Tag Archives: postaday

A hippie kills a punker

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.



The Calendar

Sigrid Hudson Bishop

“Eternity interrupts. It is as if there is a plane where there is clock time and then eternity puts its hand in for a minute and you have an archetypal experience. You have a feeling of what Jung said was “the infinite, “and then very often the watch reacts to that.” ~ The Palace of the Cat: The Cat Marie-Louise Von Franz.



This is a short story about a friend. I find the best friends are not the ones that you make yourself but are the ones that find you. They stand the probability of time. They happen without planning and endure without much effort. She was like that. I first met her online on Facebook. We had common friends of friends. She was also interested in music as well as William Blake and Carl Jung. She showed up at my first speaking event at Whittier College.

Later she told me about a Punk event at UCLA college that I applied to and was accepted at. She was there for me and I shared many stories and my creations with her.

I think I inspired her to go to Pacifica Graduate Institute offering degrees in the clinical psychology, counseling, mythological studies and depth psychology.



At this time last year 2018, she offered me an extra William Blake calendar. I accepted it with honor. Every day I looked at the calendar and thought of her. Happy to have such a friend. Remarkable I am taken back by the last image of the calendar of The Archangel Michael Foretelling the Crucifixion.  She passed away this December 2019.



I am a weird Christian mystic in many ways. I learned that the crucifixion is symbolic of a person’s day of release from their physical body.

As friends, have our souls not spoken to each other?

I think so.


“They looking back, all th’ Eastern side beheld

Of Paradise, so late thir happie seat,

Wav’d over by that flaming Brand, the Gate

With dreadful Faces throng’d and fierie Armes:

Som natural tears they drop’d, but wip’d them soon; [ 645 ]

The World was all before them, where to choose

Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:

They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,

Through Eden took thir solitarie way.

~Book 12 Paradise Lost; Milton.



To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. ~William Blake


15 years as a cowboy… if they lived.


I love watching Westerns. I have my favorite channels. All the actors that played the cowboy game through the many years is amazing. Yet in truth the American cowboy days were short. Fifteen years after the civil war through the building of the train industry and barbed wire.

The Spaniards and Mexicans were challenged by Native Indians and then the Europeans. Carelessly leaving their horses and cattle to be taken over and bred by these new propagated cowboys. It is a brutal history as well as a beautiful one as in the current film Painted Woman. A woman was a mother, whore or missionary. Nevertheless, the women are robust and hearty characters as in the film True Grit where a young girl outsmarts many a gun shooting cowboy and avenges her father’s death.

A decade and a half are a short time for towns and saloons to be alive for this massive movement of the wild days of traveling and roaming cowboys. Then barbed wire and the movement of cattle by way of the train into mass slaughterhouses. To roam the prairie was gone.

I love these films as I do Noir films. Adventure, mystery the good and the bad guys and always the femme fatale or saloon lady entertainers.



Hearts Buoyant

To U.S. Representative for California’s 28th congressional district Adam Schiff


I see an illuminated bright 
five pointed star
Over the emotional ocean
Of black and greasy-greedy oil
The light moving upon this darkness 
Wavering leaps of sparkling exuberance.

This star ascends 
as the current below moves 
like the waves of a darkened 
Depressed ocean. 

Shall we focus on the star 
For the exuberance is like
A cleaning soap
A detergent affirming justice 
The Eagle is scrubbed clean.

I see an illuminated bright 
five pointed star  
I hear the waves of the ocean 
Calling to break the
Eagle clean.

Returns the rhythm to the rogue waves
I see justice there  
hearts are buoyant 
Upon that black and greasy-greedy oil
awareness and mindfulness
The Eagle is scrubbed clean! 

My heavenly shower

Jerusalem ~William Blake



My heavenly shower
is a sacred place
of hot, warm or cold water.

It is there for me in worst of times
bones ache and chills of fever
cleaning a dark soul quality away.

I sing, talk and compose there
I talk to my medicine animals there
and say my prayers.

It is an old shower with a whacked head
yet the water cleans me inside and out
my holy shower that sings me sweet words.

 

Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Number 54~10 Year Anniversary Issue Paperback Documentary (replica) Punk Rock 1977 – 1987.

Available here…

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…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691716995


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.

ISSUE #: 12

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…

https://hudleyflipside.com/flipside-fanzine-staph-those-who-worked-on-los-angeles-flipside-fanzine-1979-to-1989/

Be More Than A Witness,

Hudley Flipside

The Seminary Of Praying Mantis Publishing

58E12F79-3500-4F71-9418-7E2A071C0622


 

The Nasty woman is me.

The Nasty Woman and the

Smörgåsbord of words and feelings… some very nasty…. like me.

“In his late works , he embodied these and other ills in the nightmare ridden figure of the cosmic giant Albion, or universal humanity, who has fallen in to deadly sleep of mundane existence. In humanity’s coma, the divine is a remote and forbidding sky-god: nature a sterile heap of atoms, lovers and family members, enemies; and one’s own innermost being, an unrecognized alien.” 

~Blake’s Poetry & Designs ` A Norton Critical Edition.

I realize I am being confrontational, nasty and outrageous. It is that two-week time as we move into the autumnal equinox. I hate this time of transition, but I love autumn.


Today I had to get gas on the way to where I was going. This local gas station charged me a 30 cents gas fee. Yet this is the normal way to skim the top and make a lot of money off millions of poor people. I remember when gas stations had attendants pour the gas, check the oil and fill the car tires. It was service with a smile.

I wish one of these monster gas companies would be brave and bring the service attendants back. They could collect the cash and we could give them the service charge… instead of a fucking machine.

Every time we take away a person’s job and replace them with a machine, we become less human.

I went into the mini-market and the cashier, who seemed to be acting as an employe,  knew nothing about the fee and said,

“I don’t know why you are asking about it. You are the only one that cares? No one else has asked about it.”

I looked at her silently and squarely.

“You should know about it and all the things around you here. I must pay a fee and it is dirty filthy outside around the gas tanks. I remember the day…”

A man came forward and interrupted our conversation and the cashier looked away.

“Excuse us,” I said. “We are talking.”

I used a figure to point to the cashier and me.

“Grumble, “said the man under his breath.

I left telling the cashier she should lose her job for not knowing anything.

Then I came home to find standing outside my home a strange older man smoking a cigarette.

“Are you waiting for someone,” I said.

“No.”

“Then why did you park here?”

The street had no other cars around. He then looked up at the tree. I then asked him to please move his car I needed to part our truck there. He seemed nice enough for not having a reason for being there besides smoking a cigarette. We talked back and forth.

“We have had issues with drug dealers around here,” I said.

He soon left and I moved the truck out. I know I was being ridiculous. I thought it strange that he would get out of his car with his cell home in hand to smoke a cigarette under our lovely olive tree. I did say to him.

“I don’t like the smell of cigarettes and I am sure the tree doesn’t either.”

I think upon a poem I wrote that I have changed a bit.

Any time of the year but now it is moving into the Autumn poem.

Green-gold olives

This eve
I take my broom
Last ray of sun is dead here …
it is real…

The shy clouds hide stars
Only the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn shine their breastplates.
Of radiant light…

I take my broom to the front of our home into the dustpan goes
Dry brown and yellow
Pointy olive leaves and hard green-gold olives…

Into the waste bin… away away.
Goes all the thoughts of this day
Of a wooing Crone…
Looking around as I sweep and bend

For any Fay to show their haunting ways 
In the clouds sailing on the night or
Upon the grasping arms of the olive tree. 
Queen of Elphame mocks me
As I move quickly and consistently,
I call her Sabrina…

How symbolic have I become?
Wild movement… yet strangely calm.
Sweet sweat dripping
My dusty perfume…

I do as many an old Crone
Sweeping clean the front of their home
At this transforming time.
Today I am a nasty one...

 

 

 

 

Now Our Civil War


“Thus, it is our fate to manage within our nature the complexity and the competition of two opposing tendencies: that which stands with life and love (the Dionysian) and that which is greedy, power hungry, and ego-driven (the Titanic).” ~Aguilar, A. Marina. Alchemy of The Heart: The Sacred Marriage of Dionysus & Ariadne. Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.

Civil War ~A war between opposing groups of citizens of the same country.

Hiawatha, Thomas Paine and Abraham Lincoln are examples of sensible leaders of humanity and bright governance. Which we lack now, and profoundly so. I must say that we are now in the mists of a civil war. Has anyone called it out yet? I will. At times like these I rest on the wisdom of leaders who are just and wise. A call to their spirit of wisdom is needed.

Will we stand aside and be enablers of this abuse on “we the people,” children, emigrants and the innocent? How can we do this? It is time to see this for what it is. A civil war.



Hiawatha


“As the smoke from many family fires rises tonight and spreads above the forest, let us remember,” he reminded the Iroquois, “that this smoke comes from many fires, and no one fire is better than another. Though one fire may burn brighter and another more faintly who is to say which is wiser? You know as well as I that there are times and seasons for both. Remember always that the truth springs from many hearts and takes many outer forms, no two ever the same. One in the Great Spirit, we shall have no one ruling shamans, for such traditions are warrior traditions and not the traditions of the Ongwhehonwhe. Let such customs be buried with our weapons. Let them lie forgotten beside the tree that is no more.” ~Hiawatha – Ruturn Of The Bird Trible.



Thomas Paine


“Can we possibly suppose that if governments had originated in a right principle, and had not an interest in pursuing a wrong one, the world could have been in the wretched and quarrelsome condition we have seen it? What inducement has the farmer, while following the plough, to lay aside his peaceful pursuit, and go to war with the farmer of another country? or what inducement has the manufacturer? What is dominion to them, or to any class of men in a nation? Does it add an acre to any man’s estate, or raise its value? Are not conquest and defeat each of the same price, and taxes the never-failing consequence? Though this reasoning may be good to a nation, it is not so to a government. War is the Pharo-table of governments, and nations the dupes of the game.” ~ pg. 178 Chapter II, Of the Origin of the Present Old Governments. ~ Thomas Paine



Abraham Lincoln


“That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain – that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom – and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”~ Abraham Lincoln


July 31st and the Jolly Rogers

Dad was a WWII Captain Pilot stationed in Australia. He flew a B-24. He flew with the Jolly Rogers Bomb Squad. He was shot down off the shore of New Guinea. His back was broken. He survived of course. July 31st is the day it happened. When I was a kid mom made up a cake with the shoreline of New Guinea with a B-24 on it. We always celebrated this day.

I did not realize until this morning that it was his special day. I have not celebrated it for a long time. Maybe dad is looking down and wants a little remembrance. I thank him for all the life he gave me. Rest in Peace and have a beer on me.

Dad is on the left nearest the Bimbo figure.

The film The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)  brings up what my dad and mom went through. It is a film about their generation.  Dana Andrews as Captain Fred Derry reminds me of my dad. Especially his struggles in life and with drinking. Dad was one of the fallen angels. I love watching this film because it helps me to understand and feel close to him. He was a real characters who was often hard to be with. I love him dearly.

Dad is holding a cigarette and mom is across from him.



Time of Coyote

Driving towards home the dark night held all the romance that a woman could ask for. Falling in love after 30 was not a goal. Looking out of the passenger seat coyote was eyeballing my lover. He looked back at the wild thing that was part of a mythology deep in this hill’s subconscious. Hadn’t he been on top of coyote hill and tasted the nectar of adventure? Once on top years earlier coyote turned to look as coyote defined his territory.  A wild thing knowing all those living there. A sacred path that went on for generations.  

Posts about Coyote

https://hudleyflipside.com/2014/02/17/coyote-hill/

https://hudleyflipside.com/2014/09/17/coyote-green-stone-story/

https://hudleyflipside.com/2014/03/19/yellow-behind-the-ears/

https://hudleyflipside.com/2017/11/23/autumn-magic-poem-7-all-wild-things-that-know-us/