He opened the door to the “theater of the absurd!”
Times when creative inspiration filled his veins with contradictions of contrition; terror and bliss, hate and love, mediocrity and profoundness! Today, he is outside the door wondering,
“… do I have the will to go through that door again ?”
A Flopside Comic meditation of the Absurd ???
Coming generations will learn equality from poverty, and love from woes.
~ Khalil Gibran
A bowing to my hidden psyche, and a bowing back to the child of the cosmos!
We will be OK!!
At the most troubling times strange things happen. I knew a flip was on the way. I felt it! The super moon affirms it. Yet, the continuity and mathematical perfection of the dance of the earth and the moon, do leave a way to contingency. Made hopeful, I was reminded of this today.
Times like these I turn to poets, philosophy, and depth psychology. A mental triangular thought of three words guided me. The last few weeks causality, teleology and synchronicity moved me.
I try to remember the powers of these principles as meaning something special in my life, and as I see the possibilities, as special happenings, in the lives of others.
Today while giving blood to the vampires at Kaiser, my eyes fell upon a father and his son. He had his, under a year, child spread out ready for a fast diaper change. I said,
“How lucky you are!”
He smiled and tickled the belly of his son.
The child was looking in the opposite direction. I spoke.
“Hello there.”
The child turned to me with a big smile. A hello that would make the whole world rejoice. No teeth and giggling with the power of the cosmos glowing in his being.
I was deeply touched by this.
“Oh, how lovely. You have made my day… thank you!”
As I walked away from the hospital, feeling the weight of the day press heavily on my shoulders, I knew that the principle of contingency zeroed in on me in a cosmic moment. The air felt charged with uncertainty, whispering in my ears all the possibilities that lay ahead, each one a fork in the road of my life, and I could almost sense the threads of fate weaving around me. Each step took me further from the sterile walls of the hospital, yet closer to an awakening within myself, a realization that life was defined not just by the moments we plan for, but by those unexpected twists that shape our very existence.
A little spark of truth…
and more punk history It was a day of closure and new beginnings. I leased one picture I took around thirty-seven years ago. It is now part of a film that is coming out soon. In the scheme of things, it is a small thing regarding this film.
It is a piece of the puzzle that screams loudly of integrity. I have been treated particularly good throughout the process. I got paid for it. (It is a pic of original line up of Black Flag after they broke up, but Keith is singing anyway at the Church) When American Hardcore came out I was overwhelmed by how the punk scene was presented. I did not like it. I saw my same picture in both the film and book. I even confronted the situation.
I said, “… that writers and journalists need to research their work and consider original source.” My words were ignored. Regretfully, I let it go. I am treated better by the film industry than my own punk community over this.
And that is a fact. Yet, I hold no grudges or bad feelings. I just walked around the problem and solved it my own way. The film “20th Century Women” will have an image folded in its creation that rings truth. From what I have viewed online, I am interested in this film because the film is set during 1979. (When my picture was taken)
Also, I am a woman of this generation. The film is based on a mother and her 15-year-old son. I have a 15-year-old son now. Interestingly, the film includes the early punk scene which is why the photograph is placed in the film. Nice synchronicity of goodness and better feelings! Everything happens for a reason. I’ve learned that integrity must be earned. It takes time and it is resilient! This image will only be viewed in the blink of an eye.
That is OK by me. I will be on the ending credits for a picture I took at a unique time & place in punk rock history, and it was originally published in Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. Something to inspire my boys!!!! There are many stories from the big punk rock….
This is just one of them via Flipside Fanzine and me, and from a long time ago little punk chick named “HUD” ~Hudley! A brave little girl you were, you were!
20th Century Women Link
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt4385888/
Upgrade of This Film
Someone, a few or many is / are looking through my work here steadfastly.
It is a little discerning to me. Yet as I notice old posts being read, I can edit them and brush off the dust.
This is one of my favorite adventures in my understanding of real power of female energy which is being called upon right now to help women in our current culture.
I call on her power as well to defeat the bastards and also now conservative bitches who oppress women in any way.
All Women, Their bodies their minds and their wills. All women need to be given back the right to their own bodies.
I call upon the Holy Baubo
her impressive mythology
her power will conquer.
bringing justice for all women.
“But you have the beauty and strength of love on your side. And if we can find a sense of humor, too, these are the weapons of the angels.”
~ A Summer Place.
Walking into the small misty temple, I at once noticed the stained glass window. I sat on the tree stump. The image was enhanced by a crescent shape design and by a few candles flashing colorful red, gold and purple flames. I took to memory the message. I knew it was true.
My search to find the great Baubo, the Holy Baubo, had failed again. Yet, her new message was presented to me in the reflective glass widow image.
She was to do it. At the beginning. She had to defeat those evil bastards…
Michael Conley 1959 to 2008, Band M.I.A.
Photo by Kurt Porter
2/28/2023
I just got back from walking around the block in the rain. I love night walks, especially when they allow me to reflect on moments that have shaped my life, and tonight, I found my thoughts drifting to Mike. He was one punk singer who made an indelible impression on my experiences and memories.
I remember a particular moment back in 2008, a time when I was deeply immersed in writing My Punkalullaby memoir. I was in the midst of recalling stories about Mike when I received an unexpected call from Nick, another member of the band MIA. His voice carried the weight of news that felt unfathomable—Mike had died.
The timing was staggering. Just as I was cherishing the memories of Mike and his music, Nick’s call brought forth a wave of overwhelming sadness. In that instant, it struck me how intertwined our lives were with the rhythms of music, friendship, and the passage of life. Looking back, I realize what a powerful and bittersweet moment that was, one that I feel compelled to share now.
The magic of music, friends, and life—and the inexplicable nature of what lies beyond—makes me ponder the connections we share with those who have passed. There’s something profoundly comforting in the belief that some of these punk friends who have died are watching over us, still somehow part of our lives and experiences. Perhaps they resonate in the chords of the songs we listen to and through the shared memories that linger in our hearts. It’s a beautiful thought that brings solace amidst the grief, a reminder that though they may be gone, their spirit and influence live on within us and in the music we cherish.
I remember Mike’s eldest daughter Alex Conley, explaining at his funeral, how her dad always had to play his music loud, be it in the house or in the car. She did not seem to get it, since they had headphones.
Today youngest son is acting like a know-it-all teenager. He knows all about art and rock & roll. A stick up his ass. Like an old fart art curator or rusty rock band member.
Me, I am just Mama Kin… I don’t know a thing.
I stopped to drop him off at his college art class. Before he got out, he turned down the music, changed the channel to Jazz, and closed the door. I then changed the channel back to rock & roll, turned up the music loud while spinning tires, and raced away.
Mike Conley came to mind. I was then really sitting with his ghost as this song came on.
It is cool man. Time for a cocktail. I enjoyed a ride with Mike Conley today.
Youngest son is my friend regardless… we both like rock & roll, art, and fast cars. He is a son, and I am a mom.
Mike was a good punk friend or maybe Punk Colleague on the wild side of my exuberant youthful life.
He is welcome to visit any time!
Prometheus Unbound, man is defined as “one harmonious soul of many a soul, whose nature is its own divine control.”
~ The Selected Poetry and Prose of Shelley edited, with introduction, by Carlos Baker.
http://www.ancient.eu/Prometheus/
“… Poetry strengthens the faculty which is the organ of the moral nature of man [imagination] in the same manner as exercise strengthens a limb.”
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
“The secret of morals,”
says the essayist,
“Is love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively…The great instrument of moral good is the imagination: and poetry administers to the effect [ moral good] by acting upon the cause [imagination].’ Poetry enlarges the circumstance of the imagination by replenishing it with thoughts of ever new delight, which have the power of attracting and assimilating to their own nature all other thought.”
~ Shelley
Promethean Fennel poem by Hudley
Even “more than asshole” people make some good points… global economy or USA economy… this is a complicated and tricky question. Agendas are secretive and sensitive, profitable to some, political, debatable, and this is a fucking sucky editorial.
Taxes vs corporations, taxes vs “WE the people”, cheep labor in other countries and empty streets, no work for US citizens.
It is not that bad, it is not that good… but politics suck because we have to remember to look into the real agendas behind the politics…
bad guys are good guys… and good guys are bad guys… confusion…
My mind challenges me all the time. It is an endless crematorium of my accomplishments or desires to create. I must say it is a blessing that something else, inside me, does not listen to these aimless shadow words. No matter how dark the shadow appears, I ascend to the light of the occasion to create. This time of year always seems to amplify the worst of the worst anyway. The longest day and the shortest night, seems ironically off.
Jupiter, Mars, Saturn and the full moon come along to celebrate tonight’s summer solstice this year. I have taken out a book, I have had a long time, and have started reading it again. Dimensions by Jacques Vallee. I post about him from time to time. He has whisked me away to so many other books. As a scientist he is also creative and intuitive. His perspective on tradition, folklore and UFOs always amazes me. With the many questions, alone, I have on these subjects, he alone, answers them; intense to say the least.
Proposition 1: The behavior of a superior race would not necessarily appear purposeful to a human observer. Scientists who brush aside UFO reports because “obviously intelligent visitors would not behave like that” simply have not given serious thought to the problem of nonhuman intelligence. Observation and deduction agree, in fact, that the organized action of a superior race must appear absurd to the inferior one…” Pg. 167.
I also like how he blends in the conversation of psychic and mystical with the UFO experience. Also that historically, this is a long going tradition that must not be ignored and viewed only scientifically. Knocks at the door when no one is there, lost time and space, and strange dreams are, in fact, nothing new. This all has been written about for a damn long time. Many traditions that go back for generations. As Jacques Vallee points out, “Ones that must not be forgotten or they die forever.”
So tonight, as I look into the night sky and see the wondrous lights there, I am thankful for this consistency and the mystery; within the darkness there is light!
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/aimless/
Punk Rock Colleague & Historian and Professional Consultant
Hudley Flipside
I have never been a record collector. I did have a little cheap tape recorder. I would record the music I liked, taken from a radio program, and play it over and over again. I duct-taped that little recorder on my bike and would play it while riding around the neighborhood, feeling the wind in my hair and the rhythm of the music pulsing through me. It was a simple joy, but it sparked a passion for music that I’ve carried with me ever since.
The Sex Pistols were my favorite. Their raw sound and rebellious attitude resonated deeply with me during my formative years. Everything I recorded was from KROQ when it was still free radio, a station known for its eclectic lineup that brought the freshest hits straight to my ears. It was current and on the cutting edge of what was happening in the music scene at that time, helping to cultivate my taste and broaden my horizons. Each song I captured on tape felt like a small adventure, a way to escape the ordinary and dive into a world filled with energy and intensity.
The music opened some doors for me, shaping not only my identity but also leading me to new friendships and experiences. I remember gathering with friends, sharing our favorite tracks, discussing the latest bands, and feeling a sense of connection through our love for music. Those moments were formative, and I cherish them. Yet, I can list the records I purchased myself from 1978 to 1989 and beyond, each one holding its own special place in my memory. If I could recount the stories of those albums, they would include the late-night trips to local record stores, the anticipation of listening to a new release for the first time, and the nostalgia of revisiting the sounds of my youth. Each record, though not an extensive collection, was a testament to my journey as a music lover, embodying the evolution of my tastes and the ever-changing landscape of the music world.
From 1979 to 1989 we at Flipside Fanzine received all our records free. Like many fanzines we performed a service to its readers and to the bands. (of course I will not list the endless supply of thrift store records that came and went for pennies…)
“Any review is a good review,” was my motto. Now I am comfortable with listening to YouTube freely. Any song I want is there for me. I can do what I have always done.
Don’t get me wrong, I spent a good 10 years addicted to the smell of fresh vinyl, but now I am amused by collectors and enjoy their company now and then. Before all this I listened to hand me down records via my siblings.
When I left Flipside I also left all the records, I did love, to the Flipside Record collective.
Records are a small slice of the pie for me and punk rock. Then, I preferred live shows, reading letters from punk fans and making friends.
Another two bits about the BIG PUNK ROCK… there are many stories from the BIG PUNK ROCK, this is just one story.
“She would be my teacher, helping me to learn to shatter the mirrors of self-importance and to laugh at the expectations or projections that others send my way. It was OK to be me once more.”
~ South Shield, Sacred Path Cards, Jamie Sams, 1990.
I finally caught up with my long time punk comrade. Another show to play for him. We smiled at each other. I just had an ice-cold shot of vodka. The cold filled my belly. Even in a sleeping dream I could feel it. I also felt the warmth of the alcohol in my blood. I turned my head to order another. One for him and one for myself. I looked back and he was gone. OH, that depressed feeling when I lose a friend.
So many scenes have come and gone in my life. They happened and are now gone. They are tight and inspirational and then become a memory. Over and over again this change happens. I have enjoyed the tight times of intensity. A community of friends doing things together with a similar passion. I have experienced that nothing lasts forever. A new scene always comes again. Especially, when I take a risk by stepping out of my comfort zone.
Coyote tells me, as the trickster he/she is, to balance “sacredness and irreverence.” I can hop on my ego and ride it like a balloon, letting it go up into the sky. I can pull it back down with my human string. I will pop the crazy yellow balloon and laugh like a child.
@@@
Bless them wild suicide squirrels they got a death wish. I see them dance the Distortion Dance of Death.
Spring is so sweet today. The air honeyed with nectar and the birds are singing. Life can be heavenly, but I never lose sight of the shadow. It is important to keep goodness and our shadows at check, or in balance. A clever way for our soul. You know the story of the brightest light casting the greatest shadow.
Today I am impressed to hear the music of the wild thyme herb growing. Blossoms are small and delicate. It casts a shadow too and hangs best under one dark shadow this morning.
But…
Have you seen the suicide squirrels? Crazy animals that run across the street. They have a big shadow going on in them as daredevils galore.
These crazy squirrels race across the street not looking where they are going. They zoom fast over the road right in front of cars.
I slow down in my car and honk and yell trying to save their life. Jerks in cars don’t care and run them right over. A real hit and run. I stay to watch the Distortion Dance of Death.
Them crazy suicide squirrels. I stay and take care of their final wishes. I always take time to bless ’em and put them in a bag after they die. It is always quick.
A song by Stan Kenton called Painted Rhythm reminds me of them wild beasts, them suicide squirrels. They just don’t listen to me.
I scream,
“Get off the street !!”
The suicide squirrels are damn independent, wild, and organized animals… but they have a strange shadow side. A death wish.
“…Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!
I find comment ’bout my looks irrelativity,
Think I’ll go and have some fun,
‘Cos it’s all for free.
I’m not searching for a reason to enjoy myself…,”
– Yardbirds
Had one of those dreams of being back at the scene of the 1980s. A club morphed into a Golden Voice show! The tight feelings were there of knowing all the bands and the characters and players! Jim Kaa of the Crowd was talking in my ear when brother Gus showed up. We are not talking these days, but in this dream, we approached each other for a forgiving hug when I turned into myself. How I look now.
I asked myself if I had the password to get into the show? I said it does not matter because I am in and not going anywhere!
Lots of guys from bands were roaming around! I was consciously aware enough to dig being back in the middle of things. Running around and being part of what was happening…like everyone else there! My scene, my friends, something to offer and cover! Al approached me; we then were at an adjoining Chinese restaurant. We were shooting the breeze! I was wondering where the bar was ’cause a cold beer sounded good to ease my social tension!
Al Flipside had a new computerized contraption that took pictures, recorded bands, and interviewed bands; ready for documenting the whole scene. All from a large black computer book!
He was on the cutting edge and creative as usual. As we were eating our noodles a band came on! Al said he had to go see about a band. I told him go ahead I will watch over your noodles until you get back!!
I awoke from the dream with a missing feeling of belonging once to a music scene that was overwhelming wild and unpredictable. I was spoiled then! My heart will always mourn those days of youthful rebellion!
Big Ma Ma golden green Mantis is my love for nature and she knows me!! On the tree in front of my office she comes to visit.
My favorite colors are green and purple.
Green is my favorite of these two colors. I have a green Fiat, tennis shoes and denim style jacket.
I have green eyes and love the green praying mantis. Golden green is a wonderful color because it usually announces Autumn.
Spring is lovely but I would rather be moving into cooler weather than warmer weather.
To the crystal green-eyed praying mantis with vision…. a song for you.
The Purple Cow
I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one,
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one!
by Gelett Burgess
Other poems of BURGESS (14)
I remember her old hands, and the way she had to slide down the stairs at my parent’s home. My mother kept a special dresser drawer of pictures and things from the past where a few of my grandmother’s poems rested. I wish I asked more questions and paid more attention to stories told about her. I do remember her gaze at me when I was around her as a child. I felt her need to be by me and to hold me. I feel that now too. I like that!!
Margarete Louise Hudson
She reminds me of a character from the 1945 film Mildred Pierce. NO she was not involved in a murder because she was much more inventive and practical and was married to the same man all her life. Her time was the 1930s and 1940s. My grandmother was an epicurean entrepreneur. A genius at what she did. All her wealth she moved into purchasing land in the San Fernando Valley. She owned a farm in the Santa Monica Mountains too. She invested in her four children’s’ future. Helping them all to reach for their dreams. By the time I came around most of her financial wealth and creative spark was gone due to the usual metamorphose of change, age and a new generation.
I awoke this morning thinking about my grandmother on my paternal side. She was quite the gal. She drove all the way out from Pittsburgh Pennsylvanian, with her family, and invested in the Santa Monica Pier. She had food-stands on or near the pier where she sold different items such as pineapple and cold water taffy. I heard a story once sharing that she got her hand caught in a taffy stretching machine.
She eventually owned and managed The Purple Cow a popular restaurant on the Santa Monica pier.
Taffy Machine
1942 Santa Monica Pier
Oft’ my WordPress shelf
on this green day before the spring equinox
I pull a picture down.
A rendering I captured of Dad
Glad I did…
His birthday was on the 2nd of December
his Death March 17th…
three years now gone?
Once a day of dancing and drinking
has taken a different tone.
Even through grief
…faded with time…
He is still on my mind today.
I imagine him dancing
with denizens on the Pleiades
happy and content.
Dad before death
“We can meet Cain, Judas and Lucifer by being aware of our own desires to be false and to betray, to kill our brother and to kill ourselves, that our kiss has death in it and that there is a piece of the soul that will live forever cast out from both human and heavenly company.”
~ Pg. 169 Praxis, James Hillman The Dream and the Underworld.
Lynn drove into the Wall-Mart parking lot.
She was driving a 1960 Pontiac convertible.
Sunglasses pulled back her dark hair.
A cigarette moved as she pulled it out of her mouth to talk.
Don Henley’s lyrics came to mind,
“But I can see you, your brown skin shining’ in the sun, you got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby,”
Lynn’s image passed.
In Wall-Mart,
the Radio
A dagger a song.
into my heart
by The Zombies.
She’s Not There,
Anymore.
“I am a product of Los Angeles Country,” says Mr. Fuck.
“Been around. I was left on the doorstep of a record store head-shop in the San Fernando Valley. I teethed on vinyl and breathed in herbs with my milk as a babe.”
“My best girl Lame Faced Doll says she loves the streets at night in the city of Los Angeles. She takes the metro, bus and walks miles into the high flying sun of mystery. She listens to the music where ever she finds it,” says the brave man Mr. Fuck.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/08/08/marjorie-cameron-moca_n_5656561.html?utm_hp_ref=arts
@@
“What inspires you is not my concern,” says Mr. Shit.
“Take me to any room and it is a holiday room…what is your concern is not mine.”
SoNg ThrEe
“Boredom and politics… anything but Boredom and politics..
This is dedicated to the man at the art store that threw his cigarette butt down on the asphalt and then picked it back up later and continued smoking it. Repetition always and Recycle everything…” Mr. Shit agrees with Mr. Fuck on this… they are comrades to the end.
If the sirens sang
I would not be afraid
Today I am one of them
Where the moon
Meets the sea
Shell greets the rock
The hills leap
Arching rounded
Zigzagging
towards water and waves.
I was looking for a poem and watercolor image from about 20 something years ago. I was scanning through boxes, books and plastic boxes for a rose and an owl image. I looked in my black portfolio art books too. I think I am going to have to go through the big plastic boxes in my art closet. The ones that are stacked one on top of the other.
Yet, today while so many fucking planets are descending at the same time with the sun my energy is at an all-time low. Later, as the full moon and Jupiter dance their cosmic tango to the mid-heaven tonight, I will be feeling much better. I will look for my art creation later. I did come upon something else. A watercolor I did for a patient years ago.
Her name is Ann. She was once a psychiatric nurse. I attended to her needs when she was an Alzheimer’s patient living in a home in the Santa Cruz Mountains called The Mansion. As an all-round aide, entertainment person and house keeper; I had several patients to attend to. Ann was one of my favorites. She kept to herself and was very clean and tidy. I use to take my patients / friends on long walks or van rides around the mountains or along the beach. Ann would often hold my hand and smile. Just as a mom would hold her daughter’s hand.
One day I sneezed and she handed me a tissue and said,
“Will this do?”
I looked and saw a five-dollar bill. I told Ann to keep it. I had a tissue in my pocket.
I also arranged for art classes for those who wanted to be creative. It was difficult to keep my friends focused. We had lots of fun. At one of these classes I water-colored red roses for Ann.
Once another patient fell down and hurt herself. Ann went from being her usual tame self to a professional nurse. Ann handled the situation as a charming and caring nurse. When the emergency was under control Ann walked away with her usual soft tennis shoe walk. Not a care in the world.
Before, the X-Files and Ancient Aliens theorists, we were blessed with Jacques Vallee and Whitley Strieber.
If you notice, these two characters are not mentioned these days. I even forget about their books on my bookshelves. What I like best about Vallee is his respect for oral tradition. As a scientist, an astrophysicist, he is a very special one.
“It ought to be remembered that the oral transmission of history and genealogy, with the most careful attention to language and details, was a perfect science among the Gaelic-speaking people. UFOs are not a strange phenomenon in the scheme of things. The Elves, Aliens and hairy militant dwarfs have been with us forever.”
Pg. 100 DIMENSIONS/The Alien Chronicles.
Jacques Vallee
“The UFO occupants, like the elves of old, are not extraterrestrials. They are the denizens of another reality.”
Pg. 109 DIMENSIONS
So you may wonder what this is all about. I had a UFO experience. I lost time and had my destination changed within a moments time. Vallee says that we need to share our experiences with others.
We all need to share in this other dimensional reality. We don’t need government or the media to solve this mystery for us. Going back and reading my Jacques Vallee books is so darn comforting. A real friend !!
