Mr. Fuck watching the film Love Story. “that Ali MacGraw babe would make one great Go Go Dancer.”
When the film Love Story came out in 1970, I was around twelve years old. As a tom boy everything in the film repelled me.
My nemesis and best friend Lynn looked just like that annoying woman Ali MacGraw,
“Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” PLEASE??!!
The guys followed Lynn around like puppy dogs and the time we use to have, playing football and baseball on the golf course hole near her home, ended. All the guys who I use to play with started talking about the film. The naked scenes especially. Just like the pages form the first Godfather book.
Everyone was reading the page where Sonny screwed some lady before his wedding. I felt just like Betty White, when the character Rose form the Golden Girls said, that sex;
“Was some colossal joke.”
I had it down. Life was about running as fast as you could, sliding down hills on cardboard, and having dirt fights with massive weeds. It was about hating school, and all of your teachers, and only enjoying kickball.
My prime objective of,
“Never stop running as fast you can,” imploded when puberty hit. I blame the whole darn thing on the film Love Story.
This is a poem I created on a triangular form for a fellow student in a poetry class at Los Angeles Valley College. Abraham was a wise mature student taking a course with a bunch of young adults, and his presence added a unique dynamic to our discussions. With a twinkle in his eye, he often teased us playfully, bringing laughter to the classroom, while his occasional use of Yiddish added a rich cultural layer to our learning experience. His arms bore the marks of history, as he displayed Holocaust tattoos that were faded yet powerful, telltale signs of a life filled with both suffering and resilience. He was a survivor, embodying the strength of those who had endured unimaginable hardships. Abraham once graciously invited the class to his modest yet warm apartment in Van Nuys, where we shared not just lessons in poetry, but also stories of our lives, dreams, and aspirations, creating bonds that went beyond the classroom walls.
Every wall was covered with bookshelves filled with a variety of books. I found a book by William Blake there that day from one of the dusty shelves! I made this to remember Abraham, a simple man of extraordinary insight and purpose! I still have this and it is now sitting on my hearth.
Triangular Poem By Holly D. Cornell
“Future…A a ABRAHAM invited a bunch a kids to his apartment to… dayyyy… aroom fulla books and paintings SATURATION… And the helicopter flew overhead, transforming into A a ANGEL.”
“Abraham’s books in his apartment are filled with magic. I picked one up it told me what I was thinking. What is a mystic, yesterday and today, about life and death, and a soul that lives on… Masters hold on to the books they’ve created I know this to be true.
I had a lesson from “Blake” today, he said “inspired seers and prophets-where the imagination is most alive.” He said, “To keep the Divine Vision in times of trouble.” Is this who you are Abraham? Is this what you do?”
“Your homes like mine- a block from the river- A cottage filled-with many… Books and paintings and images and things most precious to you near the sound of the racing cars. I’m embarrassed to share mine. Linked, yes linked, I know we are linked someplace, where helicopters fly overhead… I have Neptune in mine like yours, I have a mother and a child in mine like yours, I have imagination and the future like yours, and the link that binds is love.”
Singed by Abraham Pesah Lenkawicki 3-11-1998
Yiddish – PLAY BALALAIKAs. A young lad is thinking, thinking all night Would it be wrong, he asks, or maybe right, Should he declare his love, dare he choose, And would she accept, or will she refuse? Chorus: Tumbala, tumbala, tumbalalaika, Tumbala, tumbala, tumbalalaika tumbalalaika, play Balalaika, tumbalalaika – let us be merry. Maiden, maiden tell me again What can grow, grow without rain, What can burn for many years, What can long and cry without tears? Silly young lad, why ask again? It’s a stone that can grow, grow without rain, It’s love that can burn for many long years, the heart that can yearn and cry without tears.
This consciousness simply happens–as moments of synchronicity happen, as symbol happen…We know from both Plato and Jung thit its health is its psychological integrity and that eros is the integration factor which binds, holds together, and conjoins opposites”
Pg. 87 The Myth of Analysis by James Hillman.
Sober and alert we went to the art event. The bases of two friends that have lingered if only indirectly over time, have come together. Alice Bag and Matt Coagula and a community of their fans and friends
I found out that it was an obligation not an inspiration. My heart and mind had a reflective discussion while driving on the 101 north towards home. I realize the pain and discontent I felt were mine alone.
“Mom how you doing back there?”
The crew consisted of oldest and youngest son in the front seats. One was driving. I was in the back of the car. Sons and I had bellies full of Chinese food from Foo Chow Restaurant, because they did not have the snail like nature to stand around and feel and observe like their mother. This I get from Dad.
“Are you finished time to go don’t you think?”
“I think I need to hang and observe the crowd and check out a few of the faces!”
“Mom, these people seem fake to me.”
“It is the art scene and socializing…it is never easy.”
I realize I cannot blame my kids because at their age I know an event like this…lets see, something would have been destroyed. Breaking wine bottles against the concrete walls the “guilty we” would have run into the night. That was a different crew at a different time. These angers of a past youthful generation have not passed on to my kids.
“Look there is Alice dressed in pink swaying to the lady singing!”
With close friends around her I did not want to go up to say hello because the picture was the perfect symbol for this event. Alice as a beautiful expression or mandala. Earlier Matt gave us a quick handshake with art talk smile.
Oldest son offered to drive me to the art event and China town’s twilight delighted their eyes into a realm of Dragon Ball Z.
I was disoriented by flashbacks of a punk rock fog.
As we mature finding a community to create with and grow with is important. Sharing who we are, as in art or music, at any particular time and place is essential to a worthy life.
This is what I feel Kelly, Alice and Matt have achieved this evening.
The view from the window is always changing with bees, bumblebees, birds, and squirrels. Praying mantis, cats, and the mail carrier gaze in at me as I type away. A lunatic bag man is walking by screaming with the nihilistic dogs barking. I am almost hidden from the world. My cave has purple flowers and green vines which create an arbor from a tree before the opening of its mystery. My dream room must have a big window.
My tabletop is large and roomy. Papers, bills, cats, and coffee have room to stretch. Watercolor, Sharpie black pen, and manifesto all shine with exuberance. Moments of intensity or laughter. Everything accessible is here for my creative impulse. My dream room will have a big roomy table.
My often-wordy crystal will be on my table. Surrounded by technologies that are as foreign to me as my own involuntary body is. It works as an oracle, teacher, and advisor. A continuous flow of thought waves that align into a device that is a friend who masks my handicaps. A world that reflects back to me of an unknown voice that seems to be known as mine. The computer screen is my blank canvas, my place of improvisation, expression, and bliss.
Yes, a computer will sit on my roomy table in my dream room with a view!!
I count my blessings because I have my dream room right now!! I am in the process of learning HTML, making this experience ever more remarkable. I like it!
I think Mick Jagger would have done a great impression of Alex from A Clockwork Orange…
You walk into your home to find a couple you don’t know sitting in your living room, eating a slice of cake. Tell us what happens next…
I listened to and knew the song that was playing in the room. There before me were two men, one of the men reminded me of Timothy Leary. Between them on a small wooden table was a cake. It was a large white cake with colorful candies on top that slowly changed into a round bowl filled with many-colored candies, no wait… pills… red, blue, yellow, and black.
I had walked into a psychedelics party. Then one of the men said,
“Hello there Holly, I see you are coming back to us, honey!”
“Yes” said Timothy. “It seems you were lost somewhere other than here in this room.”
The two men still seemed strange to me. I told them I did not want any more of the pill candy. They looked at each other.
“You have had enough sister!”
“We opened up some crazy stuff from yon unconscious and wrote it all down for you in this funny looking red book you brought us, sweetie!”
“You did, why?”
“Ah look at that? Maybe a cup of tea will bring you back to us!!”
The little red book was half the size of a paperback book that you see at most libraries. I put it to my nose, and it smelled like earth, rain and I could not put a name to the other smell. I opened the book, and it was filled with images, words, and poems. One of the images was of a floating woman. Her hands were raised up and she was doing cartwheels through space. I then became that woman. I was flying over the eye of a tornado and said to myself,
“It is so peaceful up here. I know it is not the same down there.”
Someone grabbed my hand. I was sipping on some warm tea. I grasped the teacup in my hands. I drank it all down. The sugar on the bottom was delicious, good.
The two men smiled at me, while one said,
“Holly, it is all ok. Everything is just fine!!”
“Hello there… it is good seeing you two again!”
If you don’t know the song, If you can’t put the words to the tune, Tell the rhyme from the reason, What should it matter To the fool or the dreamer?
A Cold Wind in August (1961) is a low-budget independent film directed by Alexander Singer and adapted from the eponymous novel by Burton Wohl. The film stars a Lola Albright as a mentally unbalanced burlesque show stripper in her thirties who becomes involved in a torrid romance with a 17-year-old boy played by Scott Marlowe
Netflix and their unknown B movies always are the best. B movies seem more realistic to me and down to earth. This is a delightful little story about a short romance.
A young man Vito is just finding his sexuality and an older woman Iris is slowly losing the charm of a once very provocative and talented life. She is learning to make the usual compromises when her air-conditioning goes out.
The father superintendent is too exhausted to go to the room where the beautiful woman is, so he sends his son.
Papa Perugino is a wise man. He wears his insight on his face at the beginning of the film, and it turns out to be true. I think this film incorporates romance and intimacy very well. It leaves a lot to the imagination, but the passions show on the faces of the actors. It is very believable.
The characters in the film are earthy and the environment in the city is symbolically hot, and the drinks are extremely refreshing. The ending of this film is predictable but understandable. All and all this film takes you away to a nice little romance that flares up and cools down.
“Old stucco house with wood floors and Mexican Marilyn Monroe next door: Issue 48-57.”
In Whittier California and at the time we lived in and old stucco house between two apartment buildings. The one on the left I knew no one and the one on the right is where she lived. It was the late 1980s.
“She was a couple of pounds over an hourglass figure and about six kids followed her around town. Just like a mother duck and her ducklings; one right after the other.“
The story goes that each child had a different father and the truck engines in front of our house revving their engines at 2 AM, night after night, told us her story. She was sexy. She oozed it.
I was jealous of her because she had those kids of hers. At twenty something I was craving a kid. I was not as lucky as she. The wild days of my punk youth were not a good place for kids, but I still was craving a babe in my arms. I often spied on her from my living room widow as she spent time with her kids.
It seemed to me then that she was not very nice or smart. She yelled at her kids, but they were always dressed nicely and well fed. Once I heard her say to one of her kids,
“This time I will break your arm and not take you to the hospital.”
For a few years one of her youngest boys would bring me a little cake with a candle to blow out on my birthdays. I never knew how he knew. Hearing a soft knock at the door there he stood. Standing alone and holding up the cake just for me.
“We listened to her as I am sure she listened to us during those times of frustration and loneliness.“
We sat on the porch and ate the cake together. I imagined how proud I was of him. How he was my son. He was so smart, sweet, and intelligent. How did such a loud sexy mama as Mexican Marilyn Monroe have such an amazing son?
“I realize now she must have had a lot to do with her son coming over and with him bringing me the cake. What she did indirectly was one of the most comforting moments during my overwhelming wild years. She shared her son with me. I thank her now and wish her well!”
People, oh geez. The pressure to do things with people is way too scary and stressful for me. PTA, gigs and the supermarket. I prefer to do things without people in the privacy of my world. I just saw the film A Fantastic Fear Of Everything. I knew the character of the film, me. Well maybe not as extreme, but mightily close. Also last weekend I went to a local art walk. I was embarrassed for the artists showing their art. I told my son,
“I could never do that. Sit around all day while other people judge my art. I would rather die!!”
“Mom it could be fun sitting around in the shade and relaxing. Don’t take it so personally!!”
I think the internet is the most remarkable place for little creeps like myself. I can project, ramble and spell correctly. I can control it all. Stranger or friend out there BEWARE!!
Music is about good character, loyalty, good friendship and integrity. Rock & Roll is more than goo goo eyes and stupid sluts with wet panties. Rock & Roll is a revolution of words and style. Yes, this is a high standard…so be it!!
While growing up my home had a lot of musical diversity around the house. The German Telefunken radio was usually playing what my mom or dad liked; Jazz or local radio channels. There was not a large section of radio channels back from the 1950s through to the 1970s. This made is easy to hear your favorite songs. Just like TV, everyone was listening to the same channels and that had a community sense of continuity to it.
I have written this before…my first 45 record was Love Me tender by Elvis. I played the 45 on my little portable hand-held record player. Oh boy, It was rather large compared to hand-held devices of today and a lot cooler too. One of the older siblings had a 8 track cassette player in his car. I remember hearing the Beatles’Rubber Soul in his Hot Rod Ford Falcon. By eight years old ! I knew all the songs off the album by heart. Then there were vinyl LP’s; Donovan,The Seeds and I think Cream might have been around in home somewhere?
Teen Idols and the world of music !?
Teen idols were someone to mock and make faces at. I still feel even stronger about this today!! For me it was the music that moved me. The lyrics and the tunes that got me going. Even Elvis Presley and the Beatles only got the ‘crush-thing-going’ pale in comparison. It is their character that got me. How they dressed and how they spoke. I always focused on who they were as a person then the usual sex object to be swooned over. Even with all my experiences with music and rock stars or anti-rockstarism over the years, I have kept this solid in my perspective as,
Love the music, love the character, try to be a good friend, dig the whole thing together!! Dance to it too…or roll around on the ground and throw up!!
Later on when deep in the bowels of the musical beast I made a promise to myself. If those overwhelming feelings of ‘Idol-love’ consumed me I would blow. I made a vow never to go out on a date or fall in love with a band member; even if only indirectly and from afar!! The idea of “Idol,” “Icon,” or “rock star,” repels me. It was not easy…but it can be done !!
Now imagine driving (before-drivers license) in you older brother’s Ford Falcon, when he is not around, and pushing on the gas pedal down to this song…. my first sense of musical power. Here comes Big Bruiser…the hill that helps you fly over the San Fernando Valley. Ha HA Ha !!
Cosmos and Psyche by Richard Tarnas is an amazing book about human consciousness. He takes us on a journey of the humanities and the mind, and patterns of being. Richard Tarnas is a cultural historian and professor of philosophy and depth psychology.
The title of his book defines the contents of the chapters. Our relationship with the cosmos is a fascinating subject to me.
As a Romantic, I recommend this as a must-read book, and a book to have available on your favorite bookshelf. It is a delightfully wordy, intense, and insightful book that incorporates history, culture, and spirituality. I have, so far, grasped the thesis of Richards’s book as:
We must awaken to and overcome the great hidden anthropocentric projection that has virtually defined the modern mind: the pervasive projection of soullessness onto the cosmos by the modern self’s own will to power.
(page 41 paragraph two)
Understanding Richard’s message is important. In today’s world of discord and moments of hopelessness, we can connect with our inner world, outer world, and the cosmos in a new and creative manner.
In his book we find some old friends, the foresight of Blake, Jung and Goethe resonate in his book as affirmations of a new and hopeful world.
Synchronicity is like breathing…as above so below. The current way I learn.
“Do not lose heart: We were born for these times. One of the most important steps you can take to help calm the storm is to not allow yourself to be taken in a flurry of overwrought emotion or despair there by accidentally contributing to the swale and the swirl. Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.”
I was born to a generational friend, A community of rebellious characters that I use to hang with more, but now mostly just observe. Once in a while I pop the fine wine and join them.
Yet, have I put in my time? I observe how they age and what they are doing. Our dark side of the performer archetype projects outward and still shakes and rock & rolls the global community.
I think we bleed to find out who we are and if what we have done changed anything.
Did our words, music and actions make a difference? Our experiences, feelings and knowing has been marginalized through the media and the superficial looks of fashion.
I believe it is “not [our] task [to fix] the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.”
“Chiron teaches us the philosophical perspective, and perspective that our wildness , which may put us outside the status quo, may be our wisdom.
~Time Lyons
What is the dark archetype in psychology?
Jung suggested that the shadow can appear in dreams or visions and may take a variety of forms. It might appear as a snake, a monster, a demon, a dragon, or some other dark, wild, or exotic figure. This archetype is often described as the darker side of the psyche, representing wildness, chaos, and the unknown.
The angle of the sun is changing. Spring is here. This morning the sun is shining through a crystal hanging outside. A ray of light flew through our French windows. Today I took a self-photo and captured this rainbow from outside on to me inside my home. I caught it shining on my forehead or brow.
I am expressing a part of me from the inside out also.
How I see the world.
I love capturing the essence of flowers by painting watercolors, or I like to capture nature by writing poems. It is the beauty I see all around me that takes me to my knees, so to speak. Everything we do starts on the inside and works its way out.
I am sure there are multi-billion dollar businesses to kill the dandelion. ~ Mr. Leprechaun.
“I noticed that there are dandelions growing in everyone’s garden after the rain.
I am sure there are multi-billion-dollar businesses to kill the dandelion.”
~ Mr. Leprechaun
I have wild places in my garden where I let the dandelions grow freely. The birds like them, and the bees and hummingbirds love them. Yellow green sturdy little wild things they are. I love them too. This is an ode to them.
While almost asleep and with the window open to feel the breeze during my nap time, I heard a little story in the wind …
“Did you know that if you let the dandelion grow in your garden and on your lawn, it is the perfect place for a little leprechaun to rest; in case they cannot find a mushroom that is?”
“Oh,” I said.
“If you walk by and see one drinking, it may very well be dandelion beer. They will ask to share some with you. Their pints are about as big as they are. It would be about a cup full for a human being.”
“I see.” I yawned.
So, the story I heard is this and it became strangely intimate.
“If you are kind enough to take a sip of me earthy brew, a couple of valuable gold coins will show up on your front door dear.”
“Really I whispered?”
“Yes, and as you pick up the gold, whisper to the wind how the beer tasted to you!”
“I see.”
Mr. Leprechaun continued on,
“I want the truth lassie. No lies. Then I will give you two more gold coins.”
I spoke,
“I hear you.”
“Share this story… if you will, Because I need them dandelions to make me brews!!”
Two quotes by a famous director and an actor go something like this,
“Actors are like cattle … the hierarchy of prison life is similar to the movie business.”
Should the academy have its people, actors, directors, etc., dress up in character when they attend an award night? Since it is so close to Mardi Gras, they might have them dress up for the big ball that it is?
A month of preparation is good money for hair salons and plastic surgeons. Bodies are painted with the most intimate fashions on the planet; that the actors give back the next day. Why not go casual and comfortable instead, with a cold beer in their hand?
It is superficial, pretentious, and stupid that they do not! Who are these beautiful people who act for us? We know who they fuck, who they divorce and when they get boob jobs. Tabloids make fun of them too. I do not have a clue who they are, not a clue and I am not looking for one either. They are simply cattle doing their business.
Films, the theater, writing scripts all has a magic for sure…story telling is as old as the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert. Now that would be a hell of a fashion statement for next year’s Academy Awards.
I love the the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert because they listen to the praying mantis and have wonderful stories to share with us!! They are beautiful people, real human beings!!
Going to make a Liverwurst sandwich with Roma tomatoes on French bread with mayonnaise and mustard; a couple drips of grape seed oil and vinegar. Salt and pepper and baby I will chase that steamy Pluto away.
I saw her come out after the boys, from that steamy deep place, all I could do was shake my head…knowing that she was a friend. I saw the steam come up and her t-shirt was damp. How many guys from the band came out of there? Who knows…?
Dreams…those dreams can be washed away with a film, food and a cup of Coffee . My libido is somewhere down there. Up here I don’t want to exercise or talk romance… maybe a few hours in the garden will chase steamy Pluto away.
The saxophone and the xylophone move baby move me into the cool zone…
“There are but two roads that lead to an important goal and to the doing of wonderful things: strength and perseverance. Strength is the lot of but a few privileged men; but austere perseverance, harsh and continuous, may be employed by the smallest of us and rarely fails of its purpose, for its silent power grows irresistibly greater with time.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: First Part
Since reading his biography years ago, Nikola Tesla means more to me than the alternating currents that his insight, intuition, and imagination brought to humanity. He had a strange kind of ambition that was not based on personal gain or money.
He felt the true need to help humanity. I see him as a glimpse into our human future, if it is not too late, where humanity can work tighter together with nature creating with his kind of passion; To create incredible things based on insight, intuition, and imagination.
Tesla’s mother was also a creative person like her son; his father was a Serbian orthodox priest. He grew up in the village of Smiljan, Austrian Empire.
He grew up close to nature where clear streams and a nearby mountain broke out with electrical storms, both teaching Nikola about the flow of nature. The manifestation of all that is; is part of us, nature, and the cosmos. Nikola memorized Goethe’s Faust forward and backwards. He used quotes from Faust as a form of meditation to block out the sometimes-overwhelming sensitivity he had to the noises of life.
“Everything transitory is but an image.”
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: First Part
With all that Tesla had to offer humanity he fell short of his dreams due to the lack of understanding in the times when he was born. Racing forward to create via the means of power and money was not Tesla’s dream.
He died a lonely man if not for a pigeon. The point being is he did what he did for love. He worked by and for it. He broke both legs. Symbolically he did this for us and the earth.
Tesla’s strange and mysterious life is based on integrity. If I have learned anything from this great man, I have learned this, and I base my life on it; everything I do is based on love, integrity and not power or money.
To create something based on love is like giving birth to a child. It is insight, intuition and imagination manifested and it is intrinsically physical too.
Having this as a basis for life one cannot walk the ambitious path only trying to get somewhere for fame or fortune. Instead, one might be asking why and for what? It is not what Tesla has left us more valuable as the why and for what?
Does he not answer that for us? The importance of living life and what may be in the way?
This is a riddle that Nikola has helped me solve! It may not be profitable, glorious, or popular, but walking the motif of love based on insight, intuition, and imagination…makes the breaking of legs all worthwhile in the difficulties of life.
A flower in my hand picture taken by my mother… RIP.
