It is ok !!


From the San Fernando Mission 2012, Photo taken By Shyane Cornell

Being alive we are all touched by many things. Music especially moves me. It is a powerful touch! I like all types of music. But what really touches my soul, my human condition is Jazz. It touches me and pulls me in to a connection with life as a link up. With all the crazy times… good and bad,  Jazz incarnates me into the real world.

“It is fucking ok to be a human and feel what I am feeling, think what I am thinking … even love and hate what I do!!”

Jazz is my musical mixing factor of being in a good groove with the world. In times like ours Jazz cools me off from the fire of my emotional soul and makes me feel clean…and just OK!! The world can be a big pain in the ass, but while I am listening to Jazz…

“It be cool…to be a human being…regardless!!”

Cool off with this number!!


One can view the original BAUBO PROTAGONIST in the collection of art on-line via Super-Sheroes. Below is the second and the third is on the way. Thanks goes to Flopside Comics and Mr. Fuck who is my all time muse and general asshole… and to the Hags!


It is a good thing to have the opportunity to be supported in this way. Take a view and have some fun.

Logo protagonist copy

Sick comics being or traded in bulk?

Los Angeles River

” Into water wind has come, into water wind will go”

– Amlodhi-Ambakes

The Los Angeles River’s official beginning is at the confluence of two channelized streams – Bell Creek and Arroyo Calabasas – in the Canoga Park section of the city of Los Angeles, just east of California State Route 27, at 34.1952°N 118.601838°W (the east side of Canoga Park High School). Bell Creek flows east from the Simi Hills, and Arroyo Calabasas flows north from the Santa Monica Mountains. From there the river flows east through a concrete flood control channel and very soon receives Browns Canyon Wash, which flows south from the Santa Susana Mountains. The river then bends slightly south and receives Aliso Canyon Wash, whose watershed adjoins that of Browns Canyon. The river then flows through the district of Winnetka, then Reseda and enters the Sepulveda Basin, a flood-control reservoir formed by the Sepulveda Dam.[4][5][6][7]

The Los Angles river flows along concrete. I live near it on Vanowen Blvd. and I travel by and over the river everyday; from Calabasas to home again. A water flow that is older than the congested city that grew up around it and now controls it. I still hear its watery whisper and know wild animals still transverse the pure and dirty waters.

The flowing hill waters still carry a harmony of wilderness. It resonates in the glowing eyes of the wild raccoon, skunks and coyotes that I have viewed at night. Taking me back to my wild days of roaming the same hills and dipping my feet in the same streams that flow into this river.

Once I had a dream. I was playing on a golf course near Canoga Ave. One of the places my friends and I played. A mound formed from the grass. Slowly a grayish woman came forward our of the grass. A full aboriginal woman. It was not so much of what I witnessed there but how she made me feel.

A pure wild freedom of earth and sky projected out towards me.

Quickly she turned to run south up Canoga Blvd. Running and galloping with her were many wild animals. They also came up and ran as a strong wind forward. My heart and mind wanted to go with her. I still wonder where she went and who she was; from a Jungian perspective parts of my unconscious self most likely.

Circulating  the San Fernando Valley, my home town and where I was born, and where I most likely will die. Here is where I will have my body cremated, and at the base of Bell Creek and Arroyo Calabasa, my ashes freely thrown. How confronting this seems to me.

“I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.”

~ Jack Kerouac

Last night while leaning on a city tree that hums from food from the good Los Angeles earth mother. I think about my home and the Los Angeles river. The pushy Saturn has fallen and the Pleiades now greets me. The cool grass on my bare feet feels great and my soul is listening to an epiphany of a whispering river.

Sometimes a calling late at night; to comfort and wildness.

I heard it as a child and now I have come back to hearing it again. Sounding like a shrill, scratching, glass chimes circulating in the wind. A place beyond finding.


Westfield Village Westfield-topanga-public-art-display- About the Los Angeles River

You got the look…


A gift last year, this Orchid fell into hibernation throughout the hot summer. I watered it religiously…. thinking it dead…. surprised when it came to life again this autumn. Now four blossoms …. a gift even sweeter then before!

Suffragette Glory

As a baby boomer from the Jones generation I get sick when it comes to the idea of a war machine. Like prostitution it is one of the oldest rights of man; and unfortunately war is now for women.


When we hear about Ezekiel’s Vision of Divine Glory we most likely think about some strange and wonderful images. William Blake even illustrated them. Very remarkable and inspirational. Yet if one takes a closer look past all the inspiration one finds a testimony of war and war machines. Ezekiel’s glory turns to the horrors of religious war.

1“As for you, son of man, take a sharp sword; take and use it as a barber’s razor on your head and beard. Then take scales for weighing and divide the hair. 2“One third you shall burn in the fire at the center of the city, when the days of the siege are completed. Then you shall take one third and strike it with the sword all around the city, and one third you shall scatter to the wind; and I will unsheathe a sword behind them. 3“Take also a few in number from them and bind them in the edges of your robes. 4“Take again some of them and throw them into the fire and burn them in the fire; from it a fire will spread to all the house of Israel.” ~ Ezekiel Five



My Dad was shot down near the shores of New Guinea. On a last flight as a Captain. He survived the water with a broken back. Every year my mom made a beautiful cake with his plane crashed on the New Guinea cake coast in remembrance of that day. I did not get it as a kid and was only interested in the blue and green frosting.

All this weaved tightly together means when as a child of a WW II veteran I found out that my dad was the recipient of a Purple Heart; I still held no glory for war. I just liked the purple heart as a play thing.

The suffragette movement was a real good war. The right to vote and be heard.

Not to be as a man but new and powerful as a lady.

I think we should take the focus off glorifying war and its veterans and focus on the ones in control. The war machine. Take the few and put them on an Island like New Guinea and have them fight their wars. (yes, this is not a new idea). Most likely that would come down to about 5 or 6 men. Powerful war hungry men and corporate heads who search & destroy for profit, land resources and religious or political insanity.

Yes, even though I love William Blake’s illustrations of Ezekiel’s Vision of Divine Glory, Ezekiel was fucking insane. If you have not taken the time to read this from any Gideon’s bible… prepare to be amazed.

Only after the last tree has been cut down, only after the last river has been poisoned, Only after the last fish has been caught, Only then will you find money cannot be eaten.
~ Cree Prophecy

SOYAL and Just Take Five….

Atheists, Winter Solstice celebrations, Buddhists, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Native Americans, Nova Romans, Wiccans, Neopagans, Zoroastrians…

As a religious studies major the more I study religions and their particular cultures the more I realize, that the further back one goes in time to study these religions, it all comes down to an image of a circle and a cross. It is the path of the sun. Individual visions, stories around the camp fire, musical bards, fairly tales and dogma all bring forth races and cultures around a rather simple image of the sun rising and falling at certain times of the year.

I wonder if Joshua Feuerstein realizes how much of jerk he is. I was watching the original Rain Maker last night a film with the mighty Burt Lancaster. He plays the dreamer know as Bill Starbuck. A name he created as a traveling rainmaker. It really caught my attention because of the controversy about some red cups not having a certain holiday greeting. With all the media play-up I feel we are all being razzle dazzled by social media, Starbuck’s mermaid image / logo  has her legs (fins) spread. An ancient image of Goddess / Baubo.


San Pedro de Galligans, Gerona, Spain. twelfth century CE. (Duty, 1981, fig 7.)

Her hole her cup.

Yet the cup we drink from is covered over. A holy cup of coffee which like oil products rules our lives a bit more then we may like.

This year I am going to humbug christmas and focus on Aboriginal groups…

“…dedicated to giving aid and direction to the sun which is ready to and give strength to budding life.”  It is called SOYAL…”

~ Religious Ontario Consultants on religious Tolerance



That woman walk … A dip thing…


My favorite Marilyn Monroe film is Clash By Night. It is a rather unknown Noir film with leading lady Barbara Stanwyck. The reason I like this film is because Marilyn’s character is so good. She is charming, sexy, cute and loyal. The beginning of a great dramatic actress. There are some remarkable scenes shared by Barbara and Marilyn. One particular scene I love is when they do a walk tight togther.


They connect and do a deep dip walk with long strids. As if the whole world disappears and it is just them on stage.

Defiantly affirming their place in the world. It makes me cry and feel as if I could join right in. In general their relationship portrayed in this film seems good, playful and accepting; the older actress making way for the younger one. I enjoy studying  Barabara Stanwyck’s Noir films. They have that dip into the dark side of reality that is pulling at all the right emotions. There is nothing like her type of Film Noir.

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Fuck Wars

~Flopside Comics are Offbeat absurd adult toilet paper humor funnies.
Not for those without a nasty and stupid sense of humor.
Staring Mr. Fuck and his adventures in life.

Is that comic relief coming out of your “be more than an asshole?”

Proceed at your own risk at all times… no big deal really….

“Art of Fugue”

Fuckth and Fucki 001

…. in contemplation on something…all possibilities… and I still say “Fuck Wars”…. around and around we go over the subject… persistently…. I say “Fuck Wars!!”

Seldom Forgotten


“1940 is the year when we approach the meridian of the first star in Aquarius. It is the premonitory earthquake of the New Age.” We see how Jung considered earthly occurrences in a cosmic context, with an eye toward the approach of the Age of Aquarius, which was supposed to come after the Age of Pisces in the global calendar. This fact, differently interpreted by the various esoteric groups, was frequently connected with an “age of enlightenment” and great steps forward in spiritual progress. But it is not seldom forgotten that spiritual maturity carries the price of great suffering and severe trials. As Jung was certainly clearly aware of this aspect…” Pg. 333-334, The Second World War, Jung: A biography.

New Age, Age of Aquarius and “age of enlightenment” always put a little fear in me. At this time of the year the dead whisper their stories through dreams, books and biographies. This Sunday I pulled my random book. I started reading randomly. The above quote from Carl Jung’s biography pulled at me. Directly pulling at reflections and meditations of the day.

After an early meditation outside near the bomb shelter; small rough golden and dark green leaves falling from the Cyprus tree onto my head, then down to my lap. Looking up I saw a small song bird right above me on a branch chirping and giving itself a cleaning. I was focused on it. The coolness in the air calmed me as I looked up away further to see another bird flying. A white bird; a seagul or maybe an owl. It was flying South West. A large bright bird highlighted by the rising sun.  In my wonder I then looked down to see that the little song bird had left a white bird poop on my lap.

“Nasty little bird…I think I get the hint!!”

I got up and walked towards the house. Both female cats disturbed by my movement, as they had found a temporary warm home near my legs and feet.

In Your ‘Owl’ Sweet Way !!


Baked lamb on pita with fresh tomatoes and jalapeño. hummus and homemade ‘Rosemary, garlic. lemon, olive oil and ‘California honey’ sauce!’ A dollop of Sriracha.