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!



BAUBO PORTAGONIST

She hangs on our bedroom wall

I see her often taunting me to call

An ancient arcane figure deep within my being

I hear her speaking

Often repeating

Her laughter to Demeter

Fragrant womb of all!

I feel a need to share these three Flopside Comics today. It has been awhile since I have. The female collective psyche is taking a blow right now. This is my way of walking us all through it. A friend once asked me,

“But is it, Art?”

That is not the point. Instead it is creative expression by someone who likes to express her throat chakra often for healing purposes.

As this gal here is good at doing. BAUBO PORTAGONIST got Demeter to laugh after losing her lovely child Persephone.



lampoonery
Inquisition

Rides Libido

Ophiuchus

Chiron is a comet, planetoid, or asteroid which is the ruling planet of the zodiac sign Ophiuchus. It is found orbiting between Saturn and Uranus, but its orbit is quite erratic nature.

Asclepius Trained by Chiron

Rod of Asclepius, staff of Asclepius

The Serpent – entwined Rod (One)

Ophiuchus (November 30 – December 18th) 13hth constellation. Even today, the staff of Asclepius – the symbol of the world health organization pays tribute to the constellation Ophiuchus the Serpent Bearer.

In Mythology:

Ophiuchus was associated with Asclepius, the son of the God Apollo. He became a great healer – in part because of an encounter with a snake one day, he saw one snake and resurrected another laying some herbs on it. Zeus names him the serpent bearer.

Chiron:

As she (Koronis (coronis)) was being consumed on her funeral pyre, he (Apollon) snatched her baby (Asklepios, Asclepius) from the fire and took him to the Kentaros. Kheiron (Centaur Chiron) who was raised by him, taught him medicine, and hunting.

Sweet note: Some mistake the Caduceus two snakes and wings above with the one snake on the Rod. It is different. The Caduceus is associated with Mercury and Hermes Trismegistus.

Lyrics

There’s great danger (danger)
For the loneliest ranger in town
No silver bullets (bullets)
Tonto’s split the scene

Next week will solve your problems
But now, fish fingers all in a line
The milk bottles stand empty
Stay glued to your TV set (TV)

There’s great danger (danger)
At hand most caped crusader of all
No cloak of justice (justice)
Robin’s quit the scene

Next week will solve your problems
But now, fish fingers all in a line
The milk bottles stand empty
Stay glued to your TV set (TV)

Stay glued to your TV set
(TV) Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
(TV) Stay glued to your TV set
(TV) Oh, why, don’t ya, don’t ya, don’t ya?
(TV) Stay glued to your TV set (TV)
(TV) Stay glued to your TV set
(TV) Oh, why, don’t ya, don’t ya, don’t ya?
(TV) Stay glued to that and your TV set (TV)

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.

Like ground up coffee grounds

Today I was looking at all the bullies in my life.

On Facebook I noticed a friend put up a thought. When she was young, she thought she was ugly. Now much older she realizes how lovely she really was. I am glad she found this out about herself.

I hang fabric up to cover half of my windows. I do this to enjoy the shadow and light on the fabric. When the window is open the fabric moves and I often see the texture and fun pattern within the fabric. As one lives a long life one can begin to see shadows, light, texture, and the pattern of one’s life. This is a wonderful ability I have acquired in my life. My insight is reflection the ability to see my life as a pattern with texture and light and shadows.

Elementary school there were two major bullies. Both I followed through what we called Jr. High and then High School. Lisa and Lori were the worst of the worst. They were pretty, popular, and mean to all those who were not part of their click, I always let their image of me influence my self-worth.

Now I know that it was not about me but about them. I do not believe them anymore.

Also, when I had my white mustang Sony, I found instead of everyone enjoying my bliss and best friend. Jealousy took hold and nasty gossip formed. The boy next door started the lies, and this gossip ran its course throughout Jr. High and High School. I cannot even imagine how pungently immoral the gossip was. The collective shadow of peers is a grandiose thing to have to deal with.


Now as a crone an older woman I can look back with a type of disconnection. I like myself now more than I ever have. These new positive feeling shine out and my libido is renewed with hope and creativity. Those old ways burn down and fly away into the underworld of no more.

Like ground up coffee grounds. Fragrant, recyclable and transformed. Soul soil for new possibilities.

Bob and Zachery, Grease lightning and the Green Sweater.

The Green Sweater

Living on the east coast in Rochester New York as a Home Health Aide was challenging work. I went into strange homes with new family customs that I had to learn and respect. I experienced diversity and listened to the stories of mostly older patients.

The family owned a Chinese restaurant. During the afternoon while the family was working, I took care of the matriarch. A mother who had a stroke. I did all I could to make her life as comfortable as I was trained to do. I collaborated with the nurses and physical therapist that visited once a week.

This lady was a rock on what she wanted. She would often hit me. I would let her know that was not appropriate. We would battle it out sometimes. Yet overall, I knew she liked me. I enjoyed her company too.

Her sons brought me a meal from their restaurant for lunch every day. I love Chinese food, so it was an incredibly special treat. Sweet and Sour Pork, lots of greens and noodles.

I was not use to the freezing weather and snow. Living on the west coast my whole life I found driving on black ice especially scary while driving to the home of this family who lived out in the country.

As the patient got better, she no longer needed my service. The day I left this strong woman gave me a gift. She would not take no for an answer and gave me a lovely Asian green sweater with lovely buttons. They were round and covered with a type of enamel with little designs.

I loved it and so when I traveled back home to California it was one of my prized possessions.

I ended up in Santa Cruz California. One night while I went out with my man, I had one too many Grease lightnings. The bartenders at the Poet and Patriate Pub were supplying us with many a pint. Bob and Zachery combined Amestein Lager with Guinness. We coined it “Grease lightning” because once served you had to power it down.

A big biker dude came up to my man and asked,

“Hey John why do you two power down your brews?”

John just smiled and then we walked over to play some darts.

On one of our many adventures playing darts with the local community of poets and patriots, or a few pirates, I got suckered into a conversation with an incredibly sad lady. She was cold on St Paddy’s Day and was not wearing green. I was wearing my green sweater, with green shirt and green shoes. I had plenty of green on. So, I said she could wear it a little while to warm up. The night went on and as I left to the lady’s room when I came back, she was gone and so was my lovely green sweater. I even told her my green sweater story story.

As we left that night to walk home, I heard one last song playing from the pub. One of my favorite Irish tunes. So, I danced the jig in the parking lot next to the pub. Then out of nowhere I swear a large Leprechaun danced awhile with me. We laughed and danced.

Around 1991 John and I sure did have some good nights at that local Pub in Santa Cruz. Wherever the green sweater is I hope whom ever has it is enjoying it’s beauty and warmth.

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/