Tag Archives: Women

Shine on shine my little star

image rellief / Stencil of Chiron 1995

Chiron, is a small Solar System body in the outer Solar System, orbiting the Sun between Saturn and Uranus.
Orbital period: 50 years. Discovered: October 18, 1977Radius: 84.314 mi Aphelion: 62′ 0″ Orbits: Sun Angular diameter: 0.035″ (max) Discoverer: Charles T. Kowal


Some say that punk has been around a long time. It has in one form or another. Yet the flavor I am referring to is a unique form, known as Punk Rock, that formed around the cusp, a little before and after, 1977. The median of young punk at that time being the age of 19. As most born in the year 1958.

The small solar system body discovered at the time is Chiron known in mythology as “the wounded healer.” Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine formed at that time. Punk bands with this flavor formed too. The Saints, The Dammed and The Ramones. Sex Pistols etc. Around the time of 1977 to 1987 is the decade of the creation of this unique flavor of punk that continues today.
Now (charged) GBH, the Circle Jerks and Social Distortion are celebrating their 40-year anniversaries around that time median.


Mar 28, 1977, Chiron enters Taurus. Feb 18, 2019 Chiron enters Aries. “Chiron teaches us the philosophical perspective, and the perspective that our wildness, which may put us outside the status quo, may be our wisdom.” ~ Tim Lyons


The current 40-year celebration is based on the beginning close to the cusp of 1977. The originators and wild ones who moved with this flavor of punk rock.
Back then were not our glory days but more the beginning when we all had to create our hubs, bands, media, promotions, record labels, and fanzines. We were isolated and dependence on each other was the key to our survival. The news did not mention us unless cops charged our shows. Our ways were strange and unique. We did it all ourselves. Dark rooms, silk screens were what we did. Flyers are how we communicated.

I always had a way into this flavor of punk. It is in my DNA. Like most of us original characters we are now writing about those days. As a bard and punk journalist, it is only natural for me to do this.

Recently I received a review on Amazon calling my Punkalullaby memoir as being “Trite and Boring.” I thought of many ways to respond to the criticism, but I did not. It was a long process for me creating and then sharing my story. I think that review is more about the reviewer than my story. If that person took the time to read it. He would have found a woman’s psyche addressing the world with her wild woman ways. It is about characters, music and the growth of a punk scene. Punks who grew up together.

I don’t see the past as my glory days. Yet, I did make some darn good friends. I think that 1977 was a unique time that brought a lot of misfits tighter together. This is all about our experiences and friendships which both need to be held up high and respected.

This is the key of our punk scene. Its foundation and flavor of punk rock, music wise that is. Chiron is an embellishment,  a signature in the heavens that once announced our coming. That it all is valid and has deep meaning. So, do our lives.

“Shine on shine my little star

Up above the world honey that you are

Shine on now you don’t give me no love

Hit me like a death ray baby from above.”


 

 

 

 

Hudley’s Manifesto

1977 – 1981 Jimmy Carter, 1981 – 1989 Ronald Regan, 1989 George Bush.

Be More Than An Animal

13001228_10154209230472780_6514813593644270740_n

“Life is not primarily a quest for pleasure, as Freud believed, or a quest for power, as Alfred Adler taught, but a quest for meaning. Pg. 27, Frankl.”


Anarchy, chaos and no government were unending slogans within the punk rock community. Remember this structure. We turned the peace hippie finger symbol into vice, vandalism and violence.  Plenty of clubs were destroyed and punks were not asked to come back. We rebelled against authority. The music and lyrics of songs moved us. Our persona as punks defined many of us but not all of us.

Today I see a President who is using these same ideals. Less government, anarchy against our United States constitution. Every day he creates chaos by dividing the people of our republic.

It is strange to me to see this. I am not the young punk I once was. When young I rebelled because I was angry at a world that let me down. I had the freedom to rebel. Other countries do not have this freedom to speak out.

Now as an older woman I see how corruption does not care about the goals of freedom. Without a conscious we have no chance of drawing a line.

As a young punk I developed and learned about compassion, integrity and creativity. I have a moral compass. I have come more to see the world as in a constant state of duality or contrary perspectives.

When Trump uses anarchy, chaos and less government to take from the poor and give to the rich, I rebel.

When Trump and his fossil fuel industry take from the land and give to the rich. I rebel.

When immigrants are housed in cages, similar as a concentration camp, and separated from their children to be sexually abused. I rebel.

When the republican party supports anti-abortion propaganda while taking healthcare away from children. I rebel.

Trump takes the truth and inverts it and surrounds it with emotionalism. A heated propaganda simile.  Politicians do play their games, but Trump uses his ministry of propaganda like Paul Joseph Goebbels did. He was a German Nazi politician and Reich Minister of Propaganda of Nazi Germany.

As a young punk I unconsciously searched for the dignity of life. As young punks we questioned the status quo. I guess I am still doing this. It is a good quality to have. I want to believe that most living punks have this insight. A joined movement inside us individually and collectively.  An inside continuity. A search for meaning.

I am sure we all see this differently, but this is my perspective. There was something that brought us together.

At a current Youth Brigade show I heard similar words spoken about politics, age and being angry. No longer young punks we are standing up for life as something to believe in. Something is very wrong with our current President.


“Three possible sources for meaning in work (doing something significant, in love (caring for another person), and in courage during difficult times. Suffering in and of itself is meaningless; we give our suffering meaning by the way in which we respond to it. At one point, Frankl writes that a person “may remain brave, dignified and unselfish, or in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.” ~ Victor Frankl, Man’s Search For Meaning.


Dec 6th -We will be Reading at Stories Books and Cafe In Echo Park

D9F1F7CF-E186-4874-BA38-F133AEB46462

(Keith, Hudley, Chris, Annette and Iris) Group shot taken last month after our fun (and a little drizzly) reading at Stories Books and Cafe ~ Photo by the great Gary Leonard


My heavenly shower

Jerusalem ~William Blake



My heavenly shower
is a sacred place
of hot, warm or cold water.

It is there for me in worst of times
bones ache and chills of fever
cleaning a dark soul quality away.

I sing, talk and compose there
I talk to my medicine animals there
and say my prayers.

It is an old shower with a whacked head
yet the water cleans me inside and out
my holy shower that sings me sweet words.

 

A Reading: Headless Horseman Road

A reading from my novella To Ride A Painted Pony Wild

Chapter 3. Headless Horseman Road



 



Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Number 54~10 Year Anniversary Issue Paperback Documentary (replica) Punk Rock 1977 – 1987.

A new cover but otherwise this is a replica of the original issue but better. I have already gotten some nasty criticism about the new cover. Let me tell you why I did it the way I did.

001


The new cover is a picture Al Flipside took. It is of me holding our tape recorder. We recorded most of our band interviews in each issue on this tape recorder that I am holding. We were always in the middle of bugging the bands. So, to me it is symbolic of us. Al and I as we ran a Fanzine. It also shows you the world through Al’s eyes. We literally had thousands and thousands of negatives and pictures in our office.

The yellow patina is gone, and the pages are all straight. If you want it without all the fuss and facelift you can still purchase the squirrely eBook. It is cheaper.  This issue of Flipside was originally printed on newsprint paper, so the pages did yellow.

I put a great deal of time into making this paperback into the sweet little punk rock number that it is. Some punks have told me that this was their punk rock bible. It is Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine issues one through fifty. A lot of punk voices. The integrity of what punk was at any time during the original punk rock scene is shared here.

Flipside Fanzine number 54 captures the continuity and real experience and thoughtful wild exuberant expression of many interesting individuals. It was a passion of mine to share in this documentation of a scene.  It still is which is why I continued over the years with this project to have a new handheld Flipside 54 for anyone who may want it. I think it is very special, in a punk kind of way, I hope you will enjoy it too.

Within this paperback book is our history of the early punk rock scene. We at Flipside covered that scene thoroughly, what we wanted to cover that is. It is best you read the editorial included at the beginning of this paperback to get a real sense of who we were. Ten years of documenting a scene included in issues one through fifty is a great deal to read. A magnifying glass may be needed.

I always say the proof is in the pudding. Shit workers who worked on each issue are clearly defined in each issue. This is what I mean by proof.  Always a lot of hands in the cookie jar at the Flipside house. Suffice to say I’ll let this spectacular punk documentary speak for itself with a giant community of punk voices.


41By82vssHL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_


I also recommend my memoir My Punkalullaby as a sidekick to this paperback book. Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine the Ten-Year Anniversary Issue (replica) is my punk rock opus and I am very proud of it. Both issues are for purchase at Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691716995


58E12F79-3500-4F71-9418-7E2A071C0622

The Seminary Of Praying Mantis Publishing 2020


 

The Nasty woman is me.

The Nasty Woman and the

Smörgåsbord of words and feelings… some very nasty…. like me.

“In his late works , he embodied these and other ills in the nightmare ridden figure of the cosmic giant Albion, or universal humanity, who has fallen in to deadly sleep of mundane existence. In humanity’s coma, the divine is a remote and forbidding sky-god: nature a sterile heap of atoms, lovers and family members, enemies; and one’s own innermost being, an unrecognized alien.” 

~Blake’s Poetry & Designs ` A Norton Critical Edition.

I realize I am being confrontational, nasty and outrageous. It is that two-week time as we move into the autumnal equinox. I hate this time of transition, but I love autumn.


Today I had to get gas on the way to where I was going. This local gas station charged me a 30 cents gas fee. Yet this is the normal way to skim the top and make a lot of money off millions of poor people. I remember when gas stations had attendants pour the gas, check the oil and fill the car tires. It was service with a smile.

I wish one of these monster gas companies would be brave and bring the service attendants back. They could collect the cash and we could give them the service charge… instead of a fucking machine.

Every time we take away a person’s job and replace them with a machine, we become less human.

I went into the mini-market and the cashier, who seemed to be acting as an employe,  knew nothing about the fee and said,

“I don’t know why you are asking about it. You are the only one that cares? No one else has asked about it.”

I looked at her silently and squarely.

“You should know about it and all the things around you here. I must pay a fee and it is dirty filthy outside around the gas tanks. I remember the day…”

A man came forward and interrupted our conversation and the cashier looked away.

“Excuse us,” I said. “We are talking.”

I used a figure to point to the cashier and me.

“Grumble, “said the man under his breath.

I left telling the cashier she should lose her job for not knowing anything.

Then I came home to find standing outside my home a strange older man smoking a cigarette.

“Are you waiting for someone,” I said.

“No.”

“Then why did you park here?”

The street had no other cars around. He then looked up at the tree. I then asked him to please move his car I needed to part our truck there. He seemed nice enough for not having a reason for being there besides smoking a cigarette. We talked back and forth.

“We have had issues with drug dealers around here,” I said.

He soon left and I moved the truck out. I know I was being ridiculous. I thought it strange that he would get out of his car with his cell home in hand to smoke a cigarette under our lovely olive tree. I did say to him.

“I don’t like the smell of cigarettes and I am sure the tree doesn’t either.”

I think upon a poem I wrote that I have changed a bit.

Any time of the year but now it is moving into the Autumn poem.

Green-gold olives

This eve
I take my broom
Last ray of sun is dead here …
it is real…

The shy clouds hide stars
Only the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn shine their breastplates.
Of radiant light…

I take my broom to the front of our home into the dustpan goes
Dry brown and yellow
Pointy olive leaves and hard green-gold olives…

Into the waste bin… away away.
Goes all the thoughts of this day
Of a wooing Crone…
Looking around as I sweep and bend

For any Fay to show their haunting ways 
In the clouds sailing on the night or
Upon the grasping arms of the olive tree. 
Queen of Elphame mocks me
As I move quickly and consistently,
I call her Sabrina…

How symbolic have I become?
Wild movement… yet strangely calm.
Sweet sweat dripping
My dusty perfume…

I do as many an old Crone
Sweeping clean the front of their home
At this transforming time.
Today I am a nasty one...

 

 

 

 

Chi Chi Hawa Harmony



th (2)

Chato from Painted Women / The Mustanger and the Lady (The Brandiron) ` Dusty Richards


Resilient

“Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.” ― William Blake


fire monster pic by Hudley

burnt tree pic by Hudley

return of mustard greens pic by Hudley


It was terrifying living through the California fires. I took a picture across the street then of what I see as a fire monster. At least it looks like one. The fires approached so close to our home.

When Spring came so did the Monarch butterflies. A flying path over our home called us to visit the burned hills. I was beside myself with wonder. How resilient nature is.  I know these hills well, and I saw blooming flowers I had never seen before. A multitude of creatures and fresh green hills. Roadrunners and rabbits have also returned.



Purple mystery flowers from the Santa Monica HIlls. Pic by Hudley


Today I study the ideal of contraries. It is part of who we are as human beings and nature and the cosmos. I cannot think of a better quote then William Blake’s above to understand what we are going through right now. I want to share a hopeful part of nature as well.  Contrary as is may seem now. It is a dependable pattern we can trust.



In its highest sense.

To my friend Dionysus

“According to Jung, humanity holds a special role in creation: to contribute to the act of consciousness, and the point of view of morality, in its highest sense.” ~ Johnson, Robert A. Ecstasy (p. 64) Harper One. Kindle Edition.