Tuesday, December 21, 2004

The Season Of Supposed Good Cheer

Well folks, once again, it's that time of year.
So let me tell you a story, steeped, ages deep in vainglory,
About this season of supposed good cheer.
Long, long ago when this world was quite young,
Most people believed in religion that said man and nature were one.
The symbol of this synthesis was half-animal and half-man:
A totally harmless, flute playing sprite who reveled in life,
Worshiping only the light, and all folk called him - Pan.
Goat horned and hooved was he, a simple illustration, you see,
Of the wide world in balance, nature and human life in close harmony.
But then a new religion arose calling the innocent old faith perfidy,
Based on a concept of life as anthro(as opposed to eco)centricity.
With intolerance it was rife and after its god it did hight: Christianity.
Thereupon the folk all were told (and forced to say it was true)
That all the old ways were wrong, that the new god was so strong.
Thus the god of the old faith became the "devil" of the new!
Gross cruelty and persecution did then begin, and thereafter did ensue
The evil times: "The Dark Ages"- church caused and all should, to this very day, rue.
So for all the gentle souls who were tortured, or at the stake burned,
For believing in their religion, for persevering about nature to care,
Let us offer up a paean (or call it a prayer) to whatever god you dare:
That from theocentricity, hatred and bigotry be all religions turned;
That, no longer should anyone, because of their faith, have to fear!
Then this season might truly be, for all, one of good cheer!

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Oh, and by the way - The Point!

There were quite a few ways in which my LSD experiences changed me I must say. I don't believe my relative 'sanity' was ever an issue. A supposed IQ of 172 brings with it an expectation of, at least, eccentricity. The integration of my disparate characters (the results of childhood abuse which created Multiple Personality Disorder) was a plus, my emerging abilities as a conscious channel were unexpected but welcome, and certainly, becoming the world's most facile and prolific neologist since James Joyce (something to do with the chemically induced re-wiring of my brain's linguistic sectors, coupled with my already exceptionally large vocabulary) added to my unique worth as a writer!

So, a caution, Gentle Reader. Just as old maps emblazoned with blank spaces labeled "Terra Incognita" were wont to impute, at this point I believe it behooves me, in this, my guise as the 'anonymous narrator' (or "Central Scrutinizer" as Frank Zappa so aptly named it) to warn that, where the mapmakers of old felt compelled to say: "Here Be Dragons!"; I will, for those who can only navigate with prescriptive dictionarial sextants and transits say - "Here be Neologisms!"

These missives are meant to be the metaphorical mitochondria of a singular seed, one genetivcally engineered, by myself, to produce a paticular type of life: The mythical "Tree Of Life"!

Friday, December 10, 2004

Bytes Of History

The current state of governmental behavior modification research, at least in my own experience in the past 10 years, involves the use of various designer analogs of methamphetamine sulphate, created by "confidential informant"-"cooks", or covert government agents, usually in small, easily isolated semi-urban areas like Golden, Colorado where the combination of long term repressive 'dirty' officials and cops, and acceptance of the abrogation of 4th amendment freedoms by 'compromised' (ie: blackmailed, or coerced) individual citizens can facilitate the incursion of black-ops teams and individuals.

Here are some links that delineate the state of affairs up till now:






































Thursday, December 09, 2004

Promises, promises.

Back in the '70's, there was a story spread by Art Linkletter and his ilk, that two students had taken LSD and stared at the sun until they went blind. This was just another example of "The Big Lie" which has been used consistantly by people for whom psychotropic mind-alteration is a contravention of their pre-conceived and easily-proven-to-be-irrational world-view. People like those, when consistantly unable to make the facts fit their theories, invent horror stories to convince their audience of the righteousness of their positions. Now don't get me wrong, I do not advocate drug use, other than medicinally , by anyone at any time - it is more often a distraction from facing life's problems than an aid in resolving them. On the other hand, I believe it is counter-productive to prevaricate in ANY instance, even when communicateing that truth might seem to be counter-productive to one's goals in the long run. You cannot empirically evaluate ANY theory by altering the facts! ("Ye shall know the Truth, and the Truth shall make you free.")

Both Art and Richard Nixon PROMISED me 'flashbacks'! They said that LSD would come back to plague those who imbibed for the rest of their lives - I WISH! I have NEVER had a flashback and never had a bad pysical or psychological experience from my previous use of etheogenic substances. But I am just one person and my experiences do not define the whole.

I have always believed that the means define the ends, and one cannot spread light while casting dark shadows upon any subject material. Unfortunately the whole repressive, fear-based climate with regard to the study of anecdotal psychopathology these days has become antithetical to true, empirical research into the nature of drug use, and abuse; and the powers-that-be have no interest in 'knowing the truth', even scientifically. If any studies show positive results that contradict current policy they are immediately excoriated as "wrong", and publically
obfuscated as such.

There is a reason for this, and that is that the "War On Drugs" has turned into a job-security-and-profit based, self-perpetuating assault on the Bill Of Rights, perpetrated by a criminal subculture consisting of high-ranking political and religious idealogues, compromised Federal agents, 'dirty' undercover drug cops and sociopathic rodential "Confidential Informants". Such is the sorry state of the republic's behavior modification gloss today.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

The Worm Realizes It CAN Turn

A few years after my handler and I and a few more of "the crew" had moved to Colorado because Richard Nixon (being out of the black-ops loop) had started trying to find out where all this LSD was coming from and that was compromising our operations in CA, and a few years before the "Company" gave up on LSD as a behavior modifacation tool and sent C. E. to run a 'Trekker' bar on Lake Atitlan, in Guatemala (ostensibly to keep an eye on things for them there because, as a Native American, he looked like an "indio" and was less suspicious than some 'Anglo') we found living in what used to be the town bordello of old Central City during the filming of the movie: "The Duchess And The Dirtwater Fox" with Goldie Hawn and George Segal.

The cast and crew had taken over the town and transformed it into a relica of 1800's San Francisco because most of the buildings had been preserved in that era's style. For a week they covered up all the asphalt on the streets with dirt, painted brick or put planks on all the concrete sidewalks, got all the cars out of town and brought in horse drawn buggies and wagons, repainted the downtown local storefronts and even went so far as to set up newspaper stands with 1800's copies of "The San Francisco Chronicle" on all the street corners.

C. E. (who was renting the room next door) and I had been invited to the cast party the night before and he had evidently awakened a bit overhung and had forgotton the reason behind the town's transformation behind too much expensive champagne, because he came bursting into my room after he had ventured downstairs and wandered outside. I'll never forget the look of absolute astonishment on his face as he yelled at me from the door: "John, come quick - we've been transported back in time!!!"

It was then I knew that all of my LSD inspired brainstorms and epiphanies and the subsequent 'reports' (qv: "Naked Lunch", by William Burroughs) they had generated about things like "Probablity Vector Calculus" and "'N'th. Dimensional Shifting", as well as all my insistant rants about most Science Fiction actually being cutting edge Theoretical Physics had at least had an effect upon him and perhaps had influenced those beyond him. 'Twas then I realized that THIS 'worm' COULD turn!

Friday, November 19, 2004

. . . History, repeated.

In 1973, while Stansfield Turner (the then Head of the CIA) was assuring the Senate that all 'M K Ultra' operations had ceased, I was recruited in Berkeley to be the 'control' for the ongoing M K Ultra study. 4 years before, a philosophy professor I knew supplied me, and other select candidates with some of the last doses of Sandoz Lab's "Yellow Wedges"(little yellow triangles of pure 25, from the Laboratory that Albert Hoffman, the discoverer of ) thus providing me with a baseline dosage to which, over the next 10 years or so, I was able to compare the ongoing production of from various and sundry sources, including Timothy Leary's Laguna Beach "Brotherhood of Eternal Light" product: "Orange Sunshine"; Augustus Stanley Owlsley("Kid Charlemagne")'s wonderful "White Crystal"; "Windowpane" and "Pyramids"; "Mr Natural" blotter; and my own favorite and contribution to the vernacular of missionaries everywhere: "Purple Microdots". All of these were, at one time or another, either produced by, or utilized by, the government of our country in an ongoing attempt to discover whether or not they were effective tools in the CIA's ongoing, supposedly nonexistant 'behavior modification experiments'. "Black Ops." foisted upon unsuspecting American citizens in the name of "Truth, Justice and the American Way."!

I was personally given or took over 500 times ('What the hell', I thought, 'if this is the way I can serve my country, AND I'm being supplied by my own government, so be it!)'. I took doses every three days for two years and ingested more than 20,000 microgram doses at once over 20 times, and one time was given, unbeknownst to me, a 100,000 microgram dose. I NEVER hallucinated, never had a 'bad' trip and could, after a while, define both dosages and identify specific analogs and their percentile estimates, in any particular batch of crystal (hence my choice as the CIA's 'control'). People would come up to me and say: "Here, John, eat this." and within a couple hours I could tell them: "OK, it about 140 mics. of yellow crystal with about 5 percent 19, and 10 percent 27, and a trace of 15." The "Company"( the old euphemism for the CIA) loved me, and I must apologise to the poor North Vietnamese over whom many doses of the same I had sampled were poured from "Huey's" during the Vietman War, in an effort to get them to become highly susceptible to the helicopter-mounted-loudspeaker-broadcast-Viet-language-suggestions to surrender (perhaps a bit better than being shot, but to the unsuspecting, or those without MY particular brain chemistry, I'm sure that, for them, it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience)!

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

A Bit Of History

In 1953 the 'Cold War' was the biggest threat to America's security this country had ever seen (or so thought most American politicians and members of what President Dwight D. Eisenhower called the: "Military-Industrial Complex"). Imagine, then, the shock and horror that was felt by the aforementioned concerned when we captured two Russian spys (and we knew they were spys - information couriers, more precisely) AND WE COULDN"T GET ANY INFORMATION FROM THEM! We had one tortured (in a third world country of course, we didn't dirty OUR hands with such unethical stuff - we just sent them to some anti-communist fascist dictator whose government we were propping up because pro-American fascists were much preferable to Socialist of ANY sort EVEN if they should have been democratically elected) until he died of massive blood-loss, shock and trauma - and STILL nothing (kinda like what we did to one of the 'little greys' - the little aliens we found at Roswell in '47 - but more about that later in this, my life's story). We KNEW they had information, but we couldn't weasle it out of them, NO WAY, NO HOW!

Imagine our amazement and gratitude then, when a female former Russian info. courier supervisor chose to defect because she had fallen in love with an American agent, AND she subsequently informed us that the Russians had discovered that they could take victims of childhood psycho/sexual/physical abuse who were exhibiting Multiple Personality Disorder, take one of the dominant personalities ('cause the other dominant personalities had no recollection of the physical individual's experiences when they were not dominant) program it (with drugs, hypnosis, torture, abuse and/or subliminal suggestions) to respond to keywords/cues designed to make it subsume and/or re-assert itself, and then give that particular personality information and make it bury itself - until the proper keyword/cue was spoken!

Voila! We had discovered the Russian's secret for creating torture proof agents, assassins and even 'deep cover' 'moles' ("La Femme Nikita", "The Manchurian Candidate" etc., were NOT works of fiction - as a matter of fact, John F. Kennedy was assasinated, in part, because he was suspected of having been compromised in just such a fasion during one of his sex and drug binges with Marilyn Monroe, and Sirhan Sirhan was activated, during a telephone call, to assasinate Bobby Kennedy).

So we (our intelligence services that is - and even though the CIA "never had a domestic charter" they took charge of the next 30 years of experiments on American citizens because, as Barry Goldwater once stated: "Extremism in the defense of Liberty is NO vice!") started a "black-op" called: "M K Ultra" www.parascope.com/ds/mkultra0.htm ; www.mindspring.com/~txporter/sec3.htm ; www.parascope.com/ds/mkultradocs.htm Intellectuals were even recruited to buy and take different drugs and then write "reports" to their CIA handlers about the anecdotal effects of those drugs. One such "report" became the book: "Naked Lunch" by William Burroughs, who along with Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac had been recruited and paid to do drugs in the name of "Truth, Justice and the American Way"!

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Extremism In The Name Of Liberty IS A Vice

Aug. 9th., 2004, Monday,

Made it to the South St. Vrain, 50 miles outta' Golden. What an odd feeling - I've stopped at the same spot I lived at for the first three months that I was in the Lyons area, way back in 1976. I remember distinctly what propelled me from Berkeley, CA to CO : Charles Edward Carrion Crow - my mentor, friend and Native American Shaman (and, I only deduced many years after the fact, my CIA handler for the LSD study portion of the black-op "M K Ultra") had awakened on the other couch in Cal's living room to find that he had wet hinself sometime after passing out at the end of our weekly weekend long party. He woke up, dicovered his sodden state and, seeing me waking as well declared: "Gandalf, we gotta go some place else. This place is getting old, and I'm tired of waking up with a hangover all the time."

"OK, Scott", I said, "I'm ready for a change? How about Colorado? Let's take my VW Bus and go see Bellow." I had just been laid off at the candle-factory in Half Moon Bay for questioning the ownership about the reason for the persistant coughs that the illegal immigrant women had, the ones who worked in the unventilated room where damaged candles were repaired, and had qualified for Unemployment Insurance, so we would have money coming in when we got there.

And that was it, within 3 days we had made ourselves enough money to buy food and fuel for a month or so and we hit the road. Had a fairly Thai-dyed journey through the Sierras, Nevada and Southern Utah, arriving in Boulder no worse for wear and loaded for bear.

Ah, Boulder in the '70s, before the Mall, before Yuppie-scum-greenbelt-earthtonedrabness grabbed it. Back in the days when Time Magazine had articles about what a party town it was, what with the "daily flights from Bogota" (we actually had shirts printed up with "Where's the Flight from Bogota?" after that article was published). Mother's Cafe at the bottom of the hill with Roscoe (the owner) dishing up hash browns and asking all my squeezes: "What are you doing with that hippie when you could have me?", his pot belly quivering with laughter and crumbs falling out of his beard into the omelets he was cooking. Yep those were the days . . .

Then, after months of hanging out in Boulder, hooking up with 'Dan and the Clan', who were moving our 'purplemicros' and who had a house in Nederland about 1/2 a block from the Pioneer Inn (back then, famous musicians who lived in the area would appear at the bar after midnight, mustaches looking like they had just scarfed about 200 powdered donuts, and play for hours, just for the hellofit!) my VW bus blew a seal going up Boulder Canyon, right by the Falls, where it gets steep, and I found myself in living next to the South St. Vrain river outside of Lyons.

I had a new van (a '70 Chevy Sportvan) bought with the last of my UI money, and was living in it by the river and commuting to the first Machine Shop I worked at, in Longmont. This was the place where I broke my back (the first time: "Clay-Shovelor's fracture of the 7th cervical vertebrae) and both the company I was working for AND the doctor they sent me to covered up the injury. So here I was again and wasn't it strange.

This time though, I knew a great deal more than I knew then. I knew that as long as there is an entrenched coterie of powerful idealogues protecting a wages-and-profit based venture [complete with 'employers': Undercover Federal and local drug agents, and 'employees': hapless addicts coerced into cooperation &/or paid confidential informants; who depended upon it for their very jobs, and next 'fix' (respectively)] that was itself dependant on the existance and expansion of a criminal subculture of substance-abusers, that the elimination of said subculture would never be in any of the "war On Drugs" proponent's best interests. In fact, I had learned that anyone (such as myself) attempting to assist in getting people OFF drugs, and asserting that the abrogation of 4th. Amendment freedoms was actually treasonous, would end up being persecuted, at the very least, or with a price on their heads, as there was in my case in my last days in Golden.

Believe it or not, agents of the "West Metro Drug Enforcement Task Force" had allocated $9000.00 for the job of inducing someone to plant evidence on my person or property that would allow the aforementioned agents to then bust me and remove my influence from their towm and their sick game. And even though all that was ever offered to various compromised individuals in the area was $4500.00 (the agents always took THEIR cut, you see) there were NO takers! I had at least managed to impress the oppressed with my attempts to help them, and boy, did that frustrate and anger the agents and their bosses.

So, I had to leave. Not so much for my safety, but for the safety of the poor people I had tried to help, because even KNOWING me was beginning to mean trouble for the coerced, such was the wrath of the their Nazi inspired 'employers'! Hence, my exit . . .

Friday, October 29, 2004

Verbal Gerbils

You know, it’s always such a tragedy when gerbils die.
Such innocuous vapidity and cretinous rodential cuteness
deserves a better fate than to decay to inconsequential dust
in some landfill far from home.

Rather they should perhaps ossify and then dessicate
to blow away dandelionlike on the breeze:
small clouds of tiny germinal gerbil spoors,
buff puffs of fecundity flying afar
and falling on fallow fields to root and grow . . .

. . . a new generation of gerbils who, kinda like lemmings
on their way to the sea, on a certain morning in May
emerge from their fields in various areas to line up,
all in a row, little paws outstretched, one dumpling digit extended
alongside roads leading to towns with pet shops, hitching rides,
and having reached the aforementioned shops they would present themselves to be bought and brought home
for the idle amusement of dimwits who have nothing better to do
than raise these microencephaletic, unresponsive
and totally vacuous example

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

The Lady's Prayer

Our Mother,
who Art - The Earth;
hallowed be THY name!

Land green under Sun,
THY Will be done,
in the heavens
as well as on earth.

Give us this day
our daily breads,
and educate us past our ignorance,
as we may educate those who are ignorant to us.

Lead us not into degradation,
but deliver us from selfishness.

For thine is the effulgence,
and the power,
and the glory, eternally.

In the name of the Mother
and the Daughter
and the Valley Spirit,

Saturday, October 09, 2004

The Escape From 'Sprach'land

August 8th, 2004, Sunday

Still waiting for one of 10 people to come up with the money they owe me so I can hit the road and bid my 4 years of hard time in Golden. CO, a fond farewell. Frankly, even though my largesse has kept all of these people fed, clothed, housed AND entertained for 2+ years now, they are all 'sprach' zombies and I don't think any of them will ever pay me back. I mean they've stolen all my lighters, my socks, my fingenail clippers, my cars, my CD's and STILL I'm trying to help them. Larger and larger holes are appearing in their brains apparently, as their sprach-induced spongiform encephalopathic rhizotomies progress.

Nothing I can do now 'cept try to save myself. Sigh. Well, at least, while I'm waiting, I can drive around aimlessly and watch the Golden Police AND the West Metro Drug Enforcement Task Force attempt to tail me without being noticed as I make endless loops around Golden watching them, marked and unmarked, marveling at the collective hubris that motivates them into following the ONLY person in town who is NOT an addict or a cook. I guess, in the long run, it's better than letting them foist yet another of their warrentless searches on the brain-dead addict population. What a pathetic group of losers (even worse than the addicts) these supposed "Public Servants" are - I mean the entire drug network in this town is essential to the undercover cops because without it THERE WOULD BE NO NEED FOR UNDERCOVER COPS!

Every dope cook I knew in Golden had been busted more than once, turned in three of their associates toget thier own charges commuted, and was working for the police, making more drugs to create more addicts to keep the Task Force funded and justify said Force's existance. Without CI's (Confidential Informants) informing on each other over and over again there would have been no reason for even the DEA to exist! They were being forced to import people to get arrested from outlying areas like Littleton and Aurora just because EVERYBODY in town had busted EVERYBODY else - THREE TIMES!

Drug cops NEED addicts and they hated me because I had been sent to Golden to help heal the addicted, so I was a threat to an entire economic Black Op. and those employed to maintain its viability. The money paid to the CI's was used by those same CI's to buy the equipment and pre-cursors to make more drugs. But if I was allowed to escape both addiction AND town, their dirty little scheme might soon become public knowledge 'cause I sure as hell wasn't going to let everything I'd learned over the past 4 years just stay in my head - NO WAY I was going to pass up an opportunity to make it known that the "War On Drugs" was actually a scheme to make more addicts so that the people employed in the "War" could continue to have jobs AND inflated budgets for 'fighting crime'. What a laugh - without the crime (which they were behind) their jobs would not exist! I was just glad to hit the road.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Yclept Jywylyd.

(Now that's a much better line than "Call me Ishmeal" I opine!)
Great Old English word that: 'yclept', from before the language was ruined subsequent to the Norman conquest - but I digress, I guess - and yes, I'll do that a lot, and therein will lie the tales.
Still, nothing untoward would have happened had not the "Company" searched for, found and lured me to Colorado, again. Yes, and nothing would have happened if I hadn't, once again, like a fool, (or a "glutton for punishment") followed. They went to a LOT of trouble to track me down, living as I was anonymously, in the Aridzona desert, COMPLETELY off the 'grid' in a 1961 International schoolbus, solar powered and converted to a Class A motorhome. Nevertheless they knew that I could be bought with the promise middle class comforts and a good job.

But in the end it wasn't the CIA and Operation M K Ultra in the '70's, the 'Little Greys' and 'Little Blue Doctors throughout my life, not the crooked DA's, nor rogue DEA agents, dirty vice cops or undercover confidential informants involved in ELF mind control experiments of the '90s that nearly brought me to my end - but instead it was the torrential rains of autumn, in the Red Rock outback beyond Sedona, Arizona that almost got me.

I mean, who was I to think that I could easily escape from the Neo-Teutonic schadenfreuden beer barons of Golden, Colorado and their "Company" assisted experiments with the controlled maintenance of a controlled substance culture anyway? "'Sprach'land" almost didn't let me go, and even now I could feel the minions of that dark 'Black-Op" infested town creeping up on me . . .

Saturday, September 18, 2004

A Journal Of The Mind Control Years

. . . ubiquitously bemused and befuddled we blundered while
in wonder were we rapt, trapped in a vapid verisimilitude of vainglory we valiantly vied,
enthralled by elegaic epihanies and endless, ennervating eulogies to our own emancipation
we tried to ply the peripathetic metaphors of metaphysical mannerism whilst we moved
through these, our sullen and sullied similes of being.

Doubtless our biographers will not wax as verbose as those of the "shock troops" of the Rosicrucian and Theosophical Mysteries, (Crowley, Blavatsky, Yeats and Waite et. al.) but we of the Aquarian Mysteries Revolution will have suffered, and gained, much, much more (and make no mistake, gentle reader, the psychoneuropathology of Consciousness Expansion, and it's attempted repression by the post- modern Judeo-Christianic status-quo, IS the heart and soul of the Aquarian Age and it's advent)!

"We are meant to be
Instruments of Love
Sent to tame a cruel universe
created by a jealous God."
- John William Thrasher