Ancient Egyptian human-headed ba-bird, gessoed and painted wood, Ptolemaic period,
332-330 BC. H. 5 inches. (12.5cm)
“The wind is in truth the ALL-Devourer, for when the fire dies out it goes into the wind, when the sun sets, it goes into the wind, when the moon sets, it goes into the wind, when the waters dry up, they go int the wind, for the wind consumes them all. Thus it is with respect to the divinity. And now with respect to the self. The breath is truth the ALL-Devourer, for when a man sleeps, speech goes into breath, the eye goes into breath, the ear too, and the manas, for the breath consumes then all. These are the two ALL-Devourers; wind among the gods, and breath among living men.”
Passage from the Khandogya Upanishad
A woman engaging her Animus
Posted in My Red Book by Holly Cornell
Tagged Ancient Egyptian human-headed ba, Art, beauty, Depth Psychology, Hudley Flipside, Khandogya Upanishad, poems, postaday, the written word, Women, Writing
” A third cause lies in the achievements of technology that substitute new means for so many tasks to which women previously applied her inventiveness and creative spirit. Where she formally blew up a hearth fire, and thus still accomplished the Promethean act, Today she turns a gas plug or an electrical switch and has no inkling of what she sacrifices by these practical novelties, nor what consequences the loss entails. For everything not done in the traditional way will be done n a new way and that is not altogether simple.”~ Animus Pg 7, Animus and Anima , Two Essays by Emma Jung.
Now is the season for fireside chats.
As a child after playing outside in the cold, we ran into the house for dinner. Then the fireplace was open on three sides. The fire blazed with a passion that rubbed the cold off of our faces. The chat around the fireside was dinner and TV shows: sItting on pillows around the dinner table. A big family and lots of friends has currently come down to my immediate family. Now it is only the four of us. I know this will not last forever. Our family may get bigger or smaller…yet the fire is still part of this endearing equation.
We still blow up the hearth fire to accomplish the Promethean act.
I have just finished reading two books by Linda Leonard before the warmth of my winter fireplace. Now my life is filled with those that I wish were my friends. Within Linda’s books are stories or mini-biographies of women who I would love to sit around the fireside and chat with: Rosa Luvemburg, Maria Callas, or any of the women whose stories Linda shared.
Sitting and talking around the fireplace; just reflecting while watching the fire and imagining freely… is a very healing thing to do.
Years ago for Christmas I would get a 6 by 6 foot cardboard. We lived in a little apartment and did not have a fireplace. So I painted one on the cardboard: a red brick fireplace with a glowing fire of yellow, orange and red colors!! Eldest son and I enjoyed many a christmas fire together, enhanced by our imagination. We talked and played for hours as most mothers do with their young children…in front of the fireplace.
Ancient Greek pottery c.330 BCE in British Museum – Delphic Tripod and the Pythia
The worst of times
bearing grief and betrayal
looking down towards the earth…
walking slowly in duty…
Comes up a spring
bubbling and fresh
female voices from the past
speak of hope and inspiration…
Images & symbols in my mind and heart… though stagnant
break open with the right tone
the right words…
the yellow yolk
deeply drips over my life!
Posted in My Red Book by Holly Cornell
Tagged Alternative music, Ancient Greek pottery, Art, beauty, British Museum, Delphic Tripod, Depth Psychology, Goddess and Home, Hudley Flipside, Oral Tradition, postaday, spirituality, Subculture, the written word, Women
2015: Jumping in the truck and taking the kid to school. Turning on the radio while a song is starting to play. So we turn it up as loud as can be. The car radio vibrating as truck bounces its way down the road…breaking the mediocrity of routine by invoking my “puella” once more. Looking over at son, he is clearly into the drums because he is mocking the drum beats.
“The Ballroom Blitz” is a song written by Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman and originally recorded by the British rock band The Sweet. Billboard ranked it as the No. 16 song for 1975.”
1976: At the age of 18 the song Ballroom Blitz played on the Telefunken Radio. The radio vibrated on the wood shelve next to the fireplace. It was free FM KROQ.
“Poo Poo Pee DOO…KROQ”
“KROQ’s 1976 rebirth was perfectly timed with the emergence of punk rock and New Wave and KROQ quickly became the voice of the burgeoning Los Angeles scene, with disc jockey Rodney Bingenheimer joining the station and introducing many new and local bands, including The Ramones, The Runaways, The Stray Cats and The Go-Gos, on his massively influential shows. As punk expanded its hold on the music scene of the mid to late 1970s, KROQ steadily adding more of it to their freeform format, cementing their place in the Los Angeles market. The station’s proximity to Hollywood and the Los Angeles punk rock scene gave it a unique place in the development of this newer music and much later with the alternative rock genre. In the late 70s and early 80s KROQ was quickly becoming one of the most influential radio stations in broadcast history.”
Whenever Ballroom Blitz came on the radio I bounced like a rubber ball around any room. A song that is responsible for pulling me into the world of KROQ, RodneyBingenheimer ( Rodney On The Rocks ) and the Los Angeles punk rock.. (Ya there was a time before Henry… amen hallelujah!!)
If a song can encapsulate youthful dreams and rebellion …this is the one for me. Like many songs that we take for granted, this tune always seems as new as the day it was new…fresh, stimulating and wild as the Los Angeles streets I did join. It is a very wild song. The word very and wild are my favorite words and I use the words while describing this song…ya ya ya!!
Posted in "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band), PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock
Tagged Alternative music, Art, Ballroom Blitz, beauty, Flipside Fanzine 20, Hudley Flipside, KROQ, Los Angeles, Oral Tradition, postaday, PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock, punk rock music, Underground, very, wild, Women, Writing
“I’m here I’m there, I’m everywhere…I’m the underwear man.!”
While shopping I pulled the wet mustard greens up. Curly, green and alive, this image sparked a memory from my mental files. Back to when the million dollar homes around my parent’s house were once fields of green, purple wild flowers or yellow dirt weeds; depending on the season. This is when the hills and fields of Mulholland of Los Angeles County were also as wild. The new asphalt streets echoed with the sound of nature and children playing. We were somehow the hillbillies of Woodland Hills. Not too rich but mighty wild. The neighborhood was horsey and Ruff and I noticed the for sale signs around. At dusk we pulled the real estate posts down with a rope looped around a saddle horn. The signs always were reassembled the next day.
Through long walks and long strides; windy days and pounding rain…we kept on riding our horses.
I am spoiled to have had such a wellspring of wild freedom as a youth. Dangerously taking to the hills. One time off Topanga Canyon Blvd., which we called the Snake, we were riding towards a dark forest in the curve of a tall hill. Sony and I fell into a ditch hidden by a monster of wild sage..
I can still see that ditch today driving the Snake to and from Pacific Coast HWY.
On this day Sony and I were trapped. I could not get Sony up. He was pinched in. The only way out was down a 10 foot drop… or longer. We all were terrified. Ruff and I went to the closest house and they dialed 911. Fire trucks arrived. Alarms turned off. Twelve big men, two young teenage girls and one horse safe, while my Sony was stuck. It was a terrible adventure that left the Firemen overwhelmed. I heard them talking and analyzing the situation.
“It does not look too good for your horse.” Said one of the men.
“Do you parent’s know where you are?” Said another man in red.
I just shrugged my shoulders. An hour went by. Sony was surrounded with dirt, weeds and hanging over a cliff… with a red shell of fireman around him mocking protection. I was beside myself in grief. Then I turned away and heard a scream. I turned back, looked up and witnessed Sony dancing a full 360 head first then gallop down the hill as flying directly to me. He nuzzled his nose to mine and I simple walked away. Sony was fine.
The green fields of Mulholland often were filled with wild mustard greens that housed many a tick. Black little bugs that sucked the blood of our horses or our legs and bare feet. The yellow little blossoms in bunches came higher than our horses. The wild flowers went on for miles.
Once riding through a long dense forest of mustard greens we came upon and opening. We were about a couple of miles from any homes. A big rock was in the middle of a round tunnel about twelve feet across. We saw a little boy come out screaming from bush and then ascended on top of the rock. He was in his underwear except for his red cape behind him.
“I’m here I’m there, I’m everywhere…I’m the underwear man.!” The little strange boy declared.
He looked at us and then ran down the rock and back into the wild mustard greens, now taller than our horses, never to be seen again??
To the Snake… From A Mad woman
Posted in The Adventures of Sony and Raubie
Tagged Embellished Short Stories, entertainment, Goddess and Home, mustard greens, Oral Tradition, postaday, Sony, the written word, Underground, wild mustard greens, Women, Writing
A good read and “so it goes!!”
Originally posted on The Selvedge Yard:
“There just isn’t any pleasing some people. The trick is to stop trying.”
I can’t say it any better than Mr. Kinsley–
“Bob Mitchum was one of the good guys. He was a smoker of cigarettes and cigars, a drinker of Irish and Scotch whisky in large quantities, and a smoker of hashish and sinsemilla marijuana joints the size of White Owl cigars. He did 2 months in jail in 1949 for smoking pot when the cops set him up through an informer. But he was a tough guy too, “rode the rails” as a boy, and was on a chain gang in Georgia at 14 for vagrancy, escaped, and later had 27 fights as a professional boxer. His sardonic comment on the California jail was: ‘It was just like Palm Springs — but without the riff-raff.'”
“He was born in 1919 and he died, of emphesyma…
View original 1,619 more words
“The image of rain as redemptive symbolizing the tears of transformation, comes up in many women’s dreams and it is a frequent image in the poet’s vision. “ ~ Linda S. Leonard
Waking up as from a bad dream. I was holding a gun with the barrel down towards the earth. I thought over the dream…
“Call 911,” I yelled.
The women’s face and the graduation ceremonies seemed to ignore my screams. I only had a t-shirt on. Running from a mad doctor who was diagnosing what illness we had and how we would die. We all were asked to line up against the wall. Then we were asked to stretch out on the shelves. The friendly man with the leather jacket was there with his hand around my shoulders. He remembered my face from the day before.
“Your face looks familiar!”
Where is my husband? After I found him again we are back in line, and at this point back to where I grabbed the gun. The mad doctor already shot it. Now he had the gun and a big knife on the table as he asked his questions. The mad doctor turned his back to us. I took the opportunity to grab the gun and I ran out of a building into a crowded dark park. I am coming home from a bad dream!!
Breathing very hard I awoke from the dream with a sound of a lamenting cat. I closed the door. I did not want him in. I do not want to hear him. Around the house I heard his lamenting: lamenting, lamenting and lamenting. He is a rooster-cat as the sun is rising. Feeling hot and cold and running to get the cat food, I opened the can and chopped the cat food up; also opening the door to let one in and one cat out. I ran back to a hot cold bed. A bounding idea pushed its way into my sleepy fast beating heart as I said to myself,
“maybe I should have not run away. I could have shot the mad doctor in the foot instead?”
Comforting my mind…my mind…in my mind I thought;
“I will shoot the doctor in the foot. I am thinking… I am shooting him as he turns to look at me….now!! Let all the people suppress him now and stop our torturer!!”
Up from bed with coffee. I sit to read the above quote about rain… as it is also raining now.
I finally brought the images together. I am indulging my ego tonight. So often I see posts about getting rid of our egos. I don’t think we should. I don’t feel we should get rid of our egos or out our shadows! No guilt !!! Our rebellion somehow should linger into our maturity. ( If we survive and don’t stay young forever by dying young ?!) It is what we need as a foundation to what it is to be human. Tonight two images are part of my need to hang on to a part of the beautiful youthful ego that is still in me somewhere. It is a fun image. I call it the praying mantis pose. it is very Poiser !
The second is an image of James Dean from the film Rebel Without A Cause. I just viewed the film again on TMC. It hit me again too, that posier pose. I love it too. It got me thinking again about the image, that I have compared it to in my mind all these years. It makes me think there is magic in all this. Some strange synchronicity that I am not aware of at this time ?? That is all. Mission complete !!
Hudley close to age 22. 1980s
James Dean age 22. 1950s
A William Blake Original doing the Praying Mantis Pose Poiser.. Friends with Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley and Thomas Paine
He did not tell me how old he was but he is a Poiser !!
(I pressed publish before I was ready… so I am still writing and editing … it may never end…)
Happy Full moon….
Mr. Dean listened to TCHAIKOVSKY .
Recently a few of our Los Angeles Clubs have closed or are in the process of transforming. All generations or music scenes go through these changes. Owners and promoters come and go. Yet what Is happening now seems as revolutionary as when the underground scene claimed these clubs as their own. I speak from the late 70s to present. It is nothing new. I just hope that the youngsters will continue finding and creating a scene that comes from their rebellion. Technologies have changed everything! We no longer go to shows to make friends and find support like we once did. We don’t need fanzines anymore or a band’s creative flyers. Gamers and hand-held devices are changing the world. It is something we all have to work out, because It an’t what it use to be. No one can ever bring this particular youthful music scene back… no matter how any one tires to ‘viagra’ it. I find joy in reflecting back on this time .
I am presenting an extremely wonderful article by Flipside Fanzine’s Roving Reporter Helen Jewel. It is a good read. Ya might have to squint your eyes or zoom in a great deal to read it, I invite you to be amazed. Enjoy the patina of the original Flipside Fanzine. It has aged a lot. Again Thank you Helen. I appreciate you much more now than I ever did then!!
From Issue Number 37 the mid 1980s. Dead Clubs By Helen Jewel (With a little help from her friends !)
Page One Flipside Fanzine # 37 Dead Clubs by Helen Jewel
Page Two Flipside Fanzine # 37 Dead Clubs by Helen Jewel
Page Three Flipside Fanzine # 37 Dead Clubs by Helen Jewel
Posted in PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock
Tagged Clubs, Flipside Fanzine, Helen Jewel, Hudley Flipside, Los Angeles Clubs, Old School Punk Rock, postaday, PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock, punk rock music, Subculture, Underground, Women, Writing