"Undermining my electoral viability since 2001."

It's official

It's the Apocalypse, as this link-strewn post proves beyond a reasonable doubt.

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"I Never Thought A Hot Dog Would Get Me In Trouble"

So Thursday night we get the call, The Sword, an awesome story-metal band, is going to be playing a last minute un-announced show along with The Saviours, from Oakland. The Sword is one of Hannah's favorite bands, and Mark puts on the CD and we get ready to head pick her up and drive us all to Eurika to the Schooner to see the show.

It was not meant to be.

The Schooner, see, is a low-end local strip club, run by a crochety old man named Whitey. Seems that after unloading their trailer full of gear, the bands went to the bar next door, the Shanty, which has a successful hipster-ish clientelle thing going, and gives away free hot dogs. Local liaison (and non-touring roadie) Miles is sitting in the Schooner having a beer and watching the bands' stuff, when Whitey asks where they all went.

"Oh, I think they're all next door having a hot dog," he says.

"Well then they can pack their shit up and get the fuck out of here then," responds Whitey. It seems there's a longstanding and bitter rivalry between the Schooner (a dingy strip club) and the Shanty (a hipster hangout). You know, two bars next to eachother; a clash of civilizations.

"We've got food to eat right here," says Whitey. They do: packaged bags of funions.

He's a notorious crank though, and musical acts are a rarity at the Schooner. Sometime back in the day he allegedly kicked out a band that had been booked there because they were Asian. Apparently the hot dogs are a sore spot.

"I never thought a hot dog would get me in trouble," said Miles. One of the band-members protested that he had a Polish dog, but that didn't seem to make any difference.

Luckily there were some barely-of-age kids there (skanky teen moustaches) who knew of a metal house-party in Arcata where the bands might be able to play, so the scene loaded up to head over there, but when we arrived there was nothing. According to a couple teenagers who were still hanging around the side of the road, the party had been busted by the cops 15 minutes before we arrived. Classic.

After that it was declared a "no show" and everyone dissipated, so we went back downdown to Sarah and Hannah's, drank a beer and rolled a little smoke, then closed out one of the downtown bars, watching what we took to be the remnants of a wedding party country-dance all night long.

Good times.

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Psychadellic Science!

I think this is good:

In a study that could revive interest in researching the effects of psychedelic drugs, scientists said a substance in certain mushrooms induced powerful, mind-altering experiences among a group of well-educated, middle-age men and women.

Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions researchers conducted the study following carefully controlled, scientifically rigorous procedures. They said that the episodes generally led to positive changes in attitude and behavior among the 36 volunteer participants and that the changes appeared to last at least two months. Participants cited feelings of intense joy, "distance from ordinary reality," and feelings of peace and harmony after taking the drug. Two-thirds described the effects of the drug, called psilocybin, as among the five most meaningful experiences of their lives.

But in 30% of the cases, the drug provoked harrowing experiences dominated by fear and paranoia. Two participants likened the episodes to being in a war. While these episodes were managed by trained monitors at the sessions where the drugs were taken, researchers cautioned that in less-controlled settings, such responses could trigger panic or other reactions that might put people in danger.

I'm a staunch advocate of the psychedelic experience. It's good shit, and it's given me a lot. I'm glad to see that after 40 years of a misguided government-imposed stasis (both LSD and psilocybin are classified as Schedule 1 drugs: no medical use and a high risk of abuse; same as heroin... yeah right), the scientific community is beginning to look into this again.

I think in a civilization who's current view of mental health and well-being is focused on the maintenance of ever-more-endemic depression through regular doses of Seratonin-re-uptake inhibitors, any research which pushes the boundaries of our understanding of the mind and how to help it out is positive. Hopefully this (and subsequent experiments) will open institutional eyes to the fact that while the watershed "peak experiences" often brought on by psychedelics may not be all that profitable for drug companies they can really help improve one's attitude:

Two months after the sessions, 79% of the participants indicated in questionnaires that their sense of well-being and satisfaction increased after the psilocybin episodes...

It can be good stuff, but it can also be bad stuff too. It's significant that the people in this study were all stable, fully-grown adults with college educations. So is the fact that they were made comfortable, laid down in a living-room situation with music and observers who were experienced. The basic theory of psychedelics that Leary put forth early in his career when he was still at Harvard and not a wannabe-mystic guru still holds: set and setting are the two important variables.

Set refers, essentially, to what you bring to the table as an individual; your mood, your memories, your expectations, and your general outlook on life. Setting is your surroundings. It's a simplistic formulation, but one that works.

In general, I don't think it's a great idea for teenagers to take psychedelic drugs recreationally. The combination of factors -- immature brain chemistry, a shallow pool of life experience, a lack of self-knowledge, a likely setting that's sketchy, a tendency to massively overdose out of bravado or simple inexperience -- don't bode well.

I've had some unpleasant experiences, and dealt with friends who were truly on Bad Trips before. My net assessment is that these were still positive in the long run for me, but I can also see how the fucked-upness got started. For instance: don't let people peer-pressure you into taking acid. It won't be fun. Also, don't go tripping with a group that includes someone you have a large emotional crush on but who may or may not be interested in you. That also will not very likely work out.

That being said, I do think that legal adults should have a legal right to tinker with their own brain chemistry for fun and profit, and it seems clear from my experiences that responsible recreational psychedelic use is completely feasible. I mean, look at Saturday night at Burning Man. Here you have 30,000 people in a harsh desert environment, a great majority of them tripping on one or several powerful psychedelic agents, crowding around a gigantic uncontrolled fire and then running off into the black of night while trucks, busses and other automobiles tear around in no particular pattern, and everyone's fucking fine.

I also think that if we can get our collective heads out of our collective asses and let scientists do some research, it's very likely that psychedelic drugs will yield impressive therapeutic results for people with depression, etc. It's already a well-known fact in the underground that MDMA (aka Ecstasy, which was originally developed as an aid for marriage counseling) is effective at helping solders overcome Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Other drugs used in several different manners were showing promise back in the 1960s when establishment paranoia over youth culture led to their being given the same legal status as heroin.

And ultimately, that's the rub. The drug war is almost entirely cultural, and pretty much always has been. Laws limit your and my ability to regulate our own body chemistry are enacted to enforce cultural norms, not to promote public health or the pursuit of happiness or social well-being.

It wasn't always this way. For some time, states were too weak to effectively regulate chemical use, and for some time they were too enamored with the potential tax revenues to consider anything else. Perhaps this preoccupation with attempting to influencing culture by regulating individual body chemistry is itself a transient phase as well. I certainly hope so.

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Forward Momentum

In keeping with my generally increasing psychic clarity, I've decided that I'm the boss of me, and by extension the boss of my life. It's time to bridge that damn Jungian divide and start making some choices. I don't want to be a self-technocrat, a manager of the heart, but I believe that there is a space of presence in which decisions are made throughout a natural flow of events. It is a matter of choosing first of all to engage the self with the surroundings. Once that's done, momentum will follow, and it's direction that must be chosen.

So, time to get engaged. The general direction is clear enough at the moment. I can worry about that more once I've picked up some steam.

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Girthy Graduation Speech

Many of you may have been waiting for this since my teaser post a while ago; here's the video:

The story is that my friend Nick was elected by his UC Hastings classmates to speak at graduation. The final product is a great blend of school-mockery and political commentary. For instance:

Every year they jacked up our tuition like they were trying to match the national debt, and every year our ranking dropped like Dick Cheney's hunting buddies.

Our last year here they did us the favor of cutting the school in half and shoving us all into one building, which was a strategy I found particularly disturbing. They rented the faculty some nice offices at UN Plaza, but for the students, they put our bookstore in our gym and the library in our lounge. Now I actually used the gym; the book store and the library, man, I avoided those places like my name was Clarence Thomas.

It's 8 minutes of all-American fun. (Bumped, because this belongs at the top)

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Winging It

(soundtrack for this post... which I've listened to about 50 times in the past two days; hurray for Sufjan Stevens)

I'm about to get back out on the road, or in the air as the case may be. Westward ho. All thing go. Movement feels like home. Yeah... "I love you baby, but you gotta understand; when the Lord made me he made a ramblin' man."

It's an experimental summer ahead, stalking greatness in the hills of California. I'm leaving quite a lot behind here, and it saddens me, but it's got to be done. The rut was comfortable and kind, but ultimately confining. I need to pull down some clarity of vision for my future, some flags to plant off in the hinterland. Second star to the left and straight on 'till morning.

For now I'll chase the sun.

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Winging It

(soundtrack for this post... which I've listened to about 50 times in the past two days; hurray for Sufjan Stevens)

I'm about to get back out on the road, or in the air as the case may be. Westward ho. All thing go. Movement feels like home. Yeah... "I love you baby, but you gotta understand; when the Lord made me he made a ramblin' man."

It's an experimental summer ahead, stalking greatness in the hills of California. I'm leaving quite a lot behind here, and it saddens me, but it's got to be done. The rut was comfortable and kind, but ultimately confining. I need to pull down some clarity of vision for my future, some flags to plant off in the hinterland. Second star to the left and straight on 'till morning.

For now I'll chase the sun.

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I Ain't Gonna Work On Maggie's Farm No More

Today was my last day of being a full time Lead Developer for Trellon LLC. I'm going to stay on in a reduced capacity to make sure that the projects I'm involved in continue to work out well, but I won't be taking on anything new unless it's special, and that would be on a contract basis. In a substantial way, my time is now my own.

This is all part of the plan to free me up for the summer. I'll be living in Westhaven, writing a thousand words a day, working on The Democrobot and generally preparing for the next cycle of activity.

It's been a nice steady run here in Park Slope. I've paid off some debts, enjoyed a quieter NYC life, had plenty of good moments, but I'm looking forward to jumping out of the comfey little rut I've made. I'm looking forward to trying to stake a new career claim. I'm looking forward to getting creative, to getting more physical exercise, to getting out into nature a bit.

Plenty of whacky internet adventures to come. Stay tuned for all the excitement.

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Packing Up

I've been packing stuff up, going through all my buried boxes and bags of clothes I never wear, books don't read, etc. I'm gonna make a good shot at relieving myself of some of this burdin. Sal Army and the local library will get gifts; maybe someone's life will be brightened.

It's been filling me with a great feeling of sadness, actually. Even just walking around the corner past the bustle of Prospect Park, friends on the street, bought a lime fruit bar and two tickets to the last showing of X-men tonight... The humidity in the air I won't miss, but it feels sorry and low to be leaving all this energy behind.

This life I've been living for the past eight months hasn't been right for me. I don't try to pretend otherwise. Still, I can't escape the sensation of something valuable -- the last true fillaments of youth maybe -- slipping through my fingers. I imagine shortly I'll start going bald. Oy vey. That's kind of a maccab image, and overblown to say the least. I don't mind growing up, really, but I want it to be on my terms, not a matter of settling into one of these ruts that civilization hollows out there for ya.

The great problems in life are never solved, of course. It's the challenge and engagement that gives us meaning, yes, but I wish I didn't always feel so out of place. I wish I had bigger piece of the world called home.

I wish I didn't want to try and make all women love me all the time. I wish I were simpler, maybe a vegetarian; maybe a meditator; maybe married to my first girlfriend. I wish I didn't read the news. I wish we were smart enough to not be at war, brave enough to live honest and true and close to the soul.

It's a terrible dark thing sometimes, the future, especially in phases like these where I feel more or less weak and helpless in the face of everything, disconnected from my fellow man even though here we are packed in like sardines. G-D it. I know that I'll be allright, but I'm tortured by ambitions and wishes and that out-of-placeness that secretly (don't tell, I swear) drives much of my desire to change the world.

But tomorrow is another day. The thunder is rolling on in.

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