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

Hudley’s Literary Salon

Happy Independent Bookstore Day…. Is now everyday!

A wrench in the machine, however achieved, to get your words out for others to read!


Welcome….

Johannes Gensfleisch zur Laden zum Gutenberg (/ˈɡuːtənbɜːrɡ/;[1] c. 1400[2] – 3 February 1468) was a German inventor, printer, publisher, and goldsmith who introduced printing to Europe with his mechanical movable-type printing press. His work started the Printing Revolution in Europe and is regarded as a milestone of the second millennium, ushering in the modern period of human history. It played a key role in the development of the Renaissance, Reformation, Age of Enlightenment, and Scientific Revolution, as well as laying the material basis for the modern knowledge-based economy and the spread of learning to the masses.[3][4][5][6] Wikipedia


If today is support your independent bookstore day, then I say do support them in all the variables of delivery.

“Author events at independent bookstores sometimes take the role of literary salons [2] and independents historically supported new authors and independent presses.” Wikipedia

Patron Saint of Books, Publishers and bookstores….

Grateful for my publishing patron saint the Praying Mantis.

As one who has an independent bookstore in my bedroom converted into an office. I found that the definition of what a independent bookstore is has delightfully changed.

Seems to me that most independent bookstores are sole proprietorships. I remember a book I read once about a woman in England who opened a bookstore. In the back she also published books. In the front of her building, she had a coffee-tearoom and to the side an adjoining art gallery.

It has always been in the back of my mind to have a similar setup.

I have been in the printing or publishing business since I first took a printing class in high school while enrolled in a graphic art course at a local occupational school. Oh Ya!

My first job was pasting numbers in books for an adult book publisher.

The holy X-ACTO knife, the printing press and the revolutionary Xerox printing machine helped create and promote a thousand hubs and underground scenes; flyers and fanzines do come to mind!

And though I have not found independent books stores as agreeable to new or independent authors, some of my favorite books in my bookcases are from independent bookstores.

As a sole proprietor of an independent publishing company, I celebrate today. I love books … even crazy little comic books.

I even appreciate the eternity of dust on my husband’s infinity of chess books in our home. All purchased from independent chess book publishers and bookstores.

Over 40 years I have had this X-ACTO knife case and knife…

As I have said I run an independent bookstore from my home. A bedroom converted into an office. There is a coffee machine in the kitchen, unique art on the walls, and candles burning bright. The same smell that once filled the independent bookstore known as the Bodhi Tree in West Hollywood.

My point being publishing houses and independent bookstores come in all shapes and sizes. Good grief, nowadays one must be creative! Hardcover books smell great and are still a revelation to hold close to ones’ heart.

I have a publishing house that engages with print on demand. I support publishing all around the world this way.

From William Blake’s funky imaginative little self engraved publications to the revolutionary pamphlets of Thomas Paine. To all means of fanzines, paperbacks, and dirty magazines. To a local building, a suite, or online indie / DIY publishers who grew through this ridiculous pandemic.

Cheers! To all independent bookstores, publishers and most importantly to the ones who write.

Much Ado …

Hudley Flipside

The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing


All money from book sales flows into a pool-bank to be put forth towards “in-process;”  Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine the Narrative Documentary Film.

Epeisodion One… between the songs are the staff punks. Those who created a music fanzine.


Below are two independent publishers. I am included with other writers. A compilation of stories to share. Happy Happy!


Rare Bird Books.


HoZac Books.


The Call Of the Holy Baubo Protagonist!

The call of holy Baubo is strong now

The evil shadow of history comes forward again…

The highest court of our land is making it impossible for women to care for their own bodies. When women are deflowered or devalued it is time to look at the other sex… the male, especially all conservative moronic males, and their bitches…. Time to address their sperm and ask the big question,

“If a man gets a woman pregnant without the holy affirming blessing of the great Baubo herself, then off with his balls, or head … whichever. What do you think about that justice?”

Baubo’s theme song…. always and forever.


Chris Bailey’s psychic being is still very strong!

Rendering of the band The Saints. Hudley Flipside, 2010.


I have often written that the band The Saints are one of my only addictions in my life. After the death of Chris Bailey, I have been grieving him and a general time shift. The 70s, 80s, 90s, 2000s, 2010s and now. Over 40 years. This band led me on a path into a different realm of being. I found a bunch of misfits like myself. I found my voice and I awoke from a kind of existential youthful experience into finding myself and my soul. Music, friends, and a punk community that still holds my heart. Yet also knowing Chris Bailey was born the same time and so close to mine … we share these same generations or ten-year changes. Youth to adulthood and being senior citizens. As this post explains so much more in an indirect way too. In my grief I decided to do something that I do once in awhile to sooth my soul. I reached out to Carl Jung books. What came to mind yesterday was something from one of Carl Jung’s Black Books. Volume two page 175-6. I read from the last paragraph. I call it a random reading. The intuitive response is amazing to me. Encouraging action also. So, with this so much is shared, and I am content to move on past my grief. Into a new season of life knowing that

“the world beyond, where men are whole and complete, unlike here. The saint’s halo also characterizes his transcendent shining light, his psychic being.” ” (p.162) The Black Books, Volume Two, Carl Jung

Life endures … this gives me hope maybe like finding the Sun!

“In this moment the enormous tension was released and like rain it swept away [57/58] everything that was tensed, too highly strung. And soon sleep returned and brought with it a curiously beautiful image.” {138}

“Forms walked clad in white silk in a colored atmosphere. Each surrounded by a strangely fragrant, glowing tinted aura, some reddish, the others blueish and greenish.” {139}

{138} “This paragraph was replaced in LN by “Then I had a second vision.” ” (p.162)


Picture.. reversed.
The Saints (Barry Francis, Ivor Hay, Janine Hall, Bruce Callaway, Chris Bailey) at The Hero of Waterloo, Sydney. 1980. Picture by Judi Dransfield Kuepper…) image taken from article by John Willsteed, https://theconversation.com/a-gentleman-with-the-mad-soul-of-an-irish-convict-poet-remembering-chris-bailey-and-the-blazing-comet-that-was-the-saints-181059?fbclid=IwAR3o-g8RRKpyNxgIQ6x7QsihP9fTBaDqaBZhzozuQI0oHlaWVenjLWeZ_F8

{139} “Jung recounted this dream to Aniela Jaffé and commented upon it as follow: “This is some kind of in-between realm (the term definitely occurs in the original version of the dream) The idea was that if one is confronted with the shadow- as was the case through the experience of Siegfried’s dream– then the idea comes: I enter into a twilight: I am this and yet also something else. And this doubleness an abdication of the unconscious, which reached strangely far beyond me. Like a saint’s halo– This has a strange effect on the attitude toward the human being. If one is in the company of several persons, and one knows them and knows about their shadows, one then sees these people as they are, but are also something entirely different. They are surrounded by a strange sphere. They live in a strange, light-colored sphere, which circumscribes their ‘other’ state. This seemed to me to be like a vision of the world beyond, where men are whole and complete, unlike here. The saint’s halo also characterizes his transcendent shining light, his psychic being.” (MP, p. 170) The reminder of this entry was replaced in LN by “I know, I have stridden across the depths. Through guilt I have become newborn.” ” (p.162)

Siegfried’s dream

http://mlwi.magix.net/siegfried.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Books_(Jung)


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.”

At the Pub

I struggled with the name Hudley Flipside but now I have a solid feel for it as my good writer’s name that has history and contemporary standing as a dame to be reckoned with. Over 40 years now!

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 some one 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 if 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 just all around the place. Pictures of cats, bands and beyond.

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

Picture by Al Flipside 1980

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 wrote 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 upon where I was at 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)

Butterfly

Crone Mantis Watercolor by Hudley

“The butterfly teaches us to not be afraid of change and transformation for, as warm and fuzzy as a caterpillar may be, it is the butterfly that lives fully and beautifully after having endured the fear and darkness of the unknown to reach the light outside the cocoon.” Pg. 178, SUN BEAR.

Sharing and setting limitations.

I had two dreams last night where my animus was most distinctly attracting my curiosity. I was offered delicious food which I did not have to go shopping for or cook. Then in another dream I was kissed on the neck and lips gently as in some film noir by a man who looked like Tyrone Power. My animus, the unconscious masculine side of a woman, was asking for attention.

I am listening!

Then awake from the dream world enjoying the morning, I was outside with the cats in my garden. A lovely butterfly came with the usual circle dance up to me from the west. I was focused on the symbol of spring as were my cats. Thinking it was a bit early for such a transformation to happen.

I went back into my cave and did research.

I pulled out two books; The Once & Future Goddess, A Symbol For Our Time by Elinor W. Gandon (1989) and Dancing with the Wheel The Medicine Wheel, Workbook by SUNBEAR (1991).

As always, I learned new things about art, nature and being in tune with a moments time of learning, is so important, synchronicity wise.

“Raven writes about what a courageous act of self-exposure it is for a woman to positively identify herself with her work and say something that challenges the existing and prevailing worldview. When she expresses herself without the support of a social, economic, and cultural base she has not participated in the mainstream of the culture. “The culture does not operate from her perspective. Her contribution has neither spoken to it, nor been understood by that system,” which is just what happened to Judy Chicago

An energetic, assertive woman freely in touch with her own sexuality, and working directly from the erotic power, Chicago evolved an abstract form, the butterfly-vagina. This symbol was to become the core of her new iconography in The Dinner party, a monumental and complex work of art that is often misunderstood…

“The idea is obviously not to reduce all women to cunts, as society itself often does. [Chicago] sees the butterfly as metaphysical references to the whole issue of that it means to be ‘feminine,’ how that word reveals the slant in our values and how those values can be challenged by using the vernacular imagery of the female, ‘I was struggling with the issue of making the feminine holy.’ ”

 Pg. 322 The RE-EMERGENCE OF THE GODDESS: A SYMBOL OF OUR TIME.

  • Arlene Raven (Arlene Rubin: July 12, 1944, Baltimore, Maryland – August 1, 2006, Brooklyn, New York) was a feminist art historian, author, critic, educator, and curator. Raven was a co-founder of numerous feminist art organizations in Los Angeles in the 1970s.

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


Time movement

This is my winter solstice poem for 2021


Water drop in time. by Hudley Flipside 2021

There is something

Real and magical

Between a breeze

And the top of a

Pool of water

An in between language

A pattern of symbols

Mandalas, ancient texts

It gets talking so fast

I don’t understand it all.

Then Silence as is now.

I wait

Beginning again

A rich diplomatic dialogue

Transcendence

Old time ancient rhymes.

Spirit moved across the face of the waters still…

How it moves upon the face of my waters

This ancient

Rogue tongue….

Breathe it in …

A constant story

For us all

rebuilding

renewing

Inspiring life to unfold …

An in-between place

I wait for the elves …

The Fay move …

stretch and turn.

– Hudley

Mythos of Punk Rock

John Crawford Revolutionary Fetus Cartoon series image 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


https://www.amazon.com/My-Punkalullaby-Seminary-Praying-Fanzine/dp/1687250707

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 loved 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


Ritual helps…

Limited Run Block Print by Matthew Hunt
https://www.facebook.com/kittykiller13

“And so, the stars see you.

While you drift away they have their own courses and they watch you.

And listen, they already know your name.”


I viewed part of Bob Dole’s church funeral yesterday. I was touched by a song You Never Walk Alone sung at the event from the musical Carousel. A favorite musical of mine. Richard Rodgers (music) and Oscar Hammerstein II (book and lyrics) 1945. I had to look deeper into this event.

At this funeral I heard and saw diversity shared. I saw President Biden, the 42nd President Clinton and even the only person not wearing a mask Texas’s Ted Cruz.

Trump was not there because he and Bob Dole had a falling away over last year’s election issues.

I was surprised not seeing President Obama. Yet Tom Hanks talked at a WWII memorial after the service. A memorial that Bob Dole willed into being.

A ritual like this brings diversity together. Even in such troubling times. Strange conspiracy theories and political conflicts are uncomfortable to see, and now I feel our country is lost. I feel lost.

I listened to, storyteller, author, and scholar of mythology, anthropology, and psychology, Michael Meade’s podcast MOSAIC VOICES last night and he talked about how important ritual is. The act is all inclusive.

And whether a person is conscious of even being part of ritual … rituals bring us tighter together. It is an inclusive and wonderfully experienced reality to share.

Concerts and clubs or music and bars bring people together to join in this type of ritual. I have learned that this is what brings us together tighter. To experience this inclusiveness. As a cave dweller I miss this.

As the Winter darkness embraces us this solstice, I feel the darkness. Uncomfortably so. Yet it is up to me to find the light and share in the light where I can find it in this overwhelmingly troubled world.

Michael Mead also shares a poem entitled “When You Get Lost” by William Stafford.


What Happens When You Get Lost

By William Stafford

Out in the mountains nobody gives you anything.

And you learn what the rules were after the game is over.

By then it is already night and it doesn’t make any difference

What anyone else is thinking or doing because now you have to

Turn into an Indian.

You remember stories and now you know that the tellers were

Part of all they told.

And everyone else was, and even you.

They’re all around you now, but if you’re afraid you will never find them.

And those questions that people always ask-

“What would you do if…”

They have their own answer right now- nothing.

Some things cannot be redeemed in a hurry no matter what the intentions are.

What could be done had to have been done a long time ago.

Because mistakes have consequences that do not just disappear.

If evil could be canceled easily it would not be very evil.

And so, the stars see you.

While you drift away they have their own courses and they watch you.

And listen, they already know your name.


I find ritual in writing too and I think,

“Oh Boy, I got to write this down!”

This holiday season 2021 I have decided to buy all my Christmas gifts from friends who are part of the ritual of the creative life. All artists are mostly local and some in other states.

I want to share in their joy. What it is for an artist when they feel someone enjoys their work. Also, to experience the wonder of something created and willed forth into this world as an expression that has value to the artist and me. That is inclusion and that is the ritual.

My way of experiencing ritual and bringing light into the world and beyond!