13-11-2010, 03:30 AM
My friend Jeff had returned from a period of months on one of the Keys. Looking very Lord of the Flies. He invited me to accompany him to a lecture at a MENSA meeting. The dry man in the grey suit was from the FDA. He was telling us, “Tests have shown marijuana causes short term memory loss.”
My hand shot up. He nodded at me. I asked, “Which tests were these?”
“I uh can't recall, but there are tests,” he replied.
I, alone, laughed, with gusto.
A couple of years down the road. Santa Fe. The bald woman on tabla. Ginsberg droning his warplanes, horny rap over his recorder. Ram Das smiling, with gong.
Ginsberg had everyone staring at the doorknob and being with their breathing.
He went out chanting.
I am perhaps simplistic, but it never stopped me before.
It is, as Huxley famously said, a Door. And he used it elegantly, magnificently, with his wife, at the end. No truer Staircase to Heaven.
To see things infinitely does of course go against survival—how dodge cars now, saber-tooth tigers then, if tripping on the beautiful Mozartian hatbox galactic telescoping universe, becoming old, young, beautiful, ugly.
Of course Gottlieb et al sought control for its own sake—see how the ego tugged Leary like a leash.
And as for a “guide,” perhaps a Satini-from-Boulder would be useful if one were too footloose.
Free thinking does not require a chemical tool; conceptual links may be opened like so many caribiners.
I suggest the lyric of John Lennon, specifically the key phrases, “but if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain't going to make it with anyone any how” as well as “you better free your mind instead” as being dangerous to the Cold War world being re-established by Reagan-Bush—and see how Reagan was almost replaced by Bush.
Chapman, Hinkley. In the manner, perhaps, of Sirhan.
Control in that regard being dark, evil, smelling of death.
But the context—set and setting if you will—of therapy to bring one BACK from that darkness, that might be the valid therapeutic use, and the valid role of control.
Giinsberg howled of “the shrieking fairies of Madison Avenue” and we eschew their call to focus on the bright, shiny things made by armies of Chinese workers driven to jump from factory windows.
The shamans are busily designing new consciousness constrictors.
This forum is a window.
My hand shot up. He nodded at me. I asked, “Which tests were these?”
“I uh can't recall, but there are tests,” he replied.
I, alone, laughed, with gusto.
A couple of years down the road. Santa Fe. The bald woman on tabla. Ginsberg droning his warplanes, horny rap over his recorder. Ram Das smiling, with gong.
Ginsberg had everyone staring at the doorknob and being with their breathing.
He went out chanting.
I am perhaps simplistic, but it never stopped me before.
It is, as Huxley famously said, a Door. And he used it elegantly, magnificently, with his wife, at the end. No truer Staircase to Heaven.
To see things infinitely does of course go against survival—how dodge cars now, saber-tooth tigers then, if tripping on the beautiful Mozartian hatbox galactic telescoping universe, becoming old, young, beautiful, ugly.
Of course Gottlieb et al sought control for its own sake—see how the ego tugged Leary like a leash.
And as for a “guide,” perhaps a Satini-from-Boulder would be useful if one were too footloose.
Free thinking does not require a chemical tool; conceptual links may be opened like so many caribiners.
I suggest the lyric of John Lennon, specifically the key phrases, “but if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain't going to make it with anyone any how” as well as “you better free your mind instead” as being dangerous to the Cold War world being re-established by Reagan-Bush—and see how Reagan was almost replaced by Bush.
Chapman, Hinkley. In the manner, perhaps, of Sirhan.
Control in that regard being dark, evil, smelling of death.
But the context—set and setting if you will—of therapy to bring one BACK from that darkness, that might be the valid therapeutic use, and the valid role of control.
Giinsberg howled of “the shrieking fairies of Madison Avenue” and we eschew their call to focus on the bright, shiny things made by armies of Chinese workers driven to jump from factory windows.
The shamans are busily designing new consciousness constrictors.
This forum is a window.