Tag Archives: Writing

The Daily “FUCK” Gazette Vol. One , Number 7

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.

 

Controlling Improvising friends..

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 practise 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.” Pg. 37 Steppenwolf

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/control/

Ode to the Verdugo Moutians

In the early morning 
there is nothing like driving east 
on Sherman Way in the San Fernando Valley.

Not too many drivers 
on the road
the view of the Verdugo mountains 
are straight ahead.  

The Verdugos shine with a blue gray hue 
bringing to mind my youthful wild days. 

The street is lined 
with dark green pepper trees 
blocks of brilliant yellow mustard greens 
freely enhanced with 
miles of tall brown yellow wheat weeds
What is still left of this wild valley.

It is a cool windy day
the will-o'-the-wisp 
goes round and round.

Made up of different colored leaves 
memories that stir within me.
 
Prehistoric blue gray mountain range
wild memories 
inspire feelings
I am getting younger 
not older.

Coolness on clothes
distance of windy gray sky
I feel 13 again.

 https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/gray/

till I drop

“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 a 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 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 the multiple attacks of 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 to old to do anything about it.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/blindly/

The Daily “FUCK” Gazette Vol. One , Number 5

Venus

th
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 desending 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.
350px-aphrodite_anadyomene_from_pompeii_cropped

Venus on seashell, from the Casa di Venus, Pompeii. Before AD 79.

https://hudleyflipside.com/my-shop-get-my-weird-stuff-here/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/vivid/

Now has come the smell of anticipation to create…after the pain of loss…

“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.” ~https://www.quora.com/What-do-you-consider-to-be-your-greatest-asset

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Hudley the Jester…

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 a value of one’s art. What makes it valuable is relative. Time, attempt, joy, bliss, and humor. A joining in. I join into 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 the Cosmos responding to this? The fire of destruction. The depth of despair. The wheel of talk that 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 !

My Shop

https://hudleyflipside.com/my-shop-get-my-weird-stuff-here/

JOURNAL NUMBER FOUR

The Tape Recorder Issue. I dedicate this issue to the one and only tape recorder we used at Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.

On the cover is one of my favorite pics of the early punk scene with Subhumans (Canadian Band) and Samoans. Greg Turner, Metal Mike, Wimpy, Hud, Gary and Jim. I am holding Flipside’s tape recorder. Picture by Al Flipside. Out soon.

https://hudleyflipside.com/2013/01/18/tape-recorder-1-shit-worker-at-flipside-fanzine/

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/scent/

The key

Marching down memory lane. I have mentioned this stencil before. I was inspired by a book by Tim Lyons about generational astrology.  What really rang true for me was his knowledge of Chiron. At the time I was living in a little apartment with my family in Van Nuys California.  I had to do something to express my excitement. So I created a stencil on available cardboard with my trusty X-Acto knife (that I still have ). This image is the last I have of Chiron. I lost the stencil. It does not matter if you view this image from the perspective of mythology, astrology, or depth psychology, it is a key that I found to healing and regeneration. I love Chiron.

The key is Chiron

chiron-2

Stencil by Hudley Flipside 1999

“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

 

We Need More Power!!

“Hi, it’s another year and you asked for it, here it is, RODNEY ON THE ROQ VOLUME 2. ALL of the bands that you hear every weekend on my show as broadcast on KROQ FM in Pasadena California” ~ Rodney Bingenheimer

What a time we are living in. Forty years of Punk Rock now in museums, a political civil war in the United States and the need to find the meaning of life. Well, back in the day our youthful ways confronted many of these issues with foresight, intuition, rebellion, and music.

I want to share Flipside Fanzine Issue 28 for those that may not have viewed it. Maybe you have the vinyl but never got the insert that Flipside did for this compilation. Most of the insert information was taken from interviews and pictures form other Flipside Fanzines. It has the Flipside Fanzine look and is branded such.

You can do an, “I Spy.” You will notice persons that are still with us and others that are not. Yet, it is an amazing documentation of a growing punk rock scene. Flipside provided a service to that scene.

Ok, I did not burn all the stuff I have with me either, it sets in my special closet with the rest of my art stuff and projects completed, or on the ways to creation. I love working on projects.

At that time working with Posh Boy Records and Rodney was just another way to promote the punk scene that I loved. I still love it and continue to be amazed by that time and place in our Los Angeles punk rock history.

flipside-fanzine-28-insert-cover-001fs-28-page-one-001fs-28-page-2-001 fs-28-page-3-001 fs-28-page-4-001 fs-28-page-5-001 fs-page-6-001fs-28-page-7-001fs-28-page-8-001fs-28-page-9-001fs-28-10fs-28-page-11-001 fs-28-page-12-001fs-28-page-13-001 fs-28-page-14-001 fs-28-page-15-001 fs-28-page-16-001fs-28-page-17-001 fs-28-page-18-001fs-28-page-20-001 fs-28-page-21-001 fs-28-page-22-001 fs-82-page-19-001fs-28-page-22-back-cover-001

Friendly Echoes

“Eventually, Echo, too, began to waste away. Her beauty faded, her skin shriveled, and her bones turned to stone. Today, all that remains of Echo is the sound of her voice.[12] “

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Hudley Clown party ’83

The echo of music is all that is left of the experience we shared. Just like Echo, we begin to waste away. Knowing the melting of my brain towards this reality, is something we all face. Is there comfort in the echo of music?

Yes there is!

It can be like an old friend that does not age. It is like an eternal echo from the past that is consistent with the present and beyond.

Lyrics echo this and books echo that.

Memories are echoes in my mind. I can go over the memories again and again.

I miss so many scenes and groups of people who have gone. I still hear the sounds of their voices but they are not there. People, places and things that hold on with an echo.

That eternal echo of music, clubs and beer.

Screaming, dancing and holding friends near!

Dear long friendly echoes.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/echo/