Tag Archives: the written word

One drop of rain

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SEVEN YEARS ON WORDPRESS !!


I have Chiron square Mercury in my 7th house…

At the The VIVA May 21, Photo by Daisy Obetsanov


th (18)idn’t speak much when I was young. Was not interested in writing either. Only a few poems. I played with my friends, but I found it more and more difficult to communicate at school. I felt restricted, invisible or persecuted by my own peers. I was wild and not awake to the pounding of an education that seemed incredulous to me. I now realize I had foresight, creativity and a natural spiritualism that could not find contact. Nature was receptive! My mom and dad tried with lots of watercolors and paper.  A giant black board was painted in my room. Endless chalk drawings were created and erased, drawn and erased. The old player piano in the boys’ room is where I spent hours playing any song I wanted that I learned by heart only.


Vesta 001


Did I not express myself in school because of fear? Was it the constant fighting and alcoholism in my household which pushed my mind down into myself? Was it dyslexic, autism or a painful shyness that was the bewildering issue within me? We the children were not diagnosed back then.

Having foresight was a curse when no one listened!  I did not have the proper device , neither did I have the wise ability to  reach out  towards others. I did not have a voice!

Now at 60 I realize my heart & mind are mature and keen enough to reach my inward growing child. That is my reasoning currently to create a hub like The Seminary Of Praying Mantis.  To share my voice and reach a global community! I believe this is the truth. Finding one’s voice and sticking to it is wonderful. The last seven years WordPress has helped to make this happen for me.


holy-baubo


I am celebrating 7 years with WordPress. My HUB in a global community.

While spending a few hours observing nature this afternoon. I know that the many voices were loud and some subtle. The chirp-chirp birds, to the black crows on tall cypress trees. Above me high in the sky are the circling hawks and the commercial jets. Sounds of life. One drop of rain touched me. I am one drop of rain too.

I invite you to support The Seminary of Praying Mantis and celebrate with me. I have words to read, items for sale and images to make you laugh. I have grown as a writer, author and artist.  It is amazing that so many tools are available where one can publish ones’ works! It can be achieved very cheaply and sometimes even for free as with Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. I have taken the core of my punk philosophy, wild nature, foresight and freedom to communicate with the world. I found a place to express myself. It is colorfully rewarding….

My Punkalullaby: The Seminary Of Praying Mantis (Punk Fanzine Memoir Book 1) http://a.co/2ZeXdAU


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My Punkalullaby Promotion Letter To Universities

My Punkalullaby tells a genuine account regarding the exploding punk culture during the late 1970s and throughout the 1980s. This is a story about the essence of a young woman living the life of a radical punk rocker.  Most importantly it outlines the evolution of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. Flipside gave a voice to the punks when no one else would. Flipside supported and documented all the players. The fans, bands, promoters and artists all respected Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.

Let me introduce myself. I co published and edited Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine from 1979 to 1989. Flipside Fanzine documented the Los Angeles underground music scene and the punk rock scene for 20 years. This was locally in Los Angeles and internationally. When I owned the publication, from 1979 to 1989, we published an issue every two months. We also sold Flipside Fanzine Vinyl Records and Live Flipside Video Tapes of current bands at the time.

I am introducing My Punkalullaby: The Seminary of Praying Mantis (Punk Fanzine Memoir Book 1) Kindle Edition. I am asking that you consider including My Punkalullaby in your reading list for your students as an insightful historic memoir addition to your curriculum.

~ Hudley Flipside


I want to recommend this product at Amazon.com

My Punkalullaby: The Seminary Of Praying Mantis (Punk Fanzine Memoir Book 1)by Amazon Digital Services LLC

Learn more: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07LGQQ8RZ/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_lLpqCbJ807FAD


Information and how you can communication with Hudley Flipside…

My WordPress Site

The Seminary of Praying Mantis     

hudleyflipside.com

 Email Address

hudleyflipside@gmail.com

My Public Image

https://hudleyflipside.com/my-public-image/

Trust Interview with Hudley Flipside

https://hudleyflipside.com/trust-fanzine-interview-with-hudley/


we were in love and wild about it..

Massage as a profession or occupation

At about 8 o’clock PM.

The unpredictable Crazy days are far behind me and the routines of life have set in. Family and cats bring the little rituals of life which brings symmetry into the chaos of living such as; racing through traffic and surviving, watching current politics and not having a heart attack, and realizing that we all die. It is comforting to know that we live in a recycling universe, or so it seems. The point being within the light and darkness of life are the routines of everyday living that does bring joy.

Last night was a normal trash night. The difference in the routine is when husband said that there are two cars parked in our unmarked-marked trash can places. The usual sounds of annoyance on his part made me think about visiting with our new neighbors and asking them to move one of the cars so we might have a place for our trash cans.

The green sweat coat with 1976 on it pulled over my shoulders and I was off. I found myself in front of the neighbor’s house. Placing a knock knock and then pushing a ring ring upon their door and door button. Something expanded when I heard the ring ring.

It was a different kind of ring ring. It being a tasteful and alluring sound. The front door was half window and I could see in as one of my neighbors looked back at me. I mumbled something about the trash cans. The neighbor’s eyes widened open. Dressed in a light blue robe, looking confused my neighbor opened the door slightly. Having a face that was angular like something out of a Pablo Picasso paining such as Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907 during his cubism period; caught me off guard.

The new neighbors had radically changed the format and structure of the house since the last owner. As the door opened there was only a white hallway that met about half way through the house. Directly on the wall before me was a giant painting of what looked like a  Toulouse-Lautrec, Jane Avril Dancing painting. Yet this painting was one woman with her leg up and a giant red dress like a blooming flower. Once there were two rooms here one leading right and one left. One into a game room and the other into the kitchen. Not anymore. Straight ahead was a veil into another reality.

Our conversation was quick. I told the neighbor our problem. Nicely I was told that each of them had a  masseuse come out for a special treat message and that the cars were theirs. I was also told that both of them were almost finished.

Like clockwork each masseuse left in their two separate cars. I put out my two trash cans under the crescent moon of a very dark night. Feeling nicely surreal and wondering about our new neighbors?

 

scorn and unbelievable

Ritual is good. Songs bring in the seasons. In this dark time ‘song ritual’ help to ease the scorn and unbelievable with something sane and consistent.  The skins of my large white beans are shedding away as they boil in the pot. There are times when I feel like these large white beans.

Today during my heart focused breathing I was surprised to feel a pin point of joy dance upon my heart. Faces of love smiled before me and I was grateful. I cried for those released from this Earth, this planet.

What a mystery it all is. I talked to my oldest son. He said he was listening to a tape about the The Ten Hermetic Keys of Hermes Trismegistus.

The mental origin of the world and of man. 2 Corresponding harmonics. 3 Dynamics of alternation. 4 Bi-polarity and complementarity. 5 Cyclic repolarisation. 6 Cause and effect. 7 Gender. 8 The astrology of the Ogdoad. 9 The magic of the Ennead. 10 The alchemy of the Decad.

This caught me off guard. So I looked it up. I showed him my watercolor that contains this in a kind of alchemical way.


Watercolor Rendering by Hudley  (Azoth-1613-Basilius-Valentinus-Beatus-Georg-rebis)

I have this image hanging on the wall in the living room to remind me everyday. To show me that in this mystery of life, in all of this chaos and discord of life and death … light and darkness, there is a ritual that is beholding to us all.


Summer Poem number 2



I used to see anarchy & 
chaos much differently. 
Today I see it as something 
I will not agree to. 
Yet the will of an individual 
can be applied for the benefits 
of all or for only oneself. 
To harm others without caring. 

I used to think 
it was to bring all others 
to the table 
and to change 
and make new ways 
of seeing the 
world creativity 
and imaginatively. 
An individual can 
uniquely inspire a generation, 
or a few people, 
to be good human beings. 

Or the opposite 
can happen when an ego causes 
dark chaos & 
we are witnessing this now.  
It is a time to consider this all,
....
as very important parts of who we all are!? 
So much for August… it does this to me.

Small books…

 

As a long time do it yourself and or self-publisher it is always about the process of doing things myself. It is not always perfect. I learn as I go. I am much better at taking criticism now than I was when I was in my twenties. My worst critique is my own mind. My goal as a self-publisher is to forget about thinking that some other publisher is going to do it for me. Make it easier for me. I sometimes lull into that trap. My goal is to be able to continue to do it my way. I would like to eventually print up, made from recyclable material,  small books. Hand-held books. Some hand-held hard cover books some not. I love small books. They are interesting to me.

“A chapbook is a type of popular literature printed in early modern Europe. Produced cheaply, chapbooks were commonly small, paper-covered booklets, usually printed on a single sheet folded into books of 8, 12, 16 and 24 pages. They were often illustrated with crude woodcuts, which sometimes bore no relation to the text. When illustrations were included in chapbooks, they were considered popular prints.

“The tradition of chapbooks arose in the 16th century, as soon as printed books became affordable, and rose to its height during the 17th and 18th centuries. Many different kinds of ephemera and popular or folk literature were published as chapbooks, such as almanacs, children’s literature, folk tales, ballads, nursery rhymes, pamphlets, poetry, and political and religious tracts. The term “chapbook” for this type of literature was coined in the 19th century. The corresponding French and German terms are bibliothèque bleue (blue book) and Volksbuch, respectively. In Spain they were known as pliegos de cordel.[1][2][3]The term “chapbook” is also in use for present-day publications, commonly short, inexpensive booklets.[4]”


 

 

Summer Poem # 1



My oasis
And cave.

Not reaching out
But reaching within.

Agathos daimon holds my heart
Humidity holds me back.

“Coninuctio” “in mercurio”
Planting seeds
Which do not ripen.

Outside my oasis
Seeds dry in the heat.

Inside the cave
I listen to Mercurius speak.

“The desires of the mind
Will take you nowhere.”


No more daily prompts…spiritual and musical discernment.

I will miss the daily prompts on WordPress. When I created my blog almost 7 years ago it was so exciting to post and read other posts. I do less and less of the daily prompts, but I always go back to do them. Now I find it is all over with. Kind of like a club that goes out of business, or a group of friends that stop seeing each other. Nothing stays the same.

Takes me back to when I was going to university at Los Angeles Mount Saint Mary’s college. I attended 2004 to 2007. I enjoyed all the courses I took. I put 200 percent of my time into learning. I left because the curriculum started to sway a bit off its ecumenical track. There was a kind of pressure stating to form about preferences over whether one was a catholic or not.

I became very strong in my interreligious perspective. I love studying history, culture, myths, and humanity. I was getting very close to finishing the Master’s program. One course forced me to make a moral decision to leave the program.

I was in a very interesting course on spiritual discernment.  The course was taught by a Sister / Nun who was rather old and taught the course more like a high school course than a master’s course. I liked her, and she seemed filled with integrity until our confrontation about child abuse. Currently, it was in all the news. The Los Angeles Sex Abuse cases. It was very troubling for me to behold. My 6-year-old and 15-year-old sons where very near and dear to me. We were not attending any catholic church at the time, but I was still angry.

The Sister said to the class that all of this “child abuse ” will make the Church more authentic.  I stood up and said,

“…but Sister one child is too many, how can this be?”

Sister looked at me and said,

“That is, your opinion!”

I was overwhelmed. I finished the course with an in-depth paper on the Mandala! I got an A on my paper. Yet I continued to rub the head of the department the wrong way. I was heart-broken. I left. I paid off my student loan in a couple of years.

In 2007 I read this in the news, ” Catholic Church Settles Los Angeles Sex Abuse Cases for $660 Million.” Shocked but I  knew then that what I was feeling was my own spiritual discernment.  Mine was right on. I wanted to move towards becoming a chaplain. I wanted to work with helping others regardless of their age, sex, faith etc. Yet, there is one thing that is unacceptable. I am glad I left the program.

The end of the semester I left the university and went to my first music event in a long time. I attended the Wiltern Theater to see Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. My hair was to my butt and red. I was on a new path again. I never went back to the Wiltern, but I did revisit lots of bands and shows since then. It was a freeing time of spiritual and musical discernment. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club help[ed me through a rough time of heavy discernment!

Two old couches…

Life is about change. Old things die away, new things break into the world. I just wanted to hold on to this memory of two family couches that we got as hand me downs from Marge and Fred. Thank you, we love you and you are both still in our memories.

Neighbors’ blooms under California rain 2018

It was about 11 years ago when Marge passed away, it was on the day of the Mardi Gras. Her things ended up being sold and given away. We were given one of her many couches. A rustic beige couch with embroidery running all over it and white lines moving over it. I sat on it a few times at her home in Tarzana California. She lived in the hills next to Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Gazebo where the character Tarzan was created. There was a time when the hills of the San Fernando Valley were once sparsely populated. One might reflect upon nature and come up with all kind of stories to tell.

The couch was originally bought for a trailer. Marge was then married to Fred Ahern. He was an American filmmaker and worked with Alfred Hitchcock and Quinn Martin.  Fred and Marge originally purchased two couches for a trailer in the desert. Bullhead city Arizona. Marge did not like living there so they moved it back to the home in the Tarzana hills. They were both my husband’s grandparents. Marge was his maternal grandmother. She married Fred after my husband was born. He remembers when they purchased the two couches.

Fred was a good man and always treated my husband as his own grandson. Today we are letting go of the hand me down couches. The couches supported our two sons and us for about 11 years. Fun years. Colorful years with a room full of young boys, gamers, and sleepovers. The couch has been a good best friend. I say couch but there are two. A long couch and a love seat couch.

When we first put the couches in our home they smelled dusty. Now they are covered with hippy colored blankets, my mom’s knit and crocheted blankets and a hand full of cats, books, and laptops. Right now, youngest son is asleep upon the love seat. I think he is feeling a need to be close to it now. It will be gone soon.  He does not usually sleep on it like this.

Today is the day we will put the couches outside for bulky item pick up. I never meet Fred but somehow, he has been close to us the last few years by way of a couch he purchased. I think my husband feels a closeness to the couches. It is not until this morning that I realized this. The sadness and grief of loss is always a sober wake-up call… yes always. Two couches are a connection to my husband’s past. It holds memories and moments before I entered his world.

We purchased two new couches last week. Today is delivery day.  Marge and Fred’s couches are going away forever. The couches will be rained upon today.

We named our first son partly after Fred. When the hospital nurse handed me a document to sign for his birth certificate, I surprised my husband by sneaking in the Fred in Johnfred. I was completely in a ‘after giving birth’ trance I guess. I am glad I did it!

Football kitty is not letting go of her couch as a little Bodhisattva might naturally do!?

I am the Siddhartha



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederick_Ahern

Vesta Image

I have enrolled a new image for The Seminary of Praying Mantis. She is Vesta.

“In her role as sister. Vesta represents the principle of focus and commitment. She functions as autonomous self-identity transforming creative energies into purifying and integrating personal circuitry.” ~ Demetra George & Douglas Bloch