“‘…from that moment [he] declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against [Frankenstein] who had formed [him] and sent [him] forth to this insupportable misery.’”
Shelley, Frankenstein, Chapter 16, p. 12
Once upon a time I found the novel by Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, the new Prometheus. I became friends with Frankenstein’s monster. He was not the film version because I looked to the quality of his brilliant soul.
I authored a short story entitled, Who’s Soul did Frankenstein’s Monster Have? I put the story in a folder and took it with me wherever I went. I was inspired and torn by my insight.
I felt I may have understood something no one else ever dared to wonder about. This was back in the 1980’s. Then, as busy, and as careless as a young punk might be, I lost the folder at a Mexican restaurant up-town Whittier, CA.
This loss haunted my nights. Back then backing-up-files was not so easy. This may have been before floppy disks. I did not make a copy of my short story of a monster’s revelations.
I did keep the little doodles about the story which I will share today. I did not misplace the folder. Someone took it and still, has it?
As one gets older time seems to bend backwards. It comes towards you so you can say hello again to those times of youthful inspiration.
I looked through all of my plastic boxes to find these images in my art closet. So glad the doodles were safe and not lost.
July moves into August. A time of justice and heat, a time of foresight and deep. For me it is about the news… some bad and some good news. I know this time of the year to be delirious dark and forbidden. Today it has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.
Between our psyche and the cosmos is magic. Magic moves between our hidden unconscious coming forth from our dreams. Yes, that Magic coming with psychic foresight of knowing. Real causality or synchronicity does not matter to me. Natural magic! I live in all combinations.
Yesterday we went to Naval Air Station Point Mugu. Driving to Ventura from the San Fernando Valley can be harsh on a Sunday. We found a little farming street to follow down to Point Mugu. Its romances are the beautiful Pacific Ocean. Which is why we were there.
My dad was a WWII Veteran. As kids we enjoyed fishing on the pier that is located on this naval base.
My husband and I sat in our car for some time. Wondering if we could approach and visit the pier for old memories. We did. A tight solider asked for husband’s driving-license. As the soldier was taking the license from husband, I explained my family story. Before you could think we were quickly told to make a U-turn. No goodbyes or safe journeys.
Point Mugu has since merged with nearby Naval Construction Battalion Center Port Hueneme to form Naval Base Ventura County (NBVC).
We ended up at Port Hueneme Historical Society Museum. A sweet little place that smelled pleasantly old! The building was filled with old women and older history items. Outside the rather small building were many monarch butterflies. Hub bobbing around ourselves like best friends. We were then told the story.
It sounds like a magical potion. Milk weed, Cosmo flowers and chrysalis. It was the story of how someone took the time to love the process of this lovely butterfly. All it takes is a little love and a few nasty weeds to attract the attention of nature’s finest beauties.
Today upon waking up I enjoyed a particularly good dream. A dream I have been waiting for since my mother’s death. It was a closure dream. In this dream, the husband opened the front door to the usual UPS knock. There was another package, another calculus book, or similar book, for the kids. Then we heard another knock on the front door. This time I opened the door. From top to bottom the front door was filled with packages. My husband gave me a guilty look. A pouting praying mantis face.
“It is not Christmas time,” I said.
I pulled out one of the packages. A large white one. A box that might conceal a dress or new pants. Then I saw on top the name ‘Holly’ written in cursive.
“How could mom give me this after her death?”
A wonderful gift from her. That is what mom would do. Write our names on top of our gifts. It was her writing…. I know it by heart!
Today has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.
I got the riding on a swing feeling in my belly! March is here, we are waiting for a rain storm.
Reflecting over the last six years and after 1,000 posts I have come to realize what The Seminary of Praying Mantis is all about. I can break my blog into four parts; Humor, spirituality, punk rock, and free fall.
I do embrace the creative shadow archetype. I like to make humor of culture and politics. For me it is the third path of satire. I do not shy off from it being considered stupid.
I am naturally a spiritual person. I have become more comfortable with sharing this about myself. My favorite books are biographies. So why not share my story.
Humor and honest nastiness is part of my Flopside Comics. Also, in The Daily “FUCK” Gazette and Flopside Bubble Gum comics one can find the absurd. I do admit defeat now and then when it comes to current events.
Punk Rock has cursed me. When I try to escape it, it always finds me. So, I now embrace it as part of my rebellious character. I love to share my history and stay current as shown in my ‘do it yourself ‘ projects.
I like intimacy. friendships and the integrity that comes with the core punk rock experience. I don’t do the festival punk thing.
That is way more profitable for the bands. I can dig that. If one of the many bands, I’ve known. wants to take one of my Punk@lullaby journals and help promote my work that is cool by me. Kind of like we use to do for them with Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.
My free fall is a merger of all the three parts including my art and poetry. I must create. It is a calling that I cannot ignore. I promote my own work and have true friends help me along the way.
One of my happiest days …
S.W. Lauden, Hudley and Danny Gardner at
“Poems, Songs & Stories-A Literary Lounge by the LA River”,
on September 10th 2017.
A great day !
The Frog Spot photo by Michelene Cherie.
Now to move on to a current event. I like reading Steve Forests’ writings on astrology. His latest post is on Mars, Mars out of bounds !!
You may not believe in the stars but even if you don’t he takes an honest look at what it is to be a male or female this month. A very good read.
Androgyny or the hermaphrodite archetype is part of my perspective on what it is to be a human being. Honesty and integrity are how I frame my world. It sometimes leads me down a confronting and angry dark path. Yet at age 60 I think I can be of service to others by doing my good work. I am walking a new path back to university.
I am interested on where this will take me. Will I be accepted for who I am? I want to help others. I may become distant here blogging? I may change my posts favoring one over the other? I will be more discerningly present !
Therefore, I am sharing the insides of my Flopside comic here. It makes me laugh. Hopefully bringing some adult toilet paper humor upon a heartless subject in current politics. The original Flopside Bubble Gum comic was published as Mr. Trump grappled a hostile takeover of our poor whimpering white house. How it has changed!!
Mr. Fuck the wild card the androgyny person. He is the “satellite of love”. He can help all men and women….with pink hat and hard on. I love the androgynous!
Mr. Dang, Bloody Elbows, Mr. Crap, Hudley, Pee Wee Gutter, Mr. Fuck and Mr. Garbage…..Mr. Shit declined to participate in our Flopside Crew Party dress party… old fart.
Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.
~Abraham Lincoln
The United States, the State of the Union Address… some don’t care and some are going to boycott the event. Others will watch like us at FLOPSIDE Comics. The theater of the trumpsurd!!!
So Mr. Shit came up with this in his sleep.
We listened as he snored and talked in his sleep. Mr. Shit said…
“The State of the Union Address… the Address… a dress.”
We listened.
“The dress… the dump is a dildo… Trump.”
Mr. Shit gave us a cleaver idea while he was deep in his sleep and talking in his sleep! He is an elder punk with dementia. Mr. Garbage listens closely to his wisdom and said it clearly to Mr. Fuck,
“A dildo and a dress…”
We smiled and then went to have a round of coffee. Today we will put on our best party dresses and listen to the addresses….
No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar.
The paintings below by Albrecht Durer can assist us to understand the esoteric importance of the planet Saturn. Saturn’s influence on us. “They all incorporate the symbols of Saturn to communicate a basic teaching.” I invite you to dwell upon these images and pine the importance of inward growth especially those who ponder in the world of melancholia.
“Melancholia” by Albrecht Durer
“Melancholy fury” stimulated the three highest human faculties : intellect, reasoning, and imagination” His observation was that a higher consciousness emerges from darkness.”
[Cornelius Agrippa of Nesheim 1509, from De Occulta Philosophia]
“St. Jerome” by Albrecht Durer
“The old man has transformed his gloomy cell into an earthy paradise with LIGHT streaming through the windows… his writings emphasize industry and resolve rather than despondency.”
“The Knight, Death and the Devil” by Albrecht Durer
“The knight riding on with a sense of purpose…”
Quotes taken from The Saturn Pluto Phenomenon by Joy Michand & Karen Hilverson Pages 3 and four.
Winged centaur, Etruscan black figure amphora, attributed to the Micali painter
There are lots of pros and cons about the past solar eclipse. I think it is cool. I did not go to see it. There are plenty of beautiful images online to see. I can think of eclipses in my life though. One of them was Joe Strummer. His voice had an eclipse on my feelings as a youngster. As for many others, he changed our lives! Their first 1977 LP The Clash pushed all the right bottoms and was special for many underground characters. His voice woke me from my slumber. I experienced them at the Santa Monica Civic on their first US tour, Wow!
It has been forty years and he still moves through my heart. All those feelings; to be authentic, real, and alive. To create things uniquely and roughly with your own hands. Forty years of punk rock and I completed my four Punk@lullabys ! My Big celebration! I reached my goal and it worked out as I planned.
It feels good to know that my celebration is more an inward accomplishment for a punk ideology that still pulls through my heart as Joe still does.
I hope you enjoy the coming eclipse. If you are already there or travel the journey to get there…If you need some reading material while waiting or after it is over and back to normal life… here is my stuff for your reading pleasure….
“…unless human beings could live at peace with one another.”
“In Goethe’s world conception, which is of a magical nature, both man’s spiritual and physical existence is related to the whole Universe of Stars, Sun and Planets. Just as man is not limited to his physical body, which Goethe conceived as the garment of both soul and spirit, the stars are not considered as simply meaningless massed formed in a three-dimensional space time continuum. Rather, Goethe regarded the heavenly orbs as the outer physical expression of Spiritual Beings, higher nonhuman Intelligences, which radiate spiritual and qualitative forces with their operative orbits.”
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
~Pg. 162-3 The Spear of Destiny by Trevor Ravenscroft
I am whispering in case the heavens are listening. This month the moon, sun, and planets are making a big deal about their place in the heavens, again.
I get it. It is a lovely galactic symphony. So, come the trials. Some are big and some very subtle and diabolically a pain in the ass. I try to keep sensible and logical, which I learned from my oldest son. It is hard to sometimes be logical and I turn to my passions.
So, the books start to come. I show a little interest in something from my past and the books will come. Not my doing it is my darn husband.
He has a statistical and chess mind. He thinks that by getting me these books that interest me, he can buy more chess books. So be it. I guess those rosy stories have been whispering in my ear as of late. As I said, it is that time of the year when chaos can be a good thing but unfortunately now it is discerningly a depraved time in our history.
Yet, from the cracks in the universe we find unique gifts like pearls. I shall go with the flow now engaging my moral courage for years to come.
“And while holding the talisman of power in his hands he told his Aides that mankind was standing on the brink of the most evil epoch in the entire history of the Planet. His young subordinates did not know about the Atom Bomb which was a most closely guarded a secret at this time.
They asked themselves what could be more evil than the Concentration Camps of Adolf Hitler’s defeated regime, and they wondered if their General had finally gone off his head. General Patton lift the bunker beneath Nuremberg Fortress in a somber mood.
Doom was written across the future of humanity unless human beings could live at peace with one another, and Patton could see in all clarity the danger of the new confrontation between America and Russia…Soldiers from the Third Division were standing guard outside the massive steel doors of the bunker in the Oberen Schmied Gasse when American aircraft unleashed the first atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The atomic age had begun.”
Pg. 350 The Spear of Destiny by Threvor Ravenscroft
Flopside comics is proud to continue on the next volume of ten editions of “FUCK” Gazettes. “Fart News” is the smelly echo of the word that is heard around the world. Volume two number one is a reflective piece of fart journalism.
A dualistic pause from the past into the present political drama! Yes, here at Flopside comics we memories quotes of our dear friend Thomas Paine. His good vibrations are close around.
His words echo in the moments of history that still speak to the noble of mind and heart. Pity the other fool that talks of truths…which he doesn’t even come close to saying in all his “tweetrums,” in fact Trump is an asshole… so there you go… that is fart news at its best. So go blow one and remember to be more than an asshole!!
I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.
~Hermann Hesse
My Punkalullaby Journals, one through four, are now included in one paperback book for sale at Amazon.
Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine is not forgotten.
This was my concern in 2004 when I began my memoir about the punk scene I was passionately involved with. That Flipside Fanzine would be forgotten. How many punk rock books are now being sold today that mention Flipside? Enough to satisfy me. My Punk@lullaby Journals, one through four, are part of this memory. As I repeatedly say,
“There are many stories from the big punk rock. Mine is just one of them. Mine is a complimentary edition to read alongside the big punk rock books out there!”
My Punk@lullaby Journals share in the tapestry of the whole worth of what the original Los Angeles punk scene was and has now become! Yes, I have heard the echoes of
“Another old punk rock story.”
This is ok for me to hear now! I can,
“Transform it into something of value!”
It is good for an elder to share stories about life. This is an ancient archetype that I have taken on.
I did approach others to have my book published. I answered my need to publish it by doing it myself. All that I learned from the original punk scene was available to me. My mind and soul, a computer and printer and a bedroom converted into an office. The integrity of Flipside Fanzine shines through these little numbers I call journals.
All four journals I published myself. I am happy! As I move into turning sixty, I have done something of value by completing my project. I now share my journals with the public. I was close to thirty when I left the original punk scene! That terrifying year was 1989. Yes, all that first Saturn return, and second Saturn return jazz is happening as I write this post now. A continuity that I also share for those that study the oldest of synchronicity wise sciences.
My stories are not perfect stories. If you desire to buy one, or all four, I hope while reading and reflecting on my stories you will find some fair value for yourself. It was an extraordinary time, and we were wild free journalists documenting a scene. No one told us what to do.
We were punks publishing a punk ‘zine. We were running with a tight but growing punk scene. Nobodies from an underground culture. All individuals were unique yet part of a community of rebellious friends. I still endure the punk scene and it is my curse to embrace.
Click on Image to buy all four Journals in a Paperback.
Polarized situation that is confusing on both sides… yet there is something going on behind closed doors. The Swamp Hotel, Trump D.C. outpost… is not telling us what is happening. No schedules and secret green doors. “I can’t recall” and propaganda on both sides. Again this is how we the people are being polarized.
Improvising is having the ability to control one’s mind and think clearly. To speak from memory and experience within the presence of now and not get tongue-tied. I watch how some people are so good at this type of control. It amazes me. They can move their bodies, speak and improvise with a type of grace.
A controlling of the mind and the body with entertaining perfection.
It is not about repetition or practice, yet that is part of it. Taking tests and writing essays in a class is the same type of improvising control. Some are good at it and others are not. Takes a lot of practice yet some people can bull their way through with flying colors. That is what I would like to be able to do.
I guess this is why I love Jazz. It is improvising control that is so perfect. A yearning for me…
“I stood for a moment on the scent, smelling this shrill and blood-raw music, sniffing the atmosphere of the hall angrily, and hankering after it a little too. One half of this music, the melody, was all pomade and sugar and sentimentality. The other half was savage, temperamental and vigorous. Yet the two went artlessly well together and made a whole.”
“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”
~ Jack Kerouac
I grew up during the 60s, 70s and 80s. I was 30 years old when I was bumped blindly into the world of a new education. Each generation I lived though, I loved. As a song, friend, or lover, which in fact… all three generations supplied me with abundantly.
I fell into the late 70s punk scene blindly and without any ambition, but the rebellious call of youth and ideology built on an underground scene. Yet what I witnessed in the 60s was the wildness of a different rebellion. I miss the hitchhiker’s ways.
People on the streets at every corner. I felt safe and awake.
Then as I have written before, the end of the 70s brought multiple attacks from serial killers and we all pulled into ourselves. Now I drive by the many blocks where I grew up and see all the streets are empty. Cars and more cars blindly drive right through my memories of those street kids. They were just hanging and talking.
They improvised life without any hand-held device. Only the feel of a hand.
I feel the need to move to a new place where there are no memories. I did it at the end of the 80s. I left to a place of no memories for a short time.
As a culture we have become so pulled into ourselves. I am guilty of this as well. I am not blind to what is going on yet, I am getting too old to do anything about it.
Venus on seashell, from the Casa di Venus, Pompeii. Before AD 79.
It seems contrary that Venus goes retrograde As Spring vividly approaches! The underworld is spilling upwards I’ve noticed shadows and illness Addiction, handicaps, and depression. My heart is hurt and overwhelmed. Man at the parking lot asking for money Young man in a wheelchair As parents push him through the supermarket his eyes deep in a world of despair. I hold on to the pain as it washes over me with tears Helpless tears of acknowledgment and power As we walk through these dark times To acknowledge it all with observing hearts That hear and feel! We help by our vibrations of compassion, empathy and caring. A silent prayer of hope, So, the wounded can find a gentle joy That pleasure brings upon their vivid blood-red hearts. She knows and she descends to us the gift of her sweetness for all times. Walking with those that hold the lanterns In the dark descending spiral into the underworld. Light that eliminates the darkness By acknowledgment, letting go. As hearts grow in applied ways This is our wisdom. A balm for our world… Breast bending up Chest falling down And love will be found there too.
“What is actually new in these interactions is the introduction of the financial aspect; if desired, the user has the possibility to monetize his expertise. Although, we can always share our experience for free, giving users the opportunity to have some financial compensation may enhance the potential of interactions by providing them credibility, recognizing their value and establishing a relationship of equals between the parties. Some people may well feel more at ease if, to complete their project, they have the possibility to ‘buy’ someone else’s know-how.”
After my stuff was destroyed by punks at a San Fernando Valley show, I felt threatened, but I moved on. My journals are now in paperback format for online sale. Problem solved. Published in 2019.
my opus magnum
It is ironic. My jewel, my opus magnum, and creations destroyed by the very same scene that gave me a voice. The punk scene gave me a voice. I self-taught myself or created myself in this void of rebellion.
A new world. The ideologies, punk community where we helped each other.
We confront the status quo and want to change things. My memories are something I share. It took me a long time but, a validation from financial gain is a necessity for the value of one’s art. What makes it valuable is relative.
Time, attempt, joy, bliss, and humor. A joining in. I joined the community of the history of punk now. I took a vow in Jung’s terms.
I am confronted with violence, destruction, and hate. What is my psyche doing now?
How is Cosmos responding to this? The fire of destruction. The depth of despair. The wheel of talk becomes tiresome to others.
Pity, maybe.
Hope, lost.
The band plays on…
I smell nothing today.
But the recurrence of something I cannot change.
I move forward as a phoenix.
new possibilities new awareness
leaving the gutter behind me!
In “Journal Number Four,” the author dedicates the issue to the tape recorder used at Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. The cover features a favorite photo of the early punk scene, showcasing the Canadian band Subhumans and the Samoans, along with notable figures like Greg Turner, Metal Mike, Wimpy, Hud, Gary, and Jim. The author is seen holding the Flipside tape recorder, with the photo taken by Al Flipside.
Now the new cover for Flipside Fanzine # 54 Ten Year Anniversary Issue. A paperback replica of the original issue. Published by The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing/ Hudley Flipside (2019)
All four journals are now for sale as one paperback memoir…
Click on both images to order for your reading pleasure.
