I am a crone peppered with punk and seasoned with many other flavors. Humor, sometimes nasty, lets off a lot of steam. Or descending or ascending into the extramundane!
I am happy to be a member of…
Hudley Flipside Information
- Amazon Author Central Author Page
WordPress Blog: The Seminary of Praying Mantis
Facebook: The Seminary of Praying Mantis
- Amazon Author Central Author Page
Top Posts & Pages
February 2012 – 2018
- "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band)
- Art Stuff Man…
- Book Reading of the Day
- Book Reading of the Day, it's Sunday !!
- Books I Dig
- CDs and anything to review that i want toooooooooooooo!!
- Current Events..
- Dialogue with Breasts more than a sex object.
- Embellished non-fiction short stories
- Holly Duval Cornell's Poems & Prose
- My Red Book by Holly Cornell
- Nature Politics
- PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock
- Records, CDs and anything to review that i want toooooooooooooo!!
- The Adventures of Sony and Raubie
- The Daily “FUCK” Gazette
- the Esoteric heart beat…
- The Praying Mantis
Stop thinking about art works as objects, and start thinking about them as triggers for experiences. (Roy Ascott’s phrase.) That solves a lot of problems: we don’t have to argue whether photographs are art, or whether performances are art, or whether Carl Andre’s bricks or Andrew Serranos’s piss or Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’ are art, because we say, ‘Art is something that happens, a process, not a quality, and all sorts of things can make it happen.’ … [W]hat makes a work of art ‘good’ for you is not something that is already ‘inside’ it, but something that happens inside you — so the value of the work lies in the degree to which it can help you have the kind of experience that you call art.
~ Brian Eno
Agathos Daimon, the Good or Rich Spirit”. His numinous presence could be represented in art as a serpent or more concretely as a young man bearing a cornucopia and a bowl in one hand, and a poppy and an ear of grain in the other. The agathodaemon was later adapted into a general daemon of fortuna, particularly of the continued abundance of a family’s good food and drink.
“Scientists know that electromagnetic waves carry information. Radio waves are a common example of how information is sent out via electromagnetic waves. The waves that your heart and brain generate carry information that is sent through your body and out into the space around you, just like a radio transmitter. Yet the heart’s signals have much more power.” – The HeartMath Story, as Told by Founder Doc Childre
I’ve heard it said that the soul doesn’t live inside our body but that it is more like a womb in which we are contained.
Turner, Toko-pa. Belonging: Remembering Ourselves home (Kindle Locations 2739-2740). Her Own Room Press. Kindle Edition.
“This disco guy wanted funk in our sound with 10,000 backing vocals, the guy laughed at Tony when he tried to sing, they treated us like shit. Casey wanted to hit that engineer dick…Posh Boy told us not to play games with him, he’d play games with us. That engineer was a real dick.”
~ Steve Soto ADOLESCENTS
In our over psychological culture, psychological testing substitutes for this seasoned eye and prevents its development. Instead of looking, we test; instead of imaginative insight, we read write-ups; instead of interviews, inventories; instead of stories, scores. Psychology assumes it can get at character by probing motivations, reaction responses, choices, and projections. It uses concepts and numbers to access the soul, rather than relying on the anomalous eye of a practiced observer.
Hillman, James. The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life (Kindle Locations 844-847). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
It is the prime task of a truly modern mind to endure both the spiritual and the practical as the framework for her life.
Johnson, Robert A.. She: Understanding Feminine Psychology (p. 80). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. __________________________________
Mysterious in day’s broad light,
Nature retains her veil, despite our imprecations,
and what she won’t reveal to human mind or sight
levers, screws or hammers
cannot wrench from her. ~ Goethe
Faust part 1
Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
“And just as the soul that is inside your dust.”
~ Pg 8 The Divine Comedy ~ Dante
“I always liked the intensity of the recording.”
~ Chris Bailey from the band The Saints
“Sometimes people try and tell me what is and isn’t punk, or that GBH do or don’t fit in, but they’re generally no older than my socks, and they know about as much. I’ve lived my life doing what I want the way I want to ever since I got expelled from school. Ever since 1977….That’s punk rock”
~ Ross Lomas: From his Book City Baby.
“As I was walking among the fires of Hell,
delighted with the enjoyments of Genius;
which to Angels look like torment and insanity.
I collected some of their Proverbs. ”
~ William Blake, “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”, 1790
Tag Archives: Woodland Hills
Headless Horseman Road
Canoga Avenue from Mulholland to Oxnard was overwhelmingly wild. It was only a two-lane avenue lined with residential homes, farms, and empty fields. The big eucalyptus trees monstered along Canoga Avenue gracing through the heart of Woodland Hills. We chased wild rabbits bareback where Warner Center now suffocates the land. Stealing pumpkins late at night from the many pumpkin patches was a scary treat for us kids around autumn. Now Kaiser Permanente stands tall over ghostly pumpkins that linger there only as memories.
Ruff and I rode our horses after school which did not give us much time. We had to make it back home around dusk. This gave us a couple of hours to ride. We had it in our minds to visit down an old dirt road up near Canoga moving south towards Mulholland. We noticed this dirt road a few times on our rides up to Mulholland where it seemed endless trails awaited us, but now was not the time.
The dirt road branched off to the east and was a long lonely one. Pepper trees mixed with eucalyptus trees mingled along the road as large trunks and heavy branches. A small forest. We got off our horses to look around. This is what I liked best about growing up here. There were adventures and places to discover around my home town. Shadowy places of earth and trails leading sometimes through the fog. This dirt road led us to a hill that was very steep to the right side of it. We passed this hill and galloped about a mile or two up and then decided to turn back because the sun was getting close to the horizon. It was a cool night and the smell of trees, moist earth, herbs, and smoke from nearby fireplaces filled our senses. But the darkening sky called us back home. It was getting late.
We were about a mile from Canoga when Sony galloped forward. I am not sure how it happened but he went for a tree. A long tree reached out and I thought I could go no further under it. I realized as Sony went under the tree it got lower. Sony stopped and my legs jammed under the tree. I was stuck under the tree bent backwards, and Sony was still moving forward. Ruff quickly positioned her horse in front of Sony as I pulled on the reins backwards. I cried because I was being crushed. We all moved backwards and Sony and I were released. It was a focused effort for all four of us, horse and rider and it took a good ten minutes.
As we all gathered our breath we took some time to look at the tree and cuss it out. Then there was silence, except for the sound of a galloping horse in the distance down the dirt road coming towards us.
“What the hell is that” said Ruff?
“I don’t know but it is coming this way!”
The echo of the sound was due east. We jumped on our horses and ran them about a mile towards Canoga. The dusk had almost brought down the nights curtain. As the dirt road ended and the street began, the metal sound of the horse’s hooves running on asphalt was loud enough to hide the echo of the unknown galloping horse behind us. I then yelled at her,
“Ruff, do you hear the screeching sound?”
“Yes, let’s get out of here!”
Maybe it was a screeching sound behind us or maybe it was the sound of our horse’s hooves on the asphalt. The haunting feelings subsided as we left the dirt road and made it home by night fall. It was smart to look forward and never look back. We knew the headless horseman returned and we never again wandered down that dirt road together.
A few years ago, I went back looking for the dirt road we referred to as the headless horseman road. It is an asphalt street now with a few nice homes lined along its narrow way. Driving by in my car I did not drive down it due east. I passed it by due north with the memory of days gone by.
To Ruff !! One of the best wild friends to have as a girl!!
“a mile wide and a foot deep, too thick to drink, too thin to plow; Powder River let ‘er buck!”
An Old Cowboy call … now Raphalia’s call across the valley to tell me it was time to ride.
You might think that two girls that had a couple of horses might come from rich families. This was not the case. The road I lived on was dirt until I turned about 13. That is when my Dad got me a white mustang I named Sony. My brother Greg and brother-in-law Bob built a corral below my parent’s home. They put turpentine on the base of the two-by-fours, these were the base ends of the corral to house Sony. That corral stood up fine for many years after Sony and I left.
At the time it was about me and my focus on getting that horse and going for a ride, but I guess it was a family project that pushed and waved through the family with different temperaments. At least that is how I see it now. My Dad was retired in his fifties from his career in cosmology. He had his own salon called Javis’s Hair Salon downtown Woodland Hills. Now he worked at home and at some local beauty parlors in the area to support the family. My mom was a full time house wife and during the winter worked at my aunts boutique girls clothing store. Boy did I get shit for that in middle school,
“Your aunt owes Prima Donnas?”
“My mother can not afford that type of clothing,”
Of course all the popular girls went there and that just made me sick.
My aunt’s store was right next door to my Dad’s place that was now rented out. My Grandmother was quite the woman and had foresight, she made sure her kids had some land to grow up on.
Raphalia (aka Ruff) was younger than I and had a horse named Raubie. Her mom was German. She and her sister filled out a greencard each year and she came from a broken family. Her mom was a surgical-nurse and married a doctor and then moved into the neighborhood. I called her Ruff and we got along good. We went riding together often. Her parents built a corral next to their home as well. SO the neighborhood got pretty horsey. At the time houses were still spread apart and there was lots of land, rolling hills and trees around. The big horse flies that came round summer bugged the hell out of my mom. Before I came in the house my mom would make me take off my clothes and put on house clothing. I guess I did smell bad. Ruff and I did go bareback riding most the time.
Ruff did a lot of reading. She liked to tell stories too. While on long rides we told stories together. It was the never-ending story. I would begin and then she took over and so it went. We often road above the hills of Mulholland. The adventures we had were unbelievable wild. Some of the Native American stories that Ruff would read would give her interesting ideas on how to ride a horse. She braided Raubies’s abandoned horse hair into a bridle. This was placed around Raubie’s mouth and this is how she controlled him.
There were large dirt hills and mounds on Mulholland drive where guys would dirt bike. We would hold onto the back of our horses with our thighs with hands up and run our horses down a hill on a dare. Often one of us would fall off our horse. I experienced the fall in slow motion and then the ground wold grasp and pull me down fast. We learned to fall in the form of tumble weeds and sometimes my horse Sony would keep running. My mom would look and see Sony running into the corral. In an hour I would follow. I would either walk home or Ruff would give me a ride on the back of Raubie depending on the mood she was in.
Until next time with the Adventures of Sony and Raubie ~next Beer, Ginger Ale and Gristle.