete unenlightened asshole of extreme degrees…
Check all 13 on Friday the 13th 2018 … your fucking luckiest of days…..
The Yucca Poem
pon the wall was a painting Simply framed of a Yucca plant My parents’ home enfolded it Hanging on the living room wall always smiling at me The artist’s hands painted it upon a wild hill I looked at it all my life From babe until the painting Was stolen away after my parents’ death. It had a constant white bloom. Curiously I looked at the flower many times I am sure it sung me to sleep. The Yucca is a wild plant Growing along The aromatic California coastal ranges further into the valley and hills Tall thin and tenuous boldly spread throughout valley canyons. Yucca calls us to our nobility of character Yucca calls us to a wild uniqueness Singing if you listen quietly A hum older than we know.
The wild fennel is growing in my garden, From the Santa Monica Mountains, Only a few seeds thrown around my land, From the staff-sheath that I have, Near my hearth. My wild Promethean fennel, Smells of licorice and earth, Feels like numinous beats, Waves from the coastal region, Myths revealing through my soul. Prometheus freed by Chiron, Fire consumes my heart, Compassionate green healing, Of my mind and dreams, Love will grow tall and strong My wild Promethean fennel.