Ezekiel Wheel Mr. Fuck “God is Every fucking man.”
“And the word of the lord came to me: Mortal, prophesy and say: thus says the Lord; Say: A sword, a sword is sharpened, it is also polished; It is sharpened for slaughter, honed to flash like lightning! How can we make merry? You have despised the rod.” ~ EZEKIEL 21 8-10.
I never will forget when my oldest son and I read from the bible a certain part about Ezekiel’s Wheel. I often overlooked elements of war but in the bible our patriarchs are ruthless bastards. And so is Ezekiel’s Wheel.
A prelude to war. Fucking race gods fighting each other through their human pawns, a big cosmic game of chess.
This may seem esoteric because it is. Recently Mr. Fuck and I were going through some of the Flopside cOmics and images, and we came upon a couple that he loved so much. We’ laughed aloud’ like we used to in time of grieving and wild exuberance. There is more to this image, it was inspired by Human (Steve Pfauter) during one of our online conversations. We were talking about women singers of the 60s and 70s. And we moved into talking about the Goddess. I mentioned the quote “The Goddess is Every Woman” by a well-known Jungian therapist Jean Shinoda Bolen. He said that it was not fair and replied,
“The God is every man.” We enjoyed this back and forth and often later I would get a message stated,
“Hud, you know I’m just messing with you, having a little fun, nothing serious!”
Next watercolor is inspired by some of the guys from the Scotland Yard Pub in Canoga Park California. I was going through some grieving times of parents getting old and dying.
The punk rock nostalgia wave was just beginning to hit around 2007, and they still had DJs at the pub who played from their record collections, often prime 1980s punk. Some of the fellas influenced me in a pleasant way. But I did drink too much and began smoking for a brief time.
It was a relieving an offbeat microcosm of how the punk scene once was for me during my youthful rebellion. To the songs and the great individuals and toxicologists at the pub. Thanks for helping me through some rough times. Mr. Fuck was often in the dark corner grinning asking for a lite after hours. Who knows maybe he is an offbeat shadow of my psyche.
Thursday funnies from yours truly the Flopside Crew at Flopside cOmics.
It is like he is an Ace in the Hole… We all know he is a monster… yet he continues… he should be in jail. Or taken to some jail in a foreign country… no due process for him. Take his gold-plated white house and give all the gold back to the poor. He does not pay taxes… he needs to go now.
Mr. Fuck reflects on when he ran for president. He has many words of wisdom based on free shots of whiskey.
After a gulp of Whiskey…. Mr. Fuck speaks…
“I am often concerned for those who have the power to make Trump accountable but just let him keep talking. His lies are amplified, and his greed is self-evident, and his family is making huge profits on “we the people” … and he holds many countries in a state of hostile takeover with his god-awful tariffs.
This all started on the back of women who had their rights taken away from them. Roe v. Wade overturned. These conservatives! Damn them! Let’s see the list!”
He takes another nip of Midleton very rare housed in his bomb shelter, against the cold of weather and soul….
“Trump is a son of a bitch and even his mother is a thousand times better than he will ever be. Rest her soul. He is the scum of the earth with the power that needs to be taken from him and all of his sick fucks who follow his every word. They are lost… dead and are without a conscience. And if there is a hell they will be found boiling in its Purgatory.”
Dancing in a square room with Mr. Fuck and Mr. Crap.
Happy holidays…
A limerick from Mr. Fuck and Mr. Crap
A whiskey shot will do
A wrestle with an opossum too
Berries in my pudding
And rum in my cake
I will eat my
Fresh baked soul cake.
Freedom grows
When our conscience knows
The devil be gone.
We got to move on
Tickle Rudolph’s nose
We are smart
Love grows in the
COCKLES OF THE HEART!
The cockles of our hearts
Fresh baked soul cake!
Charles Tatum : When they bleached your hair, they must have bleached your brain too.
“Tatum gets work from his the local newspaper, but finds that there’s not much in the way of pressing news. However, when Tatum catches wind of a treasure hunter (Richard Benedict) trapped in a mineshaft, he turns the story into a media sensation. Soon Tatum is using unscrupulous tactics to draw out the situation, an approach that comes back to haunt him.” -Ace In the Hole.
“To draw out the situation.” The only reason Trump is not hugging his bunk in prison right now is because he creates a “media sensation.” The media is using him like the “treasure hunter trapped in a mineshaft.”
And we all know how the film Ace in the Hole (1951) ends.
“Leo (treasure hunter) begins to become ill as time passes and his health decides the futures of those making a profit from his demise.”
Don’t you think it was Biden and Kamala Harris’s fault for not going forward with “treason” after January’s assault on the capital by Trump and his cronies. They all should have been convicted of treason. Many now serving in the Senate and the House who are causing our government’s shut down?
Why don’t you come forward with this truth? You never talk about this. Why we are in our current situation with this lunatic of a president. Is it all about the Ace in the Hole? A way for big media to keep spinning how bad Trump is? When in fact something could have been done about it, but it was not. This is the irony that affects many of us who see this and find it hard to trust or even trust the democratic party. I think if you talk about this and apologize it may help us. All who want to move forward especially with the Democratic party. To heal we need accountability and honesty.
There are lots of pros and cons about the past solar eclipse. I think it is cool. I did not go to see it. There are plenty of beautiful images online to see. I can think of eclipses in my life though. One of them was Joe Strummer. His voice had an eclipse on my feelings as a youngster. As for many others, he changed our lives! Their first 1977 LP The Clash pushed all the right bottoms and was special for many underground characters. His voice woke me from my slumber. I experienced them at the Santa Monica Civic on their first US tour, Wow!
It has been forty years and he still moves through my heart. All those feelings; to be authentic, real, and alive. To create things uniquely and roughly with your own hands. Forty years of punk rock and I completed my four Punk@lullabys ! My Big celebration! I reached my goal and it worked out as I planned.
It feels good to know that my celebration is more an inward accomplishment for a punk ideology that still pulls through my heart as Joe still does.
I hope you enjoy the coming eclipse. If you are already there or travel the journey to get there…If you need some reading material while waiting or after it is over and back to normal life… here is my stuff for your reading pleasure….
Trump wants more money but no words of “OUR NATION IS AT WAR”…. nothing new in the scheme of lies told by our presidents… at least this guy, Army General Tony Thomas commander of U.S. special operation forces, has the balls to tell the truth.
Last year under Obama’s eye of fine etiquette and diplomacy, he silently bombed the hell out of other countries… and Trump is lying about it still.
We at Flopside COmics oppose war and bombing other countries but we love the truth when we hear it!!
“Make whoopee the Marlon Brando way, not war the American way”
~ Mr. Shit (he has dementia but I think you get his drift…)
Laws control the lesser man… Right conduct controls the greater one.
~ Mark Twain
As I research this Bannon character, who is about to take over the White House, or become the new Chief of Staff, I see a man with honorable and dishonorable credentials! He is playing the country against itself. All the nasty shadowy things come forth as hate power and helplessness. He plays democrats and republicans against the other. We are being scorched to some unknown place ahead of us.
I have been invited to create a postcard and send it, in opposition of Bannon. Yet, by reading about him I have learned so much more about politics. I cannot say his goals are strangely honorable or dishonorable. He seems like a Hannibal Lecter sort of motivated politician. He seems to want to tear down the system as it is. What value or danger is awaiting “we the people” is not clear to me? He has scorched us.
I will send my postcard. Yet, the contradictory ways of Bannon are strange. But are they? He uses technology and knowledge to manipulate us. His propaganda is meant to awaken a response in us. Edward Bernays knew this by way of Freudian psychology. Not a new game in politics, corporations, or religion.
My postcard will also state an open question to him.
“What is your goal for “we the people?” Are we to be scorched only? You have scorched those in power now! Are you just a Dr. Jekyll -Mr. Hyde evil genius like the newspapers say?”
“You fear the world too much,’ she answered gently. ‘All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off, one by one, until the master passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?”
“1940 is the year when we approach the meridian of the first star in Aquarius. It is the premonitory earthquake of the New Age.” We see how Jung considered earthly occurrences in a cosmic context, with an eye toward the approach of the Age of Aquarius, which was supposed to come after the Age of Pisces in the global calendar.
This fact, differently interpreted by the various esoteric groups, was frequently connected with an “age of enlightenment” and great steps forward in spiritual progress.
But it is not seldom forgotten that spiritual maturity carries the price of great suffering and severe trials. As Jung was certainly clearly aware of this aspect…” Pg. 333-334, The Second World War,
– Jung: A biography.
New Age, Age of Aquarius and “age of enlightenment” always put a little fear in me. At this time of the year the dead whisper their stories through dreams, books and biographies.
This Sunday I pulled my random book. I started reading randomly. The above quote from Carl Jung’s biography pulled at me. Directly pulling at reflections and meditations of the day.
After an early meditation outside near the bomb shelter; small rough golden and dark green leaves falling from the Cyprus tree onto my head, then down to my lap.
Looking up I saw a small song bird right above me on a branch chirping and giving itself a cleaning. I was focused on it. The coolness in the air calmed me as I looked up away further to see another bird flying. A white bird; a seagull or maybe an owl. It was flying South West.
A large bright bird highlighted by the rising sun. In my wonder I then looked down to see that the little song bird had left a white bird poop on my lap.
“Nasty little bird…I think I get the hint!!”
I got up and walked towards the house. Both female cats disturbed by my movement, as they had found a temporary warm home near my legs and feet.
Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist
2014 Post
“…and those of you in the balcony can just rattle your jewelry.”
~John Lennon
Cause no one needs a fanzine anymore…
Originally a 2014 post I was 56 and youngest son was 14. Now I am 64 and he is going to college at 22. The bands are still playing around the massive kaleidoscopeexposition of festivals. I watch them explode and march on from town to town, city to city and country to country.
The punk festivals are grandiose to see happening. Fun for the bands yet this little fanzine gal can’t go back to being a face in the crowd during a time of a terrible pandemic with an ‘ebb and flow’ which is rather unpredictable.
I am glad I got to see them before festivals became a phenomenon of big and bigger shows with long and longer lists of bands. Or even the weird funky boat cruises. It leaves me a bit perplexed yet I can listen to the music anytime and my “amber moments” are still in my brain as fresh and palpable moments of a once punk scene.
Mockingly and nasty, as we stood in line in front of the Fonda Theater marquee, an older man on a bike wheeled by yelling,
“Ha ha maybe forty years ago!”
Saturday Night 2014 Hollywood,California
My son and I were standing in line. In front of us was a twenty-year-old and in back a couple about my age. These punk shows bring out the underground punk community. The good and disgusting levels. I love it so much my head almost burst.
01 – race against time 0:00 02 – knife edge 2:45 03 – lycanthropy 5:00 04 – necrophilia 7:34 05 – sick boy 9:33 06 – state executioner 12:06 07 – dead on arrival 14:39 08 – generals 12:18 09 – freak 19:37 10 – wardogs 22:06 11 – city baby attacked by rats 23:37 12 – City babys revenge 26:13
Smiling Punk woman and son Shyane at 14
Last night I could hardly make it through Lycanthropy while fighting off some guy who wanted to continually throw my son up on stage. Even though son seemed to like it. He said,
“I saw Colin’s face flash by me.“
Up front the stage was hot. All were intimated by the solar flares of sun burning in the Fonda Theater. A halo hot sauna of extreme is how it was there. A full house.
The 5th Wave at the Fonda Theater pic by Hudley
The 5th Wave slashed the theater with some questionable lyrics, mixed with saxophone and trombone ska. Excellent! Their fans shining. I was very impressed by the courtesy of the young punk women this evening.
A smile was easily shared and that communal feelings of a punk rock community ran in my heart. Strangely different from my generation. I was very impressed indeed. A lot of women in groups and alone gave me hugs for having a son with me.
I hope son takes advantage of this when he gets beyond my reach, because now he has a silence about him that I respect.
The ADS were so satisfying I cried. I love them and again always superimposed images from over the years blended with the reality of now. Fast songs have matured nicely into longer ones. Remarkable! As Steve Soto was there still playing his original sound.
GBH were wild as they always are. Yet, they were a little rushed. I hear it is an intense tour. Colin’s voice was hoarse, yet it was hard to tell over the audience singing their songs. Colin made a stab at the fans in the balcony who were not moving.
Who were just sitting there as being lazy and with other critiques? I don’t know why so many young punks came up to me trying to exchange my receipt with theirs so they could sit in the balcony. It all was a bit confusing from my perspective.
Fun and eye-opening show with the usual subtle instilled words for those listening!!
We enjoy our punk rock community…so go screw Mr. Bike man over 50! This 50 something year old loves it still!!
If she laid her egg sack, which she most likely has, I have not seen her. Every year she comes and I paint her image, or take her picture. From the pool mesh fence, I take her and let her crawl over my shoulders. This year only she indirectly shows herself. A floating exoskeleton on top of clear pool water, or images from friends.
Her Praying Mantis tree with the beautiful purple anarchy flowers are as a waterfall and arbor waiting for her return.
She will be golden green, large and graceful now. She facing death. I wear her tattoo on my left wrist. The purple anarchy flower. Last night at a local club again she told me that I was at the right time and place.
I was meant to be here, even though she was not. The leather jacket with silver studs addressed me.
The young man stood in front of me. There splashed upon his back, drawn and painted, is her anarchy flower. Holding up my wrist I knew it to be true. I tapped the young tall man on the shoulder and showed him the image.
He acknowledged it and the music blew through and around us.
The longitude and latitude the continuity of life. It was all meant to be, I was where I was meant to be…. but she was not there.
X-8, HUD and AL 1979 San Fransisco In this picture X-8 represents the original punks of Los Angeles. Who were creative, loud and in your face! 1977-79.
Pete woke up on the Chinese New Year looking out of the hotel room window while a chicken’s head was chopped off. Right across the street at a restaurant café.
Big boots and dancing…it be a trilling time for me.
This is one of my favorite images. I have posted it a few times before. It contains a lineage of Flipside Fanzine characters who worked on issues. It has an interesting foresight; from left to right are X-8, Hud and Al. Peter Landswick takes the picture. All four of us worked on Flipside together at an interesting time in the world of Punk Rock. It was before the Orange County scene exploded as well as the new generation of punk English bands. The early Los Angeles punks were much more silent now. X was going for a major label.
The Go Go’s, The Bags and Fear were changing their places and goals. The original punk scene of LA was dying, and a new one was forming.
I like the texture and graphic perspective of this image. Pete is a creative photographer. This picture taken at an alley in San Francisco when we rebelliously tagged and followed the touring underground mod scene. At the time, The Specials and Madness were unfamiliar upcoming bands. As wild as any youthful band. It is the best time of crazy characters and wild free adventures.
Yin & Yang pendant from Darrel and John modeled by Flash the cat.
Santa Cruz California has beaches for surfing and a Boardwalk to walk on the wild side. The University of Santa Cruz sits on a hill above this once hippie and murder capital of central California. A beach town where beach meets music at the Catalyst Club. Pubs, Donut-shops and pizza parlors mark their territory too.
!991, you might find us early mornings at Farrell’s Donuts and in the evening, we hang at the seedy pub, known to the locals, as the Poet and Patriot.
Powering down a Greece lightning, made up of Guinness and Anchor Steam, got the night off for a rogue conversation with the local Thunderbird or a game of cheating darts. Bob and Zachery made the time enjoyable and even broke up fights… the successful job of the best of the best toxicologists!!
Darrel and John were big men. The chairs they sat in at the counter every morning, showed the wear and tear below. The owner of Farrell’s Donuts told John that he was going to make them pay for it. Darrel had a beard and long hair while John, his younger brother, just had long hair. They were misfits, rebels and they liked us and often they would service up our coffee and say,
“Service with a smile;”
Taking waitress Linda’s job not too seriously. They were characters. Darrel and John had a big pickup truck with a camper. They collected stuff from the local dump, ya know the stuff nice people throw away and these two recycled it. They were reformed hippies but that didn’t make any difference. When we moved into our little one-bedroom home they supplied us with some good furniture. One of the big chairs we kept with us for eighteen years.
After we got our new home, all fixed up we invited Darrel and John over for dinner of BBQ steak and home-made chili. We lounged like Romans and Darrel’s belly was so round that when he sat down, he put the chili bowl right on top of his belly. He ate his chili down.
Once in the early morning in Farrell’s Donuts parking lot I saw Darrel sleeping in his truck. So slowly I sneaked up to him. I reached my hand slowly to tickle his beard when he gripped my hand. I screamed. He looked at me and yelled,
“Don’t ever sneak up on a man sleeping in his truck. I might have broken your hand clean off!”
Babies of 1992 and Alumni . Santa Cruz Sentinel, May 30 1992
Our first baby was born in Santa Cruz. Darrel and John surprised us and entered the picture in the local newspaper. Now that is dear friendship.
When Darrel passed away from a massive heart attack he was just in his forties. He was cremated and at his demise party they put his ashes next to a picture of him, as big and as mighty as the tree in their yard. Many of his friends showed up that day.
They were drinking and smoking all sorts of funny things. Darrel was one of those kinds of dudes that warms your heart just thinking of him.
It doesn’t seem like 31 years ago when Santa Cruz was our home, a town of characters and friends.
KAREN: I guess at this point I am what the French call ‘de trop?’
BILL: (smiles) Maybe just a little around the edges.
~ All About Eve
Either you repeat the same conventional doctrines everybody is saying, or else you say something true, and it will sound like it is from Neptune.
~ Noam Chomsky
The sciences are a good thing. Rover on Mars looking back at the Earth is amazing. Yet reading Dante Alighieri’s biography I find that he studied liberal arts courses,
“Which offered Latin, geometry, arithmetic, astronomy (actually astrology) and music was to be passionately attached all his life.”
During the Middle Ages science, art and music were not separate as they are today. With astrology, the planets affect us. Now I wonder how our Earth affects those on Mars or the other planets in our solar system?
My point being is that science is a very bare bones reality where all its theories are well supported, at least enough to go to other planets via technology.
I feel what makes Dante so special to me is that he is the perfect person who, at one time, brought together science, art, and music. He is the perfected human being who shows us that having a soul is part of the human equation of being, and with an honest spirit humanity inspires to know all the stratosphere of human nature.
We are accountable for ourselves in a divine way. A highly creative solution to the problem of humanity!!! Humor included as Mr. Dante is no fool on this matter!!
Oldest son is just starting a physics course today at the local university. We often debate what is real and what is illusion, as two Gemini our Mercury fires up with heated dialogue.
And then there is Neptune. I love Neptune, the color and mystery of its round luminosity. I hear this week Mercury goes retrograde right into the belly of Neptune, astrologically speaking of course.
The week ahead is a time to feel. As Luna waxes strong into Valentine’s Day, it is a time of a kind of inner pregnancy of feelings; it may be a delightful time if we do not anally analyze too much.
I have decided to do the tango with Mercury, Luna, and Neptune this week…a threesome may be fun!! I will go with the flow, dance sweet and low and get it on the go.
“In this piece, she applies skillfully to a situation that seems born to contain it her signature piece of understanding by taking the reader on a journey of attitudes-from lofty remove to guarded self-deception to reluctant admission-that disentangles a knot of emotion as familiar as the back of any age-spotted hand.”
Pg. 42 The Situation and the Story by Vivian Gornick
Mushy carrot 2 pi !!
When I go to the local pub it is to relax, listen to some tunes and talk a little with friends. I always have room to meet new ones, regardless of their age, religiosity, political persuasion, or weight. At the ripe old age of 64 I know for a fact that no fucking body is perfect!!! I do not insult others or try to make them feel bad about themselves.
I do react to negative comments about my friends, myself from others. I know the difference between humor, sarcasm, or intolerance. I do not try to effect a change in the angle of a guy’s carrot. I am not interested in inspiring a 45-degree angle. Sexual geometry is not my thing. When I hear comments whispered behind my back like,
“Who is the old building with funky clothes?”
I feel the discrimination of ageism and sexism. I don’t forget these comments and from whom they came.
One guy had the guts to ask me,
“Shouldn’t you be home baking cookies?”
So, what kind of images does this bring forth for you? I was deeply enraged by this and almost punched him in the nose…but was honestly feeling good so I turned it back on him with humor. I then let him know that in the past I would have attacked him and knocked him down….
“Ha Ha…”
My father and brothers were mean like this, and I have had to deal with this type of sexism and intolerance all my life. They would go into a Trader Joe’s and would verbally judge women.
“Oh, she is a fat ass…etc.”
Letting women hear ever so subtlety. I always been a confrontational child and would let them know what “asses they were.”
As if the whole female population is based on how fuckable they are to them.
So, the other night I was having a great time with friends at the local pub. I feel safe and respected there most of the time. Yet, the shadow punched off me with a nasty derogatory statement about my age as I was leaving the pub.
“Goodbye Grandma.”
Yes, I heard it. I guess I was not inspiring the 45-degree angle like the youngster female behind the bar did for the guys.
That is OK, that is why they hire them young. Unconsciously the stupid young man will buy more beer; maybe sales are down, and they need the 45-degree persuasion to sell more beers.
I am a good friend to have regardless of my age. I like to be called a crone because I am an older woman. If you take the time to look past all the things that don’t make me fuckable or all the things you discriminate against, I have some interesting stories to share about life; antidotes that may help out a youngster like you.
Yet, if you are anything like my dad or brothers, watch out because I will be on your case. I will find you and the next time that angle will be a mushy carrot 2 pi !!
The mind is designed to lie.The heart has a mind of its own and when you put the mind and heart together strange things can happen… but then there is the sex organ mind that has a power pull of its own too. Then there is the conscience mind that an episode of X-files defines as:
“Conscience is dead people whispering to us.”
The dead may see things and know truths that we alive humans can’t understand. Not just the dead but nature and characters such as Jiminy Cricket and billions of crickets chirping every night help us with our conscious mind.
Why?
Maybe because we should not be telling lies!! It is an impossible situation. Listening to crickets chirp at night for about 15 minutes can help us to become more aware. The overwhelming gravity of constant sex calls throughout the night can force our thinking inward.
Helping us to feel regret about some of the lies we said that day. Maybe there is something to those old fairy tales after all. Who wants their nose to grow every time they tell a lie?
Some well-seasoned anxiety sprinkled on top.
Then there is the gut. We all can feel that gut feeling. Do we listen to it? I have a fine-tuned gut, well not physically but intuitively. I know when something is not right by listening to it. I know when I hear a lie. It feels like chaos and looks like the fog with well-seasoned anxiety sprinkled on top.
I prefer following my gut.
Lies are not all bad. We have all told them to protect people we love. Here comes Santa Claus, There Goes Peter Cottontail and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas are humongous subtle lies some of us tell our children. (Even though I still believe in them personally.)
The lies that really hurt us, others or the world in general are the big lies that suppress us as a people. Governments, corporations, and organized religion are good at these types of big black widow lies.
These are the kind of lies our government told to our American Indian brothers and sisters.
The throwing in the wrench lie.
Then to conclude this little essay I will speak about the throwing in the wrench lie. It is when you tell a lie in order to see how gossip spreads. This is a fun one to practice. This is what gangsters do in order to find out where their loyalties lie. I have done this a couple of times to see where my loyalties abide but I prefer following my gut. It never lies!
“I guess every form of refuge has its price…” ain’t that the truth…
