My Three Solids until the day I die.

Hudley Flipside | Punk Rock Colleague • Historian • Archivist

All about a song and beyond !

Waiting in my garden

Beginning original post ! July 2022

What makes me the happiest is enjoying the continuity of songs that inspire my animus, helping in the process of my individuation.

To be who I am in this mysterious world. Conflicts and war, religiosity, and a woman’s right to choose moving through the air like bombs of emotionalism.

Poor anti-leaders who abuse their power in our world. War… Many things that make my voice in a world ridiculously small. Yet I keep speaking up and writing. As a mother… I have done well enormously proud of my decision to give birth, to create.

I am responsibility and caring. That is me and I am grateful to all the individuals who have nurtured me over the years.

Love is worth speaking about…. also, the love of a song, the ones who sing and create… that is my wonder to cherish as I am also my mother’s wild child.

Cheers

1: Stephen Stills (online source)

2: Ed Kuepper

https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/licensed-image?q=tbn:ANd9GcRE0qGzY0zV3ZUeCjNPIXmwc1V1C-CqGqRGuNT65VYzrFYz-1bF7GHTN_n2LsdAB6v1iVf3-gKP6PUuzOE

Tomorrow November 5 2025.

My ode to The Saints.

In my active imagination comes a whisper in my ear declaring,

“I guess we meet where genius hides.”

I think of my three solids. One I will see tomorrow.

It shatters any genre of my three solids. The alchemy is in me. Yet tomorrow I just don’t know how my mind will embrace the sounds of his guitar, of Ed’s frequency live?

Will I implode and turn to ash. When Ivorplays his drums, will the vibrations go-go down my spine and shatter what’s left of this fragmenting crone vertebra?

Their vinyl has sustained me these many many years… but we all know that is simply different from the wild variable of a live ambiance’s charm!

Oh, unbearable is this waiting to see The Saints live!

What a turn on! The whole current line- up!

3: Colin “Jock” Blyth image from Flipside Fanzine.

Stephen Stills

“For What It’s Worth,” “Bluebird” and “Rock & Roll Woman” are three of my favorites moving songs performed by Buffalo Springfield’

Ed Kuepper

“Nights in Venice,” “Demolition Girl “and “Church of Indifference” are just fucking profound songs.

Jock Blyth

Playing his hardcore punk sounds “Freak,” “Pins and Needles” and “Stormchaser”

Songs that sample their sound… I love them through and through. Thanks!

* Stephen Stills born Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex, the fourth-largest metropolitan area; Buffalo Springfield 1966–1968.

* Ed Kuepper: Edmund Kuepper was born on 20 December 1955 in Bremen, then part of West Germany. His family migrated to Australia in the 1960s and settled in Brisbane. The Saints 1976-1979.

* Colin “Jock” Blyth: GBH were early pioneers of British street punk, often nicknamed “UK82”, along with Discharge, Broken Bones, The Exploited, and The Varukers (Charged) GBH: 1978–present.

As I awoke from my existential childhood there are three guitarists who have had a profound wake-up call on my soul, body, and mind. From generations the 60s through to the present. Making me happy because these three guys are still moving around the planet and continue to play their songs.

Though I never had the privilege of meeting Stephen Stills, or Ed Kuepper I have met Jock Blyth.

I am friends with Ed on Facebook and Instagram and maybe my annoyance as a fan has zapped him now and then. Because my only addiction in life is the band The Saints.

I don’t ride my generations as a cult but as scenes mingling amongst sounds and friends. In real time, life and on the internet. The 1960s, 1970s and beyond had the most influence on my life as the DNA that makes up my soul.

As a senior citizen, I am pretty well saturated. Open and way past the need to wake up now. It is the sound of these three that calm me, set me free and make me feel bitchin’.

I was overwhelmed and happy watching Billy Porter perform “For What It’s Worth” with Stephen Stills at the 2020 Democratic National Convention. Or seeing Buffalo Springfield on an old episode of Mannix from the 1960s.

Or being moved deep down when listening to Ed perform The Aints’s song “You’ll Always Walk Alone” on YouTube.

Or reading Jock write about how he enjoys Tripel beer, a style of brew with roots in the Belgian Trappist tradition on Facebook as GBH tour Northwestern Europe.

Now all within the comfort of my cave.

Flipside Video Number Four Brit Boys Attacked By Brats

I stand with Milo, just a singer in a rock & roll punk band!

Punk Rock Historian and Consultant

~Hudley Flipside

I am wearing my shirt today to support The Descendents as a punk band.

[Restaurant]

“Welcome to Der Weinerschnitzel

May I take your order please?”

[Milo]

Yeah, I want:

Two large cokes, two large fries

Chili-cheese dog, large Dr. Pepper

Super deluxe with cheese and tomato

[Restaurant]

You want Bill sperm with that?

A cross section or motif of the underbelly of an overall group or groups of people who seem to behold Donald Trump as a great leader.

To see them wake up and testify against him was amazing to witness. One guy a family-oriented person a responsible citizen and one a creative artist. Both pulled into this absurdity is very disturbing to my sensibilities.

Capital Rioter Stephen Ayers and Jason Van Tatenhove

They describe stepping back and then observing what it really is they were supporting and promoting. Their followers denying the holocaust or another noting that all the lawful cases of Donald’s were thrown out of our courts. The BIG LIE is here to be torn down … we now see the man behind the curtain.

“Who was the man behind the curtain in the Wizard of Oz?

One of the iconic characters in the film is the Wizard himself, the Man Behind the Curtain. “Dorothy was in need of a champion, someone who had the power to help her get to her home. Toto pulls back the curtain revealing the Wizard to be a fraud, all smoke and mirrors and no real power.”

The Descendents T-Shirt on Jason Van Tatenhove.

Milo Aukerman was on a cover of Flipside Fanzine #37. We thought they were so crazy good when they first hit the punk scene. Der Weinerschnitzel defined a “amber moment” in punk rock history. I never forget the first time I played it hot off the press.

We all did grow old and now we must address this issue now. I am wearing my shirt today to support The Descendents as a punk band that is not associated with the ideocracy of these stupid assholes and deplorable and lost persons who supported or were at the United States Capitol attack. They are our human doppelganger staring us right in the face.

What will it be like when i get old

Will I still hop on my bike

And ride around town

Will I still want to be someone

And not just sit around

I don’t want to be like the other adults

Cause they’ve already died

Cool and condescending, fossilized

Will I be rich will i be poor

Will i still sleep on the floor

In July 2016, Aukerman announced he would be leaving his scientific career to pursue the Descendents full-time, citing burnout with biochemistry and getting laid off from DuPont.

http://www.spin.com/2016/07/descendents-milo-aukerman-interview-words-of-wisdom/

DEBUNK THE PUNK

Conspiracy Punker Theory.

Are Shawn Kerri and Mad Marc Rude the same person?

Punk Rock Historian & Colleague and Professional Consultant.

~ Hudley Flipside

I may be whacked and out of this world but existing through the punk scene some things bugged the hell out of me. This is one story that needs some clarity.

Shawn Kerri is an American cartoonist who was dynamic through the 1970s & 1980s. She is known for her art as one of the rare female contributors to Cartoons Magazine and as part of the early Southern California punk rock scene, creating iconic images used by the Germs and the Circle Jerks.

Kerri moved to Los Angeles in 1977 and was involved during the punk rock scene in the late 1970s and early 1980s. In 1978, she published a fanzine called Rude Situation, with Mad Marc Rude, who was then her boyfriend.

‘During this period, she drew numerous promotional flyers and tour posters for her friends, which included members of the Germs and the Circle Jerks. One of her best-known images, “Skank Kid””

A little punk history, a cross over. I still believe that Mad Marc Rude and Shawn Kerrie are the same person. I thought this and no one has made me think otherwise.

When Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine came out with our Comic Relief Issue # 33 both Mad Marc Rude and Shawn Kerri premiered in this issue.

I have been studying both of their signatures. Both are different yet there is a similarity, though I must admit a very subtle one. As is their art.

Mad Marc always uses the © image in his signatures. Shawn does not very often.

Mad Marc Rude © Date.

Shawn Kerri

Then while looking for an image of Eddie Egan who just passed away for his memorial, I stumbled upon a punk cat image which seems to engage with the possibility again. The subtle difference is how each artist signs their artwork. Most often we did not see many © being thrown around. Yet in this one it is there and looks like a Mad Marc Rude merged with a Shawn Kerri and the surprise is at the ending of the signature.

It looks like Carrie © 85.

The “A” looks like a Mad Marc Rude “A.” It has the format of his signatures. Yet it looks like her signature in how the rest is formed except for two things.

A “C” is added to the beginning and an “E” is added at the end.

The cartoon is humorous filled with punk savvy and has the Mad Marc Rude / Shawn Kerri style. During the early punk scene most all of our communications / correspondence was done through the mail. So many artists, friends, bands and beyond I never met in person. This is the case with Mad Marc Rude and Shawn Kerri. As a punk historian I may not find a conclusion to this narrative. Someone please help me debunk this with solid evidence.

Expose the falseness or futility of this. DEBUNK THE PUNK!

The Gift of Magic

No one can really possess a symbolic object since the prime function of symbolism is not accumulation and retention, but communication by way of exchange.

~ de Riencourt, Amaury. Woman and Power in History .

~ Honeyglen Publishing Limited. Kindle Edition.

A reading and understanding from both of Carl Jung’s Red and Black Books…

A journey after reading a random pick from Jung’s Black Books. During these disturbing times I often seek council with these living books of wonder.

While reaching from Jung’s Red Book a note fell to the ground and it said,

“The Gift of Magic.”

I was following through with Jung’s commentary after reading his Black Book. I was amazed by the depth of the commentary which is about Magic.

I am surprised by the beauty of these living books. I started to read all the commentary pertaining to this random subject in his Red Book. It is a story which answered many things for me while also somehow including my life. Reading the references and commentary is the best.

Jung Black Books: Random pick of paragraph from [v.4]

S. Are you sending me away?

I. I’m sending you away. You must not be far from me. But give to me out of your fullness, not your longing.

I cannot satisfy your poverty just as you cannot still my longing. If your harvest is rich, send me some fruit from your garden. If you suffer from abundance, I will drink from the brimming horn of your joy.

I know that will be a balm for me. I can satisfy myself only at the table of the satisfied, not the meager crumbs of those who yearn and desire. I will not steal my payment.

– Pg. 253 [v.4] (126/127).

126. The subject of this sentence was replaced by “We fetched.” (ibid)

127. For Jung’s commentary on this entry, see LN {Red Book},

pg. 439-40.

Red Book.

“Well, all you will do is laugh anyway. So why should I tell you anything? It would be if everything were buried with me. It can always be rediscovered later. It will never be lost to humanity since magic is reborn with each and every one of us.”

– Pg. 313

“You know, the wisdom of things to come; there fore you are old, oh so very ancient, and just as you tower above me in years, so you tower above the present in futurity and the length of your past is immeasurable. You are legendary and unreachable. You were and will be, returning periodically.

Your wisdom is invisible, your truth is unknowable, entirely untrue in any given age and yet true in all eternity, but you pour out living waters from which the flowers of your garden bloom, a starry water, a dew of the night.

– 148/149 pg. 316

“What do you need. You need men for the sake of small things, since everything greater and the greatest thing is in you. Christ spoiled men, since he taught them that they can be saved only by one, named him, the Son of God, and ever since men have been demanding the greater things from others, especially their salvation; and if a sheep gets lost somewhere, it accuses the shepherd. You are a man, and you prove that men are not sheep, since you look after the greatest in yourself and hence fructifying water-flows into you garden from inexhaustibly jugs.”

Anima and animus

I am always mindful of this equation within myself. Since often the anima and animus are interchangeable within a man or woman. Jung is a man and I am a woman… this activity of randomness is part of my animus work. This is how I collaborate with the male within me… and by the merging of opposites, as the male in me with the female that I am.

I will continue to study this yet this is enough for now.

In search of Cat food

“But, suddenly, I viddied that thinking was for the gloopy ones and that the oomny ones use like inspiration and what Bog sends; for now it was lovely music that came to my aid. There was a window open with a stereo on, and I viddied right at once what to do…”

~ Alex: A Clockwork Orange, Book Anthony Burgess; Film Stanley Kubrick

You know how picky kitties are. So, I have been unlucky. Maybe a small box here and there. Cleaning up kitty barf is often a strong biological rebellion that lets me know something is wrong with the food. Bravely I am stepping out of my cave to places I have avoided … Smart & Final off Milton is one such place.

And though I noticed they no longer play songs over their PA… Today I had a strange experience! Yes, a strange note or two of weird synchronicities. Usually happening at times when one is drifting, like me! It is throwing an anchor down time, similar to editing, anchoring a graphic image on Adobe Premiere Pro. Animation, motion, and a focus in.

And then it came like the big bright bird of pure crystal roundabout meaning. Moments of a song burst loudly over Smart & Final’s PA. A moment that brings my ears, heart, and lips a humming.

“Let the stormy clouds chase.

Everyone from the place

Come on with the rain

I’ve a smile on my face!”

Yes, that song from the film A Clockwork Orange anchored me from drifting. Aligning me with my opus again.

Then silence, only the clatters of the supermarket’s mundane sounds of customers shopping.

Singing In the Rain was the one song that changed my life years ago … how is this possible to hear it for only a moment today as I randomly searched for Friskies Seafood Sensations Adult Cat Dry Food, with Vitamins?

Then at 19 and now at 64… “for now it was lovely music that came to my aid.”

A wake-up call.

Praying Mantis Opus.

Just call me HUD…

Once at a pub a guy came up and said,

“What do I call you HUD, Hudley Flipside or Holly?”

I told him, “… just call me what you want…. ‘Hey you’ will do.”

From Hudley Flipside to Literary Legend: 45 Years of Making Words Dance!

Being a behind the scenes punk was fun. It was a lot of hard work and was often boring. Such as picking up the mail every day, typing endless words written by punkers whose writing was hard to read. When no one else would do the work, I did it.

For all the good punks celebrations going on around here. I want to join in and say a little something about the Hudley Flipside name. My last name was Hudson. Someone called me HUD… maybe X-8… and it caught on. Or maybe it was someone from a band before Flipside Fanzine… who knows?

The point being it became my name as a publisher and co-owner of an underground punk Fanzine. I am kind of put upon to say that I did not think the “punk rock community” would be so uplifting and supportive of itself. There were times in the 90s when I ran away from it and hated it. Not the case now.

I’ve learned to appreciate it and try to flow with the best of it. I am part of the punk community whether I like it or not. Anyway, as I am an old dame now, I want to join in with one of the best pictures taken of me as a youngster by Al Flipside. He took a lot of them too. We had thousands of pictures and negatives all around the place. Pictures of cats, bands and beyond.

https://www.amazon.com/author/hudleyflipside

Old post…..

Today I was watching as the wind blew a whirlwind on top of a pool of water. It moved around as a tornado or Golden Ratio. A soft movement as it was. I authored this poem at the end of a Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine CATALOG that I put together. I was most likely 20 or 21, maybe younger or older. A 1980s me. I wonder where I was back then? So goes my journey of Intellectual Property and gathering Flipside merchandise together. It was nice to see it all again. So, here is a place if anyone wants to know some original source of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. I will continue to look for more of it from the 1980s.

Who Cares?

Somewhere in a realm

of something true and light,

Is a purple flower!

And all who pass it

Can never find it,

Because somewhere

Between the loud

Music at shows,

And the morning after shows,

The purple flower

(Which is always shining)

Is lost in us.

This is tearing us apart.

From what all of us could be,

Friends trying to

Understand each other.

Among all the dragons and desires

And lies

are the purple flowers.

Listing to people’s minds

and seeing their desires

Float through their

Personal orbits.

These mystical blooms

Are trying to reach.

Some and help some.

Usually, I find myself.

Painfully talking to

illusions of people

Who are disconnected?

From the reality

Of the purple roses and

Of friendship and of

Life.

The silent ear

Has died, no!?

The loud music is now

Replacing it,

Trying to scream it,

the truth,

but falling away

From the truth.

Is revenge or hate or gossip the trip

You take

or is the silent

Purple flower in your grasp!

… Hudley (1980)

radiance of words

I found this little altarpiece at my local bookstore. St. Francis fell out at one time and his head came off … but I glued it back on. I keep this on my hearth.

And though I am not Catholic I do love the mythology, history and narrative of his life and the Poor Clares.

Star Flower

Walking around the block a mile this evening, I thought upon wars happening on our Mother earth!

How despondent and sad I become.

At the same time a memory comes forward of a time in the early 1990s on Long Island New York.

I was visiting with the Poor Clares and the Franciscan Brothers. I corresponded with Sister Philomena for years. She told me once,

“It is best you join the world again. Meet someone, settle down, get married and have children.”

And so, I did.

As I was walking, I looked and saw a star blossom upon the ground I said to myself,

“Star I see you within this flower.”

I thought instantly of the Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon by St. Francis of Assisi.

Once years ago, I awoke to an invitation one morning to join in the reading of this with the Brothers and Sisters.

How lovely it felt to be there and feel such radiance of words.

The point of my memory and experience tells me this.

That we live in a contrary world of both beauty and heartache.

It is up to us to balance within ourselves these contraries the best we can.

I often fail!

“Praised be You

my Lord through our Sister,

Mother Earth

who sustains and governs us,

producing varied fruits with

colored flowers and herbs.

Praise be You my

Lord through

those who grant pardon for

love of You and

bear sickness and trial.”

Sweet Maid

“Most people were in bands, if not they did magazines, records, owned stores did artwork etc… it was a scene that begged to be contributed to, and ripe with contributors… X-8 and Tory were in Low Budget, who made their Hollywood debut playing over the Dils at the Whisky, Larry Lashwas in a weird Quick sort of band, Pooch was in a progressive (!) band, and I was their friend, couldn’t play anything, but still wanted to be involved.”

Al Flipside

Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Issue #1 August 2, 1977.

Cover of my electric punk guitar.

I am not a musician. Sure, as a kid I played my parents old player piano. I could hear a song and I then played it on that old lovely musical hardwood black upright piano. My mom got me an acoustic guitar when I turned 16. Along with it was a record to learn chords. I did not follow it through.

I appreciate the lyrics and the sound. I have a knack for listening to the song in a way that is so satisfying to me and as my life went on, I found others like myself. Journalists, fanzine writers and ‘scenesters’ who supported a growing musical world. I will leave the real musicians and their creative genius to themselves. I sure love to hear and feel their songs though.

My dream last night took me to a multilevel club. It had a front door and back door; it had a bar and an outdoor patio. It was very easy to access. I had booked a one-day event to perform. I had my old guitar with me at all times. A guitar a band member gave me, and we had cut out the “Quaker Maid” milk symbol from a large ‘sheet metal sign’ to place on the front of my guitar.

Why I pulled that old guitar I had from the 80s into my dream seems strange to me. I also had my old fender amp.

There was a small stage in the bar where I practiced. Realizing I did not have a clue what I was doing. Yet when I touched my sweet maid, it made a loud punk sound. I thought this to myself while dreaming,

“I am going to go on stage here and play for my friends. Not having a clue what I am doing, I will just improvise … like I always do,”

The first person who greeted me at the door was Shawn Stern. He was drinking a beer and seemed very happy. Then as I walked through the club. The club was peppered with many characters, and I thought to myself,

“I will play a chord from my sweet maid and then read something from an editorial from an old issue of Flipside. Maybe this can be a spoken word event with improvised guitar sounds?”

Hudley, Glen E. Friedman, Shawn Stern, Lee Ving. Taken from Let Them Know 2008; The Story of Youth Brigade and BYO Records. /Stern Brothers.

Outside on the patio I sat with a couple of gals who were talking about another show. I was cool with that and then walked in Cliff Roman.

“The guys at that show were wearing TUXEDOS.”

He had a upside down smile on his face when I smiled at him as I was holding my sweet maid. Cliff was wearing all black with a big oomphy black sweater.

I realized I was at a club without my mask on. It felt so good to be out and about again. No fear and happy to be hanging out at a club again with others.

Then I awoke. I don’t go out to events much now. It seems like I still do in my dreams all the time. This punk rock thing is deep in my psyche!

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

Mythos of Punk Rock

John Crawford Revolutionary Fetus Cartoon

1980.
Drawn directly on my leather. X-8 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 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 is a time that still haunts me. As in every generation of my life. All are unique times. Vastly changing and different generations.

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 received copyright for my book. I am celebrating three years of mission complete as my book moves into the world. A rebellious history about a young woman who help document a punk rock scene.

It is comforting to know that several of the bands I love 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 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 had to make a stop in Hollywood to transfer buses. The hollow feeling as we waited for the bus 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 down the street walked slowly toward the bus stop where 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 got over his obnoxious, talkative, and controlling personality and moved on.”

~ MY PUNKALULLABY, HUDLEY FLIPSIDE

Click on image below to take you to where My Punkalullaby is sold.

A dame dumps on a long-time friendship.

JOHNNY O’CLOCK

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.

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.

open to mama’s influence…

Esoteric knowledge is affecting a vast part of our modern culture. Having known this through foresight for years I realize that within our unconsciousness is magic, brightness and truth, directly opposed to a contrary reality, part of our often diabolically troubled world.

Synchronicity, the doppelganger, mystical numbers, and foresight are things I have talked about with my sons as they grew up. Reading Grimm’s fairy tales, watching scary films, other dimensions, and hope, are qualities I have magically graced upon them. They both are scientists and know their math and computers… yet they are still open to mama’s influence.

Recently my son had his best friend over to watch a film. Oldest son is converting his old room into an office for game streaming and my publishing company. Two sons and Sebastian watched Jordan Peele’s film US. (2019 film).

My son told me it was like having “my mama standing right next to me” talking about all the things you always talk about. I have not viewed the film, but I am intrigued because I recently released an image to Jordan’s new horror film coming out next year. Now that is a small, interesting synchronicity.

Also, son told me that the town of Santa Cruz CA is in the film US. He was born in Santa Cruz Ca in 1992.

I think he is part of my often-misunderstood delusional world of foresight. Where art imitates life or life imitates art. This is less about me and more about my son. I don’t really want to see a film that entertains what I experience in real life. Yet I feel bitchin’ that my son and Jordan Peele get it!

Indigenous Peoples Day

To our Lovely Santa Monica Mountains.

SACRAMENTO – Governor Gavin Newsom today issued a proclamation declaring October 14, 2024, as “Indigenous Peoples’ Day.” For the sixth year in a row, California proclaims today as Indigenous Peoples’ Day.

Here are a few posts which share in this day of celebration…

Excerpt From To Ride A Painted Pony Wild

Click on image to order Hudley’s Book.

“All life was fresh, new and exciting. Elton and Bernie were our insightful friends. Experiencing nature and reading stories about the life cycles of American Indians is who we were. Our horses were part of this mystery as well. Whom we were all together was important to us and our horses were everything. Bernie and Elton’s song Indian Sunset off their Madman Across the Water album was our warrior song.

Often, we rode barefoot. When cold we had our parents’ go shopping to buy us moccasins. We read about the history of the Medicine Wheel and experimented with our innocent religiosity.

The Medicine Wheel is based on the wisdom of the Native American belief. The four directions of nature are part of the medicine wheel circle representing the four seasons.

While riding we carried a compass to know which direction we traveled. Spring is the direction of the east which is also the time of brave eagle. Summer is the direction south which is time of trickster coyote. Autumn is the direction west. This is the time of retrospective bear in his cave or sometimes owl and the setting full moon. Winter is the direction north and is time of wise buffalo.

We were robust girls misfiled along a line of make believe. We used our imagination, developed our spirituality and because of our horses, we united these two qualities into an earthy reality.“

Lake Onondaga, Tree of Peace

My Medicine Wheel

Proclamation Indigenous Peoples Day

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/presidential-actions/2021/10/08/a-proclamation-indigenous-peoples-day-2021/

Innocuous Surreal-intrinsic

One of the three sister goddesses known as the three Graces who are the givers of charm and beauty in Greek mythology…. I call upon her now…. we need real beauty….,

I dance with Innocuous Surreal-intrinsic. Deluding its hand around my waste and my throat. The magical things of science the vaccines protect me now. I am grateful.

You may think the story I am about to tell you is a bizarre story, but it is real, we are living it… yes now… it is redundant.

I have foresight. It means I can see things. The Covid-19 and all variants are not what you may think. It lives and expands through our bodies. Spreading from human to human …

If you could see it like I can, I encourage you to change your mind about things. If you are playing it safe, you will understand that what you are doing is for the common good of all human beings.

From another realm the Covid-19 virus is like a vast spider’s web. It takes and expands. It goes around and around. Humans are just a source of temporary expanding blissful glory of this multidimensional expanding life force.

It hovers and attacks those who are unaware and stupid. It can read minds and goes after those who play this death game. Some humans are in on it. They think they have control, and they want other people to die. It is a form of mass hysteria of denial that the virus picks up on. It is not stupid. It wants to survive. Until the very end.

I can see it. My foresight tells me to tell people to beware, be careful… yet they play a lost game of denial, ignorance, and defiance. They tease it. This only makes it hungrier. The common good of humanity is not their concern.

I wait and watch from my cave. Deep grieving I feel. I see it all from my electrical fire. I see the variant spreading. A dancing organismic virus web going around and around… and every time I see it from a distance, it sees me very aware.

I give it the finger because mine is clean and washed, my mask is on and I social distance. That is the one thing this creepy multidimensional monster hates.

I hope you know what this vast nympho wants… close together people, human beings who sweat on each other, jumping up and down against each other. It is a nightmare, Surreal-intrinsic… and all I can do is watch from a distance. Innocuous in my cave around the electrical fire, for now… what a real sickness I see… and now It has me.

Wicked Men

Alexis Zorba: God has a very big heart but there is one sin he will not forgive. [slaps table] If a woman calls a man to her bed and he will not go.

I watched two films last night. The films are Wicked Woman and Zorba the Greek. In general, both are particularly excellent films. One is a 1950s Film Noir, and the other is a cultural film from the 1960s.

Each film captures a time in history. A snapshot of how things may have been. Characters in both films are believable, realistic while also having a diabolical and magical edge.

As a woman I captured a motif. It came forward and it uncomfortably struck up against my conscious feminine. Both films are from a winning male psychology.

The men can fuck up, screw up, cheat, lie and even kill. They get away with it and so have a happy conclusion. Almost unaware as they walk over all the women in their lives.

The women on the other hand always get the short end of the stick.

They get let down, lied to, abandoned, used, and killed.

In the film Wicked Woman Beverly Michaels as Billie Nash is an independent woman who is on the move to find a place to put her roots. Roots within a man and a place in the sun. Billie keeps playing One Night in Acapulco by Buddy Baker, on the jute box.

She is tall, smart, and has a graceful walk. Men are after her the whole time. The one time she focuses on a man, he takes her for a fool, and they plan a sinister plot that fails!

Richard Egan, as Matt Bannister gets off the cheating hook and Billie is extorted, seduced, and must split on a bus.

She must beat it.

She is the Wicked Woman that gets the blame. Billie is smart and helpful, yet the man traps are all around her.

As a bar server she is wise with her words as every man tried to get her. She even helps her victim drink all the alcohol she wants even though her husband says no.

This bar did not have mixed drinks, only shots and beer. I like Billie’s character and understand her.

As a woman I cannot tell you how many times I had to take the short end of the stick and leave on a train or bus for something I did not do.

Even if she is guilty so is Matt and his drunk ass wife. Even Matt’s alcoholic wife sides with her husband over her friendship with Billie.

I think the two dames in this narrative should have been wiser and just told Matt to go screw.

They could have sold the joint and headed for Mexico.

To lie in the sun a little bit, drink and have fun.

As Billie said,

“They like women with Blonde hair and light skin in Mexico.”

Anthony Quinn as Alexis Zorba is our male Zorba the Greek. The film is a cultural phenomenon. It is what it is in an absurd way with a very excellent soundtrack.

The hard-edge Greek patriarchy is saturated with tradition. A village that is self-sufficient with a thread of history and honor.

Every man in this film is an asshole except the town fool.

Zorba is a creative natural genius that has a compassion that is appropriate at times. He teaches Sirtaki to Basil, Alan Bates.

A wonderful Greek dance which shows how Zorba relieves his pain of living life while confronting death. Charming in a way.

Lola, Madame Hortense, and the Widow are parts of this film if only indirectly put among the friendship between Basil and Zorba.

It is correct when Zorba tells Basil that the whole town of men are jealous, and all want the widow. A lovely young thing.

Like all the men wanting Billie in the Film Wicked Woman. In this case the lovely young woman is trapped, stoned, and then has her throat cut.

Premeditated murder by a whole community of men and their old crone women. They are jealous of her youth and beauty.

Madame Hortense dies in this film thinking she is married to Zorba to cover up for his earthy affair with a younger woman named Lola.

Regardless of this unbelievable cruelty the men dance away their pain.

These two films are part of the winner male psychology, a complex construct that often shapes perceptions of masculinity and the roles men play in society. As a young girl growing up, I had this crap dumped down my sensitive unconscious psyche. This kind of male world reflects not only the ideals and aspirations embedded in these narratives but also the expectations placed upon men to conform to certain archetypes.

The portrayal of masculinity in these films can be both fascinating and troubling, as it presents an array of behaviors and philosophies that influence real-life interactions and relationships.

I am glad I am wise to it now. Understanding these dynamics allows me to critically engage with the content rather than accept it at face value. I can enjoy these films for their place in history, recognizing their artistic merits while also acknowledging the underlying messages that may perpetuate outdated notions of gender.

This awareness brings a richer perspective to the viewing experience, enabling a deeper exploration of the themes presented.

Yet, I want to affirm to these men that they are playing against the feminine rules. The rules of engagement in this world are not solely dictated by traditional masculine values but involve a more nuanced interplay between genders.

It’s essential for men to recognize that the feminine experience offers insights that can enrich their understanding of connection and empathy. Acknowledgment of this duality can lead to healthier relationships and a more equitable society, one where both masculine and feminine attributes are celebrated rather than suppressed.

Or ignored all together.

Man at bar: “How about having a drink with me?”

Billie: “I can’t it’s against the rules.”

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One drop of rain

YEARS ON WORDPRESS

Originally posted 2019

I have Chiron square Mercury in my 7th house…

“Please believe me
Oh well, please believe me
Please believe me
I swear
I
Swear”

I didn’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.

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 (66) 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 Publishing.

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 years on WordPress has helped to make this happen.

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 ravens 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 Publishing 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.

Masseuse.

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 bring 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 do 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 trashcan 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 trashcans.

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 trashcans. 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 painting 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 halfway 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. I was told that each of them had a massage therapist come out for a special treat massage and that the cars were theirs. I was also told that both 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?

I wish I could say that they turned out to be nice… the neighbors got worse and worse and now they have moved.

scorn and unbelievable

Watercolor Rendering by Hudley

(Azoth-1613-Basilius-Valentinus-Beatus-Georg-rebis)

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 pinpoint 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 Ten Hermetic Keys of Hermes Trismegistus.