... So here it is. As I publish new ones I'll try to add them here also. They appear here more or less in the order of their original publication here on Dis-Information Station, with the oldest ones at the top of the page and the farther down you go the newer they get. So as you scroll down you can see the historical progression of the concept.

The first few of these I did many many months and months ago and at the time I really had no plans to continue with the idea, but once I came back to it I decided that the premise was ripe enough that I would continue with it for as long as I found it amusing. As time has passed and the number of them has grown, I've expanded upon the original concept a little. At first I was only making up fresh punchlines for the cartoons without changing the artwork. Since then I've done a few where I made minor changes to the cartoon to make the joke work, and then from there I've gone on to make some with more elaborate changes to the artwork. I'll keep making them so long as it keeps being fun and the well doesn't run dry.

So without further ado, I give you the New World Order Family Circus master archive:

Can Dropping Acid Can Help Girls Feel Good About Themselves?

Actress, Selma Blair has the Answer

and...everything you want to know about LSD

Dr. Robyn J.A. Silverman

I'm going to Cape Cod to see family tomorrow, so I'm doing my "Friday Musings" early this week...

People say and do ridiculous things everyday without thinking "maybe children or teens could be listening and watching." Regular people need to watch what they say and do--but celebrities really need to take heed, don't you think? It makes you think; what makes a good role model? I mean, look what happened when Miley Cyrus did one ridiculous thing-- the world stopped for 3 days! If you take a look at the comment section after the Miley Cyrus debacle, you'll see that children and parents were certainly affected.

lifeswhatyoumakeit, on April 30th, 2008 at 2:11 am Said: Miley doesn’t need people sticking by her and insulting her biggest fan, Katrina. What she needs is someone to tell her, “STOP IT! YOU’RE THROWING EVERYTHING AWAY!” She does not need people who say, “Who cares, it’s just a temptation.” She needs people to believe in her and want her to get through this. I believe she can get through it, and when she does, I’ll be more than happy to regain my place as her number one fan. However, Katrina, if she does anything like this again, you are welcome to take my place, because I don’t want to look up to people who let me down again and again.

So, what do you think could happen when a popular actress talks about dropping acid in order to improve her troubled self esteem and body image? Selma Blair, star of Hellboy, with the help of filmmaker, Guillermo Del Toro, might need to know that when they speak, their fans are likely listening.

Of course...we hope not.

Selma Blair has admitted in the past that the only thing she likes about her body is her hands. Giillermo Del Toro suggested some acid would do the trick! Yes, of course it may make her well-loved hands look like enormous oven mitts, but Selma believes it’s worth a try.

"You know what Guillermo thinks? That I should go to Amsterdam and take an acid trip and it would fix my head. I think he could be right you know. You know, I've done some things to excess but I hate pot and I've never done acid or ecstasy. But if I was in the right frame of mind, in a pleasant, creative, chilled-out space, with just the right amount delivered by an Amsterdam technician, that would be incredible."

Could it be a joke? Does it matter?

So what does Selma Blair say about the future? It looks bright!

"I'll be happy and say something nice about myself for a change, I'll have gone to Amsterdam, done acid, done some amazing theatre in London. Beautiful!

Just for the record:

What’s acid?

Full Name: Lysergic Acid Diethylamide (LSD)

Characteristics: LSD is a semi-synthetic drug made of lysergic acid. It has no color, taste, or odor. It’s a crystalline substance that is soluble in water or alcohol. It comes in different forms such as blotter paper, microdots, capsules, and gel sheets.

Type of Drug: Hallucinogen; which means that it distorts the user’s sense of reality. The user sees images, hears sounds, and perceives sensations that aren’t really in existence.

How is it usually taken? LSD is usually taken by ingesting small tabs of paper, often placed under the tongue but can also be taken as a liquid, gelatin, or tablet. Sometimes it’s soaked into a sugar cube.

Why it looks so attractive to kids and teens: LSD tabs are often decorated with colorful kid-friendly designs and cartoon characters….yes, seriously.

Other names: Acid, microdot, tabs, doses, trips, hits, sugar cubes.

Effects: Elevated body temperature and blood pressure, suppressed appetite, sleeplessness, tremors, increased heart rate, nausea, chills, irregular breathing patterns, changes in perception of light, sound, touch, smell, and time, chronic recurring hallucinations and extreme changes in behavior

Risks: The most common dangers of LSD result from bad trips, including terrifying thoughts and feelings, despair, fear of losing control, and fear of death. These problems are especially common and severe in people with underlying mental problems like severe depression, schizophrenia, or bipolar disease. Some fatal accidents have also occurred among users who could not perceive the reality of their situation.

How long do the effects last? 30 minutes- 12 hours. It can be diffucult to sleep if LSD has been taken in the last 6 hours.

What does this have to do with self-esteem? LSD causes an inflation of the ego which, at least in Selma Blair’s eyes, may be an effective antidote for low self-esteem.

Children and teens, please cup your ears.

Yes, sometimes famous people say really stupid things. And yes, it's LSD is illegal.

Your comments are encouraged and welcomed.

Flying Dagger säger: shit vi är helt körda här

Jag säger: allrajt! din jävel

Jag säger: haha körda hur då?

Flying Dagger säger: trippade

Jag säger: haha jasså! Du och Pål?

Flying Dagger säger: jao

Jag säger: Det är jag också.

Jag säger: Hittade några svampar i kaffeburken som jag käkade

Jag säger: flyter på fint här

Flying Dagger säger: haha assååå

Jag säger: hahaha jag bara skojar

Jag säger: ville se hur väck du var

Flying Dagger säger: så farliga är vi nog inte

We can't stop here....this is bath country!

Come to daddy...

Conversation over. Status: Out to lunch

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]]> http://kissmyassets.wordpress.com/?p=166 Thu, 07 Aug 2008 19:20:19 +0000 drrobyn http://kissmyassets.wordpress.com/?p=166

Can Dropping Acid Can Help Girls Feel Good About Themselves? Selma Blair has the Answer

and...everything you want to know about LSD

Dr. Robyn J.A. Silverman

Well folks, it looks I could be out of work—I mean, who needs a body image expert to help teens when all we need is to tell girls to take some acid to feel better about themselves? Selma Blair, star of Hellboy, cracked the code with the help of filmmaker, Guillermo Del Toro.

Selma Blair has admitted in the past that the only thing she likes about her body is her hands. Giillermo Del Toro suggested some acid would do the trick! Yes, of course it may make her well-loved hands look like enormous oven mitts, but Selma believes it’s worth a try.

"You know what Guillermo thinks? That I should go to Amsterdam and take an acid trip and it would fix my head. I think he could be right you know. You know, I've done some things to excess but I hate pot and I've never done acid or ecstasy. But if I was in the right frame of mind, in a pleasant, creative, chilled-out space, with just the right amount delivered by an Amsterdam technician, that would be incredible."

So what does Selma Blair say about the future? It looks bright!

"I'll be happy and say something nice about myself for a change, I'll have gone to Amsterdam, done acid, done some amazing theatre in London. Beautiful!

Just for the record:

What’s acid?

Full Name: Lysergic Acid Diethylamide (LSD)

Characteristics: LSD is a semi-synthetic drug made of lysergic acid. It has no color, taste, or odor. It’s a crystalline substance that is soluble in water or alcohol. It comes in different forms such as blotter paper, microdots, capsules, and gel sheets.

Type of Drug: Hallucinogen; which means that it distorts the user’s sense of reality. The user sees images, hears sounds, and perceives sensations that aren’t really in existence.

How is it usually taken? LSD is usually taken by ingesting small tabs of paper, often placed under the tongue but can also be taken as a liquid, gelatin, or tablet. Sometimes it’s soaked into a sugar cube.

Why it looks so attractive to kids and teens: LSD tabs are often decorated with colorful kid-friendly designs and cartoon characters….yes, seriously.

Other names: Acid, microdot, tabs, doses, trips, hits, sugar cubes.

Effects: Elevated body temperature and blood pressure, suppressed appetite, sleeplessness, tremors, increased heart rate, nausea, chills, irregular breathing patterns, changes in perception of light, sound, touch, smell, and time, chronic recurring hallucinations and extreme changes in behavior

Risks: The most common dangers of LSD result from bad trips, including terrifying thoughts and feelings, despair, fear of losing control, and fear of death. These problems are especially common and severe in people with underlying mental problems like severe depression, schizophrenia, or bipolar disease. Some fatal accidents have also occurred among users who could not perceive the reality of their situation.

How long do the effects last? 30 minutes- 12 hours. It can be diffucult to sleep if LSD has been taken in the last 6 hours.

What does this have to do with self-esteem? LSD causes an inflation of the ego which, at least in Selma Blair’s eyes, may be an effective antidote for low self-esteem.

Yes, sometimes famous people say really stupid things. And yes, it's LSD is illegal.

From a young age i was crazy for computers. For days on end id get lost in games id buy, especially football ones. This started at around the age of 8-9 when my dad bought me an atari 400 for educational purposes! It was soon turned into a game machine, and i had mates that had spectrums, amstrads, and acorn computers that i would love going on. This was me in a nutshell. I was ok as long as human emotions werent involved. So alcohol and computer games were a great combination. I was never a regular taker of acid, because i usually shot-through. This is no suprise since L.S.D. was used to experiment on releasing repressed / traumatic memories back in the 1960's and 1970's.

As i grew older i stopped using drugs, but kept drinking heavily. I still didnt realise i had a problem. At around 17-18 i realised that i needed to get in touch with my body and started weight training - not knowing why i was dis-connected in the first place. Music has also played a part in my way of escaping. During my late teens/ early 20's id listen to happy hardcore, the overly happy songs compensating for the deep negative emotion i had inside my mind.

Ive also imagined myself in other peoples lifes. Often with a friend id become close with, id live their life with them, totally discounting the fact that really i should of had my own. This explains why id get angry and frustrated in someones life got a bit bumpy as it had a knock-on effect to my life. Id imagine myself as part of their family so i could escape from my own past.

These are all things i did to escape my horrific childhood.

Si alguien no ha visto todavía la película Easy Rider no sé a qué está esperando.

Hoy, en vez de echarme la siesta, la he vuelto a ver, y ya he perdido la cuenta de las veces que lo he hecho desde que me compré el DVD. ¿Treinta? ¿Cuarenta?

Hay que verla no sólo por ser un mito, por ser un icono de la contracultura americana de los años 60. Hay que hacerlo también por la excelente banda sonora que acompaña cada una de las imágenes.

Puede parecer que el argumento no daría mucho de sí: dos tipos trapichean con cocaína, hacen un buen negocio, se compran unas motos tipo chopper y emprenden un viaje con ellas por la américa profunda. Pero Dennis Hopper (director de la película) y Peter Fonda (protagonista principal y guionista del proyecto) le dan un toque casi mágico a ese viaje iniciático, le echan huevos y se despachan a gusto sobre el mundo de las drogas (los protagonistas son traficantes y tienen al final un escarceo muy chungo con el LSD), los ideales hippies, la américa granjera más retrógrada, la represión de la autoridad... El ansia de libertad se convierte entonces en el claim de la película y a través de la música y los fantásticos paisajes que contemplan a bordo de las motos vas sucumbiendo, casi hipnotizado, hasta el fatal desenlace final.

La banda sonora se sale en todos los sentidos. Hendrix, The Band, Electric Prunes, The Byrds... se integran magníficamente en el viaje de los dos moteros traficantes. La película empieza con The Pusher y casi seguido Born to Be Wild, ambas canciones de Steppenwolf, un comienzo así sólo puede deparar algo bueno. Hace poco Peter Fonda decidió poner a la venta una nueva versión del DVD con una duración mayor, exclusivamente para recuperar canciones que fueron eliminadas en el montaje original, con gente como Bob Dylan o David Crosby.

Os dejo uno de los mejores momentos chopper con el fantástico folk psicodélico "I Wasn't Born to Follow" de los Byrds de fondo:

Para el que quiera ver la película online, sin necesidad de comprarla o piratearla, lo podéis hacer aquí:

Parte 1

Parte 2

Parte 3

Parte 4

Nåja, kanske inte helt och hållet, men han lär i alla fall ha bidragit med inspiration till den här illusionsblommans skapare på den för mig nyupptäckta sajten Optical Illusions Etc.
Personligen skulle jag vilja påstå att den här illusionen är av uttalad LSD-karaktär. Man kan få fram en likartad effekt genom att stirra intensivt in i centrum av t ex en rund pappskiva med ett kraftigt spiralmönster på, som snurrar på en analog skivtallrik. Om man omedelbart därefter tittar på ena handens ovansida t ex, så är det "virvlar" i huden och den verkar "myllra" av eget liv, liksom. :)
Verkar vara en sida värt att utforskas lite! :)
Verket "Stairway to Heaven" här nedanför t ex, för naturligtvis mina tankar till engelska gruppen Led Zeppelin :)
Läs även andra bloggares åsikter om :Hjärnan, Illusioner, Japan, Kitaoka, Kuriosa, Kyoto, Manipulationer, Perception, Prof. Akiyoshi, Psykologi, Synvillor, Underhållning, Varseblivning, Vetenskap, LSD, Hallucinogener, Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin, YouTube, Optical Illusions Etc, Droger, AllPosters.com

Cracked.com offers some interesting pieces of 20th century history.

LINK:  Cracked.com

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"Always that same LSD story, you've all seen it. 'Young man on acid, thought he could fly, jumped out of a building. What a tragedy.' What a dick! Fuck him, he’s an idiot. If he thought he could fly, why didn’t he take off on the ground first? Check it out. You don’t see ducks lined up to catch elevators to fly south—they fly from the ground, ya moron, quit ruining it for everybody. He’s a moron, he’s dead—good, we lost a moron, fuckin’ celebrate. Wow, I just felt the world get lighter. We lost a moron! I don’t mean to sound cold, or cruel, or vicious, but I am, so that’s the way it comes out. Professional help is being sought. How about a positive LSD story? Wouldn't that be news-worthy, just the once? To base your decision on information rather than scare tactics and superstition and lies? I think it would be news-worthy. 'Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration. That we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we're the imagination of ourselves' . . . 'Here's Tom with the weather.'"
BILL HICKS [1961-94]

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"'Turn on' meant go within to activate your neural and genetic equipment. Become sensitive to the many and various levels of consciousness and the specific triggers that engage them. Drugs were one way to accomplish this end. 'Tune in' meant interact harmoniously with the world around you—externalize, materialize, express your new internal perspectives. Drop out suggested an elective, selective, graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments. 'Drop Out' meant self-reliance, a discovery of one's singularity, a commitment to mobility, choice, and change. Unhappily my explanations of this sequence of personal development were often misinterpreted to mean 'Get stoned and abandon all constructive activity.'" — Flashbacks, 1983
TIMOTHY LEARY [1920-96]

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“That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary’s trip. He crashed around America selling ‘consicousness expansion’ without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the people who took him too seriously . . . All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss and failure is ours, too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole life-style that he helped to create . . . a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody—or at least some force—is tending the Light at the end of the tunnel.” — Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, 1971
HUNTER S. THOMPSON [1937-2005]

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"Of greatest significance to me has been the insight that I attained as a fundamental understanding from all of my LSD experiments: what one commonly takes as 'the reality,' including the reality of one's own individual person, by no means signifies something fixed, but rather something that is ambiguous—that there is not only one, but that there are many realities, each comprising also a different consciousness of the ego. One can also arrive at this insight through scientific reflections. The problem of reality is and has been from time immemorial a central concern of philosophy. It is, however, a fundamental distinction, whether one approaches the problem of reality rationally, with the logical methods of philosophy, or if one obtrudes upon this problem emotionally, through an existential experience. The first planned LSD experiment was therefore so deeply moving and alarming, because everyday reality and the ego experiencing it, which I had until then considered to be the only reality, dissolved, and an unfamiliar ego experienced another, unfamiliar reality. The problem concerning the innermost self also appeared, which, itself unmoved, was able to record these external and internal transformations. Reality is inconceivable without an experiencing subject, without an ego. It is the product of the exterior world, of the sender and of a receiver, an ego in whose deepest self the emanations of the exterior world, registered by the antennae of the sense organs, become conscious. If one of the two is lacking, no reality happens, no radio music plays, the picture screen remains blank." — LSD: My Problem Child, 1980
ALBERT HOFMANN [1906-2008]

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*It's worth noting that the father of LSD died at the age of 102.

And what a strange bunch that study group turned out to be!  A research technician, a taxi-driver on the fringes of the Mafia, the wife of the Panther's lawyer, an ex-prostitute who still stripped on Baltimore's infamous "Block" to help support her family, a former cheerleader and debutante, and Ron, a neighborhood guy, and the only Panther in the group.  They studied the ideology of the Panthers, a strategy of struggle based on the writings of China's Mao Zedong.  Sean learned of the Panther's free breakfast and school for ghetto kids.  The Panthers were also involved in trying to coax irresponsible absentee landlords into maintaining and repairing their rat infested buildings.  Additionally, flaking lead paint was being eaten by children - they had a campaign going to eliminate lead paint and have the houses repainted.   The group learned of Mao's "Long March" across China and his efforts to modernize a backward country.  Mao had wanted to organize the peasants, the poorest people, to improve their own lives, and such also was the philosophy of the Panthers.  One day the study group was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.  "Police.  Open up."  They swarmed in like (dare I say it?) loose hogs.  They dumped drawers, turned beds over, searched everyone, and refused to answer questions.  They took Ron.  "It's not unusual," Mary told Sean, "Happens all the time."
Ron got out later, although they never found out what the cops had been looking for or why they took him in.
"We were lucky," Mary said, "Sometimes they don't bother to knock, they break the door down and come in shooting.  A house down the street got raided once and the pigs shot two people.  Later they said that they had made a mistake."
"But didn't the cops do anything for them?"
"They didn't even offer to pay for the damages."
"I don't believe the police would do that.  How could they get away with it?"
"Sean, you're too smart to be so naive.  This is racism.  This is how it affects people here.  Many of the police are out and out racists.  A black man's life is nothing to them."
Well, the study group could not be just idle armchair philosophers.  They picketed jails in support of striking prisoners.  Only their visible presence prevented retaliations against the strikers.  "The guards must go.  The guards must go.  Stop racist attacks.  Stop racist beatings," and so on.
They attended trials and Sean saw, first hand, how poor people were railroaded into jail.  Police crimes went unpunished, white collar criminals stole thousands and were given petty fines, but a poor man who stole $28.75 with a gun was jailed for twenty years. 

Then came the end for the Panthers in Baltimore.  As a group, they were accused of the murder of a police informer.  Sean joined a legal study group to help with the defense, and watched those trials.  Those trials were the worst mockery of justice he'd seen.  The paid witnesses would contradict not only each other, but themselves.  Everyone was finally acquitted of the murder, but one man was convicted of conspiracy, for driving the car that was supposed to have taken the victim to the park where his body was found.  That man eventually became the first inmate in the Baltimore City jail ever to graduate from college while in prison.
The study group kept going.  Sean had  a vision: the Vietnamese, Chinese, South Africans, Palestinians, Blacks and other working people of the world and the U.S. would unite in common struggle; they were in fact already beginning to do so.  Freed of their daily struggle to survive, the "wretched of the Earth," as Franz Fanon of Africa put it, could rapidly take control of their own lives, just as Sean had been learning that people could take control of their own health.
In reality, in the U.S., few people were willing to talk, much less walk, the same direction.  People still talked about racism, injustice, poverty, and war as if they were campaign slogans.  Not much seemed to really be "a changing", after all.
Panthers all over the country were attacked in their headquarters by police who always claimed that they were "responding to an unprovoked attack."
The War ground on.  "Dick Nixon before he dicks you," was a popular slogan.  Nevertheless, Richard "I am not a crook" Nixon used the promise of ending the War to win election for a second term.  His "secret plan" had meant escalation: the mining of Haiphong Harbor, the carpet bombing of Vietnamese cities and farmlands, and illegal "incursions" into Cambodia and Laos.

There was only one thing to do, Sean believed,  Destroy the U.S. government, the war machine, and all entrenched institutions that perpetuated war, human indignity, and destruction of our Earth.  But that was not only improbable, but stupid.  Even if such a thing could be brought to pass, what would emerge?  How could petty dictators be prevented from setting up local kingdoms?  How would we insure the quality of life that we hoped would be everyone's birthright?  No, that was not a solution. As much as he hated to admit it, Sean knew governments were necessary just to maintain civilization and protect everyone's rights.  Obviously the world's present institutions are inadequate to prevent war, injustice and poverty, but what would replace them?  And how?  I can't see a solution.  No one is ready to agree on how a better society would function.  Sure, no racism, sexism, or nationalism.  No war or poverty or injustice.  That was the goal only.  How could it be brought about and maintained?
In the meantime, until solutions could be found, Sean decided, I will disagree, I will protest, and I would keep on keeping on at the People's Free Medical Clinic.  That place is my only real hope for the future.  I will defend it against all attack.

Sean really enjoyed decision making at the Clinic. Once a month they all ate together, doctors, nurses, staff volunteers, and neighbors.  Everyone had a say in policy making, but first they shared their potato salads, rice, squash, homemade bread, casseroles, beans, meatloaf, quiche, or funny little Swedish meatballs.
When you share your food, and your stomach's full, most disagreements seem petty.  Arguments among friends have resolutions.  They found funding, doctors and supplies.  Patients found them.  They made their presence and their ideals known.  Word got around the city.  The Women's Center, separate but connected to the Clinic - physically and politically - had founded a city-wide network of consciousness raising groups, and published a widely read magazine: Women: A Journal of Liberation, dealing with alternative life styles, social change, and sexual politics.
They had contacts in all the hospitals.  Sean found that he could make referrals with every assurance that people could get the treatment and support that they needed.  Some patients joined the Clinic staff, and others joined them on buses to demonstrations.
On a practical level, the clinic staff went door-to-door, asking for monthly pledges of fifty cents or a dollar to maintain the Clinic and pay the rent.  It worked.   But the greater part of society seemed unchangeable to Sean.  What could really be done to revolutionize the way our country, and the world, operated? That question would follow him everywhere he went, from Baltimore to North Dakota to Oklahoma to Arizona to Florida and about thirty-five other states in the nation.  He was anxious to see and learn more about how people were living and coping in the rest of the country.  But where to go and how?  My part-time job and student loans barely keep me alive.  I didn't want to quit school, now that I’m finally a full-time student, and I would certainly need money to travel.  I'd tried hitchhiking to Chicago once.  What a disaster.  You could kill a whole day just waiting for a ride. He remembered why he’d gone to Chicago.  He’d met a woman at the Clinic once, Marilyn Gans. She was pretty and friendly.  She volunteered at the clinic, and wrote for the Women journal.  After a dinner and meeting at her apartment for the patient advocates, Sean had stayed to help her clean up, and they fell to talking until the storm hit.  Baltimore had suddenly been hit with another one of the tail ends of a hurricane, and flood waters had risen quickly around the city.  The streets were all overflowing with water, and the emergency warnings took over all broadcasts on radio and TV.  Everyone was ordered to stay off the streets and indoors.  Sean and Marilyn just stared at her TV in disbelief.  Sean had seen bad storms before, but never heard warnings like this.  Marilyn had told him to stay the night, so he did. She had made a bed for him on the living room floor with sheets and blankets.  “You’ll have to stay in here, OK,” she asked. “Can I trust you?” she wanted to know.  Sean promised.  He had no intention of getting into trouble with the clinic or the Women’s center.  She said “goodnight” to him from her bedroom. Sean was in love again.  He liked her a lot, even though he hadn’t known her before that night. He enjoyed talking with her, liked the way she looked.  He said, “Goodnight Marilyn”.  But then, he said, “I wish we could sleep together."  There was no reply, and Sean wasn’t expecting one.  He turned on this side, ready to sleep.  They had stayed up for hours, watching the storm sweep down street, and talked, and talked.  Sean was dead tired.  Suddenly, Marilyn was there, under the blanket next to him on the floor. Sean was excited.  She said, “Let’s just hold each other, OK?” So that was what they did. Sean noticed she had a short top on and cotton panties.  His erection felt painfully unused.
Marilyn contacted Sean a few days later, asked him to help her take a group of kids on a field trip.  She was a teacher, and Sean had told her how much he liked being around kids, how much he missed his brothers and sisters.  But Marilyn was polite and reserved with Sean.  He didn’t know how to pursue this relationship.  The constant talk around the clinic about Women’s liberation, and sex roles, and male domination had confused him.  He held back, waited to hear from her again, but she went back to Chicago when the school year ended.  She told him to come visit.  That was why he had gone to Chicago, even though he had little money.
He had finally started walking, hitchhiking at first, through Maryland and a bit of Pennsylvania. When he arrived in Ohio, he found himself stuck.  All around, on the concrete and guardrails of this huge intersection of highways were written things like, This place sucks! No rides!  Been here three days! etc.  He was there an entire day.  He struck up a conversation with a younger guy who showed up.  Bill was an ex-marine from Iowa City.  They read the graffiti, decided it was hopeless, and  then walked across the entire state of Ohio.  Bill had all his belongings in a paper bag.  He said he’d had a fight with his wife and had just thrown stuff in a bag and walked out one day.  He was on his way home now.  He was packing a huge bottle of black pills.  Sean asked him about those.  “Oh, they’re not speed,” Bill said, “These are something called Texedrine, with a T, and they’re not harmful.”  Sean passed on those at first. He and Bill walked into a diner one night and drank all the free coffee they could get.  When the waitress got cranky, they left the diner and tried to sleep around back, but they were too wired from the coffee. They decided to just keep walking, but Sean was losing steam after awhile, so he took some of Bill’s pills.  After finally passing the Ohio state line into Indiana, they were picked up by a trucker who told them a grisly story about dead long-haired hitchhikers being found along the highway. He said they had been castrated.  The trucker let them off in front of a barber shop. Bill had a buzz cut, but Sean had long since grown his hair long, and wore a big, green, floppy hat. He’d realized that his long hair was a factor in not getting rides, so he had tucked it up inside the hat. Inside the truck cab he had taken off his hat and exposed the long hair.
They walked through cornfields all day and into the night. They were shot at outside of Gary, Indiana, as they walked along a dark road past a never-ending cornfield.  Sean had been walking behind Bill.  Bill stuck his thumb out to try for a ride when they noticed lights coming up behind them.  The response was a loud explosion that lit up the inside of a VW beetle, which had slowed down, and Sean saw a streak of light bisect the space between him and Bill.  The VW sped off as fast as one of those could go.  They kept walking until they were exhausted and slept right on the shoulder.  A sheriff woke them before dawn; wanted to know what they were doing, said they couldn't sleep there.  They had to keep walking.   Eventually, Bill took the road for Iowa City, and Sean made it to Chicago.
Marilyn invited him to stay with her at her parent’s home.  They fed him three different kinds of meat at the first meal he had with them.  Marilyn said that her parents had been in a concentration camp, and that afterwards they had developed this need to have tons of food available all the time.  Both were now overweight, but Marilyn was thin.  Sean went to a theater group she was involved with, and learned to play basic percussion, as part of an effort to involve people in music and theater.  She asked Sean to stay in Chicago, but she wouldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t sleep with him.  She told him he could get a job there.  Sean didn’t want to live in Chicago.  He still liked Baltimore, “What would I do here?” he asked her.  She told him he could probably get a job in a record store she knew about.  Sean didn’t want to do that. After that, Marilyn told Sean she had things to do, so she couldn’t show him around the city anymore, but she had a friend, Amy, who could.  Amy kept asking him what his intentions were with Marilyn, and did he want to come back to her place. Sean realized that Marilyn was dumping him, and had set him up with this girlfriend of hers.  When he saw her again, Marilyn had wanted to know, “So, how’d you get along with Amy?”  It was clear to Sean what was what.  Sean counted out his remaining money, and found out he could afford to take the train home to Baltimore.  Marilyn drove him to the train station, and asked him one more time if he’d stay and get a job there, but Sean said no.  They promised to write.
Sean wasn’t about to try hitchhiking again, especially without a specific destination in mind.

His last bicycle had disappeared when he was thirteen. Sean heard that a few of his rowdiest classmates had been stealing bikes in the neighborhood. Sean decided to confront them. “Hey, Marconi. I hear you know a thing or two about stolen bicycles?” "Yo, Emmet.  So, you lost a bicycle. We'll look for it.” Marconi tried to look serious for a moment, but smiled at his two buddies on either side of him. Sean didn’t have any proof, and he had already learned from his dad, by way of negative example, not to assume guilt. “You sure you don’t know anything about it? A Bendix two-speed?” “Look, Emmet, I’ll keep my eyes open for it, OK?” “Sure. OK. Let me know if you see anything.” This was before Sean’s confrontation with his dad, and it was a good thing too, because, not only was Gino Marconi much larger than Sean, but his friends were tough. Sean would have had the shit kicked out of him. I was stupid enough to leave it leaning against the store; I guess I deserved to have it stolen.   His father had gotten the Bendix Aviation bicycles for him and his brother through an employee discount.  Sean didn't dare ask for another. Eight years later he was lying on the grass, wondering if he’d have to walk home again.
His brother John, a year younger, had been the first to learn how to ride. He was also the first to date. He was already married, and had fathered a child.  John drove a car. Sean had failed to learn how to drive one, and couldn't afford one anyway.  You might say Sean was kind of deficient in many skills, especially social skills: no home life, no wife, no lover. He worked in a Physics research lab, buried underground, sitting in a chair behind the x-ray equipment he operated. He spent most of his evenings taking classes at the university he worked for. He was not athletic, had never participated in sports, and hadn’t ridden a bicycle in too many years; his muscles were rebellious. Before long, however, that bicycle became his constant companion. Shortly before he bought it, he had quit his full-time job to attend school outside the city, at the University of Maryland Baltimore County. His boss had agreed to let him work part-time after school and Saturdays. The first day he rode it to classes was a killer - ten miles in rush hour traffic across Baltimore City. After that, he rode the twenty mile round trip every day, and enjoyed it. He was getting stronger. He felt more alert, more alive. He pedaled to the theater, to movies, or to local demonstrations. He didn't have much of a love life, but he sure had transportation. 
He could go anywhere on a bike, and he wondered just how far he could go. To California? Canada? He might need to do that yet. Could I afford to go? I want to travel, to see the country, other states, other cities; to swim in clean rivers, and walk through mountains, canyons, and forests - that would be my version of happiness.
Choking on fumes, greasy air, and soot, however, he fought my way through herds of buses, semi's, beetles, caddies, mustangs, and ‘vettes. He crested a small hill one morning and saw clear road in front of him. An electric current surged through him as his thighs orbited the pedals of his Schwinn Suburban. Warp factor seven, Scotty. Cool morning air caressed his sweaty forehead and ripped tears from his eyes. On his left he noticed the metallic beasts slowing. He thought he must be overtaking them. I’m good at this, he crowed to himself. Then, there was a gap in front of the beast next to him. A white whale was pointed right at him! Trapped within, the look of panic on the face of the whale's prisoner mirrored his own slack-jawed expression. He felt air beneath him. He knew he was airborne, but his eyes didn’t focus on anything as he spun high through the air. The car had made contact with his foot first, and he had kicked up and forward down the hill. He had time to think, as people oddly do in times like that, I’m gonna die. All these cars; I’m going to get crushed. I guess I won't make it to classes today. What? where? who? slipped through his barely conscious mind when he came to rest. There were no answers available. Up. I need to get up. As he started to lift his head, he couldn't imagine where he was. In a sudden panic, he realized he didn’t know who he was. He felt like he was dreaming. A name, I must have a name. I'd better just lie still, maybe I'll wake up. But, there were vague noises, and voices, somewhere.
"What about him?" penetrated his haze. He strained to listen.
"Oh, don't worry about him. He's dead."
Me! They're talking about me! Of course - the car - an accident. Am I hurt? He forced his eyes to open. He saw a typical blue-grey Baltimore sky above him.
"Don't you worry about it none, Miz Pentel. I saw the whole thing. It wasn't your fault. I'll testify to it." He turned his head slightly; saw a group of black and white men clustered around a well-dressed white woman about 10 feet away on the sidewalk. The men, wearing coveralls and carrying lunch pails, weren't looking his way. Time seemed frozen. No one moved. Even traffic, backed up behind the red light about a block away, had stopped.
He had been bicycling for over a year already, every day, so he rolled onto his feet, catlike. He felt like a ghost rising from a forgotten grave.  He tried walking, but one leg was weak; it seemed to not want to hold him. He limped towards the crowd, who turned as one man to look at him. The woman noticed. She ran out to him.
"Are you alright?"
A quick "No!" was all he could manage. Waves of pain were spreading up his leg with every step.
"Here, you come sit in my car." He sat on the spotless white upholstery and she left him there. The pain in his foot was throbbing now. He eased his leg onto the seat, and lay down. He was staring at the plush interior of the snow-white Continental when a fireman appeared in the doorway. "Are you hurt?” No, I always sleep in Continentals, Sean thought, angry that none of the firemen had come over before. “Do you need anything?"
"My foot hurts, a lot. I don't think I can walk on it. It's already swollen."
"Hang on, I'll get you something," and he disappeared, back across the street into the firehouse. He came back with a plastic bag that he pulled onto Sean’s leg.
"What's that?" Sean asked.
"It's a temporary cast. Here, I'll fill it up." Fwoosh, and the bag stiffened. "Is that any better?"
"A little - yes - thank you."
"You should go have this x-rayed. Where do you want to go?"
"Could you possibly take me to the closest place, please? Soon?"
Hours later his roommates came and helped him limp, bruised and sprained, out of the hospital. The neglect and lack of concern in there had vindicated his contempt for establishment medical practice. "Don’t you have insurance? Can you pay for this visit? Sign here, and here, and here." And then, hurry up and wait. Lie there alone until they're ready. Listen to the children crying, one of them with a head wound, another with a broken arm. Smell the antiseptic. Watch people ignore everyone. On the way home, Sean had his roommates stop at the Free Clinic to get some crutches. It seemed he had only sprained the upper part of his foot, and gotten some nasty-looking bruises. When the bill came from the hospital, he was amazed to learn that they were charging him for crutches! But Mrs. Penn paid the bill, and sent him a check for a new bike.
Of course, it wasn't all the hospital's fault. There were very few doctors in the poor neighborhoods for people to go to, so people used the emergency rooms as their family doctor.
That was why the People's Free Medical Clinic  has been founded. That was the reason why such a diverse group of people, including Black Panthers, women's libbers, and war protesters had worked to start such a place. The Clinic stood for socialized medicine. But, there was also draft resistance advice, birth control counseling, and the obligatory V.D. screening and sex education. There was a commitment to humane health care, community control of the Clinic, and the redefinition of the doctor-patient relationship.

"What are you doing?"
"I'm checking your lungs."
"Yeah, but why do you do that?"
"I'm timpaning. By tapping on you like this, I produce sound in your lungs. I can tell by the sound where there's fluid."
"What does that mean?"
"That would mean that you have an infection of some kind."
As a patient "advocate", Sean’s job was to interview patients, find out why they had come in, and if anything else was bothering them. Advocates encouraged patients to ask questions of the docs, and followed their progress through the Clinic. No one was ever lost in a shuffle of bureaucratic paper.
"Mr. Stefans, did you get everything taken care of?"
"Sure. But you know, he gave me these prescriptions, and I don't know which one to take once a day and which to take three times."
"Let's go back and ask him."
"Oh, no. I don't want to bother him."
"No bother. That's what he's here for."
"Hi Lillian. All squared away.?"
"Yes, thank you. Can someone take me to my appointment at the hospital tomorrow?"
"I'll arrange it with the day staff right now."
"Can you tell me when my test results will be in?"
"We should have them by this time tomorrow night."
"Am I covered by Workman's comp?"
"Let's find out."
"Is there anything else?"
"No. Yes, I do have a sorta problem."
"What's that?"
"I don't know if I should talk about it."
"Would you like to talk to a counselor? Everything you say is confidential."
"No one can find out?"
"Absolutely no one, not without your written permission."

There were interesting counselors at the Clinic. Supervised and trained by psychiatrists, and then by each other, the "People's Counselors" helped people open up and express their angers, frustrations, and pain. There might be only a simple physical need to be remedied or there might be something more.

"Have you thought about using birth control?"

"I can't, my parents don't believe in it."
"Do you want to get pregnant?"
"No way! Not for a long time, at least until I'm twenty."

"I'm so mad I could scream!"
"Why don't you?"
"Scream? It's OK?"
"Sure, would you rather be mad?"

The basic philosophy of the People’s Counselors was that it was not always the patient who was fucked up, but society itself. Unreal expectations, peer pressure, media-created role models, and laws against "victimless" crimes drove people into self-depreciation. It was radical, it was revolutionary, to just help people without judging them.
The counselors, staff and volunteers at the Free Clinic worked hard, hoping to renew a society of, by, and for the people. They questioned everything. Does the nuclear family form the basis for repressive authority? Are male and female roles only learned, conditioned behavior? Is competitiveness the root of war? Is bisexuality the future of sex?
Could we create a society in which war was impossible? Could a racist, sexist, patriarchal, avaricious, hypocritical society become one loving caring family? Sean juggled all of these questions and more, hoping to understand why the U.S. was at war, why people got into fights, why people killed each other, why there was so much violence in the world.
He was not a counselor, but one night he found myself pushed into it. For some reason, there was no one around to help a woman freaking out from some drug, presumably LSD. She was agitated, depressed, and could hardly speak for crying.
"What's wrong with me?"
"There's nothing with you, you're just having a bad trip, that's all."
"That's all? That's all? Why do I feel this way? Help me. Help me. Help me."
Someone put their arm around her, and Sean took her hand.
"It's OK, really, you'll just have to wait for the drug to wear off."
"How long?"
"Sometimes it takes up to fourteen hours."
"Oh god, no. I can't. My parents! Why do I hate my parents?” she sobbed suddenly.
I'm blowing this, I'm in over my head, Sean thought. "Look, you probably don't hate them."
"Yes I do! I thought I loved them, but now they hate me."
"They don't."
"Why do I feel this way? Make it stop."
"We'll try. OK?"
Eventually, she was alright. People with more experience in those things took over.

Sean sat down upstairs in the empty childcare room.  He was remembering his own experience.

MySpace Page

Grunnenrocks Page

Discogs Page

Helios Creed was a guitarist for San Francisco band Chrome. When Chrome broke up in 1983, Damon Edge hired a new line-up, while Creed started releasing records under his own name. After Damon Edge died of a heart failure in 1995, Creed resurrected Chrome. He also released two albums under the name "Dark Matter".

Associated Bands - Chrome, Dark Matter

Fun Facts:

- Butthole Surfers cited Helios Creed as a major influence and Creed contributed guitar work to Surfers album "Independent Worm Saloon". (Wikipedia)

- Helios has said that he invented his trademark sound while trying to replicate the sound he heard in his head while "listening to Black Sabbath on LSD on headphones when I was a teenager." (Wikipedia)

- He is 6'6 tall (Wikipedia)

- He was featured on records by German band NoNoYesNo (Grunnenrocks)

Discography:

X-Rated Fairy Tales (1985)

Nothing Wrong 7" (1989)

Superior Catholic Finger (1989)

The Last Laugh (1989)

Boxing The Clown (1990)

The Warming 7" (1991)

Kiss To The Brain (1992)

Your Choice Live (1993)

Planet-X (1994)

Busting Through The Van Allan Belt (1994)

Cosmic Assault (1995)

Abducted 7" (1996)

"NUGG" The Transport (1996)

Activated Condition (1998 )

Chromagnum Man (1998 )

Colors Of Light (1999)

On Tour 1999 (2001)

Spider Prophesy (2002)

On The Dark Side Of The Sun (2003)

Inferior Plastic Finger (2004)

Deep Blue Love Vacuum (2006)

Your Spaceman

È nuovamente allarme droga. Questa volta però non si tratta di un nuovo stupefacente sintetizzato in qualche parte esotica del mondo, di una sostanza che si presenta sottoforma di liquido, polvere, pasticca, erba, fungo o fumo che sia, ma è virtuale. Si tratta di un cyber droga musicale, particolari brani musicali e sequenze sonore che permettono di sballare, come spiega il nucleo speciale frodi telematiche (Gat) della Guardia di finanza. Uno stupefacente sbarcato anche in Italia.

Sono file audio che comprendono onde tra 3 e 30 Hz, ovvero le frequenze su cui “lavora” il cervello umano, capace di sollecitare in maniera intensa l’encefalo e in grado di innescare gli effetti prodotti dall’assunzione di cocaina, hashish, lsd, alcol, eroina, ecstasy. Gli agenti stanno monitorando il fenomeno, poiché non si conoscono ancora i reali danni alla salute né il rischio di dipendenza.

Queste cyber-droghe sono dei “semplici” file mp3 (di solito) che con particolari frequenze sonore provocano gli stessi stimoli nervosi di una dose di stupefacente o di alcol.
Già!.. le droghe che tutti noi conosciamo, non a caso vengono vendute con lo stesso nome di queste come: assenzio, oppio, marjuana, peyote, cocaina ecc…
Vengono assunte con nessun particolare metodo, basta un lettore per “dosi sonore’” chiamato iDoser e delle cuffie, più logicamente la “canzone”. Le frequenze si aggirano dai 3 ai 30 Hz, proprio su quelle del lavoro cerebrale.
Il cervello sentendo quella melodia a quelle determinate frequenze non si accorge che sta ascoltando un brano e la persona viene assuefatta dagli effetti..

L’iDoser, viene regalato già fornito di due dosi gratuite, logicamente le altre dosi per procurarsele bisogna pagare ed il prezzo si aggira tra 5, 10 o 14 Euro.
Anche in questo caso la pirateria non manca, perchè queste “droghe musicali” si possono anche “illegalmente” (che definirei l’illegalità dell’illegalità -.- ) scaricare con programmi come Emule o conidivise via Web da siti che danno questo servizio di share, Megaupload o Rapidshare e via dicendo..
Cosa particolare è che queste dosi possono essere utilizzate più volte, quindi la stessa canzone ascoltata piu’ volte.

Questi suoni però non hanno lo stesso effeto su tutti, in alcuni non fanno nulla, in altri provocano stordimento, cefalea e sonnolenza, in altri ancora provocano effetti simili alle droghe..impossibile quindi stabilire se creano dipendenza.

• smackdown
• come to Jesus talk
• little chat about how the hogs ate the corn

are no longer the days of mustering much of anything.

These days I just do it.

Because I can and because I should and because I rarely do stuff like that anymore in a way that ends up with someone feeling as if I hit them in the stomach with a rubber mallet.

Wednesday night around 9 Ben's brother Zach went to the ER and ended up having his appendix removed at something like 2 in the morning.

But not before...

• getting a temperature of 103+ and
• barfing a few times and
• ending up having to have Tylenol by way of suppository and
• getting loopy on a nice hefty batch of pain killers and saying to his dad,

Hey!  I've got a suppository up my ass.  Whatta you got up yours?

And we all about fell out right there in his little ER hospital room and then he panicked a little bit because he felt like complete shit and so we comforted him while we were still laughing a little bit about what he said.

The next day the hospital staff had gotten

• forgetful about or
• fucked up around

the fact he was in their hospital and had just had surgery and an infection that had caused him to have a 103+ temperature and was supposed to continue having antibiotics.

So around 7 that night I just wrangled the nurse into the room and put the nicey nice hurt on her until there was a pouch of antibiotics running into his IV.

And the whole time I was remembering what one of my recovery heroes taught me early in my recovery back in the days when I still though cussing people out was a good idea.

She asked,

Do you know what the difference between aggressive and assertive is?

I said,

I don't even give a shit about assertive.

She said,

Yeah, I can tell.  But do you want to know the answer anyway?

I said,

Sure.  Whatever.

She said,

Aggressive is saying 'fuck you' and assertive is saying 'fuck you' with a smile on your face and a song in your heart.

I said,

Yeah, thanks.

She smiled and I thought,

Is she serious?  I still get to tell people 'fuck you'?

Not long after that a kind soul in recovery wrangled together something like 5 of us newcomers who all had something like 60 days clean or less and took us to a recovery camp out.

On the way home we stopped at a Dairy Queen and it took something like 45 minutes just to get a burger and our friend with a kind soul said,

I would really like to complain about this.

So one of us newcomers got up and got a 'comment card' and started filling it out and it ended up saying things like,

We're going to blow the crap outta this place!

and

You totally fucking suck and shouldn't even have a job!

and

I'll never fuckin' come back here as long as I live!

and we gave it to our friend with a kind soul and he read it and tore it in half and said,

You're acting like a bunch of pussies,

and then got up and asked for the manager and they ended up having a rather long conversation where they were smiling and laughing and then the manager got him a free soda and then they shook hands and our friend with a kind soul walked past the table where we were all sitting with our mouths hanging open and said,

Come on you pussies, we're outta here.

And it was pretty quiet all the way home.

Today I drove to a little town about an hour north of here for some highly secretive and important business.

Actually, I've just followed my hair dresser wherever she goes and that's where she is right now and I was terribly overdue for a hair cut and various and sundry other things she does to my hair.

By overdue I mean, of course, that I had begun to appear as if I had gotten out of the shower one morning and promptly decided to stick my finger into a light socket.

And on the way there I clearly had too much time on my hands because I was seriously over analyzing the why's and what for's when it comes to the lines they paint on highways and roads to keep everyone in line.  This, of course, led me back to one thing I will probably be a little put out with for the rest of my life:

Timothy Leary for screwing up the good ride I've always believed lots and lots of people could have had with LSD just because he decided to get all kinds of jacked up and off the hook about a few rules.

Seriously, here were all these guys like Hofmann, Huxley, Hoffer and eventually Ram Dass who were motivated by helping others and themselves and here comes Leary with a bee in his bonnet or a spur under his saddle or something and jacking the whole thing up for everyone else to the point that LSD research cannot even be legally done in the USA anymore.

And, of course, by the time I came into my own when it came to taking drugs LSD was loaded up with all kinds of crap that could really twist up a person's melon.

This is, of course, a coin with two very distinct sides because if it wasn't for a nightmarish trip I would have probably never decided to get clean again.

Seriously, there was just something about twisting up my melon to the point of thinking I was going to be one of those folks who couldn't manage getting a Dairy Queen burger to someone within a 45 minute period that did wonders for getting me back into recovery at a dead run.

If LSD was legal I wouldn't take it.  Even in a proper experimental setting. 

But I sure do think it would be great if well meaning scientists could pick up where Hofmann and those other guys left off to see if they couldn't help a few people out.  Because goodness knows we all need a little bit (sometimes a lot) of helping out from time to time.

And now I'm sitting here wondering about several things.

1. I wonder what things would have been like if someone would have had the 'Do you know the difference between aggressive and assertive' chat with Timothy Leary?
2. One of my favorite quotes is, 'If you want to know the truth about a civilization just look at who they put in prison' and we sure do put lots and lots of mentally ill people in prison here in the USA
3. And I have this strange feeling that on the cusp of putting lots and lots of people in prison just because they disagree with the US government and I'm wondering how everything will go when we get completely fed up. 
4. Which I also have a strange feeling we will.

I'm also sitting here thinking the universe must be conspiring in my favor because I get great breaks from that kind of thinking by seeing my brother-in-law laying around in a hospital asking his own dad what's up his butt and getting to have moments of saying 'fuck you' with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

Yeah, I made a pretty big error of judgement back in the day.

Warning - this post may contain drug references and graphic descriptions of drug use.

Well, not really. I've just always wanted to say that.

Here goes.....

I went to a party when I was 17. I remember I was wearing a batik print dress with sandals with cork soles and these enormous silver earrings with moons and stars on them that jangled as I walked. Yes, even though it was 1982, there was a Batik revival going on in Sydney and I thought I was the Cat's PJs.

Mel had on a pink and purple batik ensemble with some kind of Buddhist temple on it. She hadn't handwashed the dress before she put it on and in the summer heat the dye was beginning to come off on her neck and arms.

There were some boys in my class at that time who thought it was really cool or smart or funny or something to spike girls drinks. This resulted in a lot of people throwing up on the lawn at various parties. I remember Annabel Mason's famous spew into her mother's handpainted steel watering can imported all the way from France. It was the stuff of legend because her mother didn't notice it for over a week and the spew hardened and the only way to get it out was to scrape it out with a spatula and a chisel which Annabel's Mum made her do as punishment. Annabel's nickname was the watering-can spewer from that day forward.

The thing is that the clued-up girls knew which boys were spiking the drinks so we avoided accepting drinks from them as well as setting up sentries around the punch bowl and the jugs of lemonade on the party tables. That's why when Danny McAllister handed me a glass of Coke, I didn't suspect a thing.

Danny and I were good friends. We were on the debating team and co-edited the school newspaper. He was a science geek who wore glasses but he had a heart of gold and a great sense of humour. I mention the geek part because Danny was teased a lot by the jocks. It's such a common story, isn't it? It's as if as soon as you enter the school gates you get caught on this treadmill of stereotypical behaviour and you can't get off until you've acted out your part.

Danny was teased by the jocks but instead of telling them to go and suck our big fat ones as the rest of us did, he went to great lengths to gain their acceptance. And that's where my error of judgement comes in.

The spiked substance of choice at this particular party was LSD. There was a real 60s retro thing going on in my town. It was tangerine trees and marmalade skies all the way.

I had seen Danny talking to one of his Jock Idols a short time before he handed me my drink but I really didn't put two and two squared together until the ground began to dip in some parts and rise up in others. I don't know why but the organ riff Ray Manzarek plays in that Doors track Break On Thru To The Other Side popped into my head straight away.

The tune stuck in my head, obstinately, and I began to dance. But it was hard to dance because I was standing on a life raft that was floating rather precariously on a very choppy sea. And the colours in the world were so vivid my eyes were stinging.

I remember feeling like everything was rushing toward me and that objects and people were so enormous I thought they would crush me. Then they would retreat, farther and farther away until they were like ants at my feet.

And it happened. Just as everyone who has taken LSD says it does - I saw God. Well, actually, I saw St. Michael the Archangel. He was beautiful, terrifying, cruel and tender all at once. I wanted to run from him. I wanted to stay by his side. 'You should remember me,' he said. I often wonder what he meant by it.

Mel knew I was in trouble when she saw me holding up a handful of ice to the sky and whispering to myself. 'You were somewhere else,' she said. 'And it scared me.'

I was somewhere else. I was hearing the harps of paradise as I stood by the acacia trees as well as the cries of the forgotten.

Mel got me out there. It was a pact we had. If ever one of us got into an awkward situation at a party the other one would bail her out.

I spent the rest of the night alternating between throwing up and seeing the world with kaleidoscope eyes.

During the course of the night Mel figured out Danny McAllister was to blame and called his mother. He spent the next month apologising to me and didn't speak to any of the jocks for the rest of the school year.

I wasn't mad at him - well, not really but it did make me think a lot about peer pressure and how the desire to be in the popular clique can cloud your judgement, sometimes adversely affecting not just yourself but other people you care about. You hear people say it all the time:

You think you know somebody.....

while shaking their heads.

And it makes you realise how difficult it is to be an independent spirit in a world of conformity.