Hippies,beatniks, go go dancers and acidheads let it all hang out in a psychedelic group grope set to the now sounds of the new generation. Mature audiences only.
“What Goes On” (live) - The Velvet Underground
“Cellophane Woman” - Sopwith Camel
“Help You Ann’ - The Lyres
“Time Machine” - Satori
“Roller Girl” - Anna Karina
“She Has Funny Cars” - The Jefferson Airplane
“I Haven’t Got The Nerve” - The Left Banke
“Sally I Do” - Abdullah’s Regime
“Hold Me Now” - The Rumors
“Mona” - The Pleasures
Break out the Kama Sutra oil, the Nepalese Temple Balls and the Nag Champa incense and get ready to freak out!
Journey In Time is some wacky anti-drug propaganda from 1971. Chock full of unintentional humor and bogus facts about drugs, this sucker is a classic. The narration by director Alan Hodd sounds like it was written by a precocious, glue sniffing 12 year teenybopper.
What makes the film particularly groovy is the footage of hippies shot on location in San Francisco and Dallas and the soundtrack featuring The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin and Texas psyche-rockers Kenny And The Kasuals singing “Journey To Time.” Reputedly, the Kasuals disavowed the film and claim the song was used without their permission. As fas as I know, The Beatles and Bob Dylan have no comment.
I hope you enjoy every sordid minute of this hippie/rock’n’roll/drug scarefest.
Born in Glasgow in 1925 and reborn in the land of Morpheus sometime in the 1950s, Alexander Trocchi was the beatest of the beat, a self-described “cosmonaut of inner space” who Allen Ginsberg called “a major figure in cosmopolitan new-consciousness fifties’ and sixties’ literature.” Trocchi was a junkie, poet, writer of porn and author of one of the landmark books about being a rebel, drifter and drug addict, Cain’s Book. He wrote it while living in New York and even though it’s billed as a novel, Cain’s Book is based on Trocchi’s own life story. Though banned in the United Kingdom as pornography, it wasn’t the sex that upset the status quo as much as it was Trocchi’s unabashedly anarchic spirit and overall fuck you attitude.
Trocchi’s belief was that a writer should be a pioneer, venturing into areas that ordinary people either were too sane or too afraid to go. His explorations included heroin. Like DeQuincey, Crowley, Baudelaire and Burroughs, Trocchi found a muse in drugs. He was relentless in his pursuit of the next high. And while he might be accused of wearing his junkie status as a badge of honor, he never romanticized the life of the addict. He also never apologized for who he was and what he did, which included turning Marianne Faithfull onto heroin and letting his wife Lyn prostitute herself on the streets of the Lower East Side.
Cain’s Book is the classic late-1950s account of heroin addiction. . . . An un-self-forgiving existentialism, rendered with writerly exactness and muscularity, set this novel apart from all others of the genre.” –– William S. Burroughs
Along with Naked Lunch and Hubert Selby’s Requiem For A Dream, Cain’s Book is a classic of dope-inspired writing. It was Trocchi’s last novel. He spent the rest of his life occasionally writing short stories, prose and poetry. He died of pneumonia in 1984.
I discovered Cain’s Book right around the time I was reading Burroughs, Bukowski and Kerouac. It was another big black splotch on my teenage Catholic soul. Literature was ruining me for the “straight” world but splendidly preparing for a life of sexual adventuring, drug experimentation and the pursuit of my own muses. Trocchi was an imperfect muse himself. But I have discovered that it is the troubled souls that stir up the most heat and though their light is often hidden in the murk of their disheveled lives when it does shine it does so more intensely.
Here’s a clip from the documentary Cain’s Film followed by a short video on Trocchi featuring William Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and Leonard Cohen.
Whether you plan to become a pot grower, improve your skills as a grower or simply are curious about agriculture, this is a fascinating documentary on marijuana cultivation. Ganja growing wizard and High Times columnist Jorge Cervantes gives you the step by step info you need to become a pot farmer.
Of course, we here at Dangerous Minds are providing this video for entertainment purposes only. Personally, I found this particularly entertaining stoned.
Primarily a painter these days, Peter Schnitzler was a prolific documentary filmmaker in the 1960s and 70s. He has directed over 100 films on science, the environment and culture. In this short film, Tom, Schnitzler focuses his camera on a young hippie living in the mellower Southern California of the early 70s.
A groovy artifact from the tail end of the Age Of Aquarius infused with good vibes and a heavy dose of nostalgia. This was made for the National Institute Of Mental Health as a training film. An anthropological study of the hippie in its natural habitat?
In 1963, Belgian writer, painter and mystic Henri Michaux collaborated with film maker Eric Duvivier on Images Du Monde Visionnaire. It was produced by Swiss pharmaceutical company Sandoz as an educational tool to demonstrate the visual effects of mescaline and hashish. The film was based on Michaux’s experiences with psychedelics which he documented in his books Miserable Miracle, L’Infini Turbulent and Paix Dans Les Brisements.
Michaux denounced the film as not being truly representative of the psychedelic experience. He felt that Duvivier, who had never taken mescaline, had no grasp of the drug experience and that film itself was incapable of replicating the visionary aspect of tripping.
When it was proposed to make a film about mescaline hallucinations, I have declared, I have repeated and I repeat it again, that that is to attempt the impossible. Even in a superior film, made with substantial means, with all one needs for an exceptional production, I must state beforehand the images will be insufficient. The images would have to be more dazzling, more instable, more subtle, more changeable, more ungraspable, more trembling, more tormenting, more writhing, infinitely more charged, more intensely beautiful, more frighteningly colored, more aggressive, more idiotic, more strange.
With regard to the film’s speed, it should be so high that all scenes would have to fit in fifty seconds.
While I am sympathetic to Michaux’s frustrations on a spiritual level, I disagree with him about film not being up to the task of duplicating the psychedelic experience on a visual level. Of all the art forms, cinema can come closest to bending the mind in ways that approximate the psychedelic experience. The best examples of which are the films of Stan Brakhage and fragments of James Cameron’s Avatar.
More of an avant-garde tone poem than educational film, here is Images Du Monde Visionnaire in its entirety:
I ate 12 fat fresh buttons while drinking black cherry juice to mask the extreme bitterness of the cactus. 12 buttons is a large quantity of mescaline for an experienced peyote eater. This was my first encounter with peyote. I had made a serious commitment to Mescalito.
When the peyote came on, it came on strong. My home in the Berkeley Hills overlooked the bay and I could see the Chevron oil refinery in Richmond smudging the night sky with a reddish haze of sodium lamps and spewing infernal smoke like some futuristic version of hell. I felt a sense of dread. But soon the apocalyptic vision was swept away by a surge of powerful euphoric energy. My body started to hum and vibrate and I became aware of surging energy along my spine and pinwheels of light radiating from ganglion centers within my body. I gathered that this was the awakening of my kundalini and the sparking of my chakras. I know this sounds like new age jive talk. But it was 1969 and I was 18 years old. The new age was new and hadn’t become an industry. The era of spiritual materialism was dawning, but hadn’t arrived yet. There were a handful of books by scholars of Eastern mysticism on the subject of kundalini and you had to make an effort to seek out this information. I’d read John Woodroffe’s book The Serpent Power: The Secrets of Tantric and Shaktic Yoga and knew a little bit about the dormant energy coiled like a snake at the base of the spine waiting to be awakened. I had also read about about the chakras: seven clusters of energy bundled within nerves that radiate along the spine. I had read it, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Well, peyote introduced me to all of this in precise and intricate detail. The connection between flesh and spirit wasn’t conceptual, it was manifest right there in the moment.
In my dark Berkeley apartment, sitting in front of an altar of white candles, I fell into the grip of Mescalito’s magic. My body was suffused with blissful energy, my spine tingling with waves of ecstasy. I was horny for the cosmos, in love with the every little minutia of being. I chanted OM and the vibration in my chest worked its way into my skull where it tapped into some universal language composed of sympathetic waves of energy. And what my eyes saw, both inside and out, were the most sophisticated, intricate and dazzling visual constructs I’d ever encountered. Beautiful and perfectly detailed geometric mandalas were spinning in the space between my closed eyes. And when I opened my eyes the mandalas spun outward to meld with the billions of mandalas that were surging toward me and offering to embed their cosmic code upon my brain. And holy mother of jesus, my chakras were spinning, sparkling and luminescent. And when all the chakras were vibrating at the exact same frequency, none prevailing over the other, I disappeared into an infinite white light and no longer existed. Marc was dead. That little nub of ego that grinds up against what we call reality was shattered into a million little pieces. Marc was a pimple that had received a liberating squeeze.
Peyote taught me that when we emphasize just one aspect of our being while ignoring the rest, we create ego. If our sexual energy is dominant, we create ego. If our intellect is dominant, we create ego. If our emotions are dominant, we create ego. Only when sex, heart and mind are in complete balance and harmony do we experience so called enlightenment. When all of our chakras, our energy centers, are vibrating on the same wavelength, at the same pitch, we become in tune with the cosmos. Ego is the result of getting stuck in just one corner of our totality. Ego is the illusion of isolation. When our mind is in tune with our heart and our sexuality, we become one with the natural order of things and no longer exist apart from the world. That’s how it works. If you don’t believe me, eat 12 fat peyote buttons and get back to me.
The morning after my peyote trip, I re-entered the world tenderly, with the vulnerability and openness of a newborn child. I felt humbled and amazed. I never again felt quite as solid as I did before taking peyote. I was more conscious of myself on a molecular level. I felt oceanic.
Eating peyote was the most profoundly religious experience I’ve ever had and it continues to inform my point of view on a daily basis. At 18 years of age a door opened and it has remained slightly ajar ever since. The ego is monolithic and stubborn. It takes something powerful to put the brutal bastard in its place. The modern world has been the ego’s best ally. It provides little space for the dissolution of ME. Thank goodness for psychedelics.
Peyote is called “medicine” for a reason. It can heal, purge and cleanse. But it’s just one part of a bigger process. The deal with psychedelics is that you get the Cliff Notes version of cosmic consciousness. Don’t me get me wrong, the experience is real, genuine, but it’s also just a kind of crash course giving us a quick glimpse of who we really are. Most of us, actually all of us, can’t afford to leave our jobs, family etc. to sit on a mountaintop completely devoting our lives to contemplating the nature of existence. There have been a handful of human beings who could make that commitment: Milarepa, Buddha, Jesus and those divinely intoxicated bums who used to practice their Dharma on Bowery and Broadway back in the 70s. But, in this day and age, when there are so many forces conspiring against our attaining even the slightest insight to who we are and what has authentic value in our lives, we need guidance that can lead us to a deeper and more profound understanding of why we are here and where we are going. I suggest taking the crash course. If you can get your hungry hands on some peyote, psilocybin mushrooms or clean LSD (I’m not sure it still exists) go for it. Don’t wait for the world to become your paradise. Throw away the travel brochure. Create your own cosmic getaway. If your head’s in the right space, Newark is just as beautiful as the beaches of Belize. But ultimately it’s up to us to follow up on the psychedelic experience and do the hard work of self-realization on a daily basis.
While psychedelics do open the doors of perception, it is our responsibly to walk through those doors and keep walking. There are no quick fixes for what ails us. Peyote showed me the way, it was a cosmic road map, but I still had to do the driving and part of the trip is to question the “I’ in the driver’s seat. One way that I found to keep the “I” real is to have a gallon jug of peyote tea in the refrigerator at all times. Depending on my particular mental state on any given day, a sip or gulp of the tea might be the perfect prescription for clarifying a moment in time or reminding me of what really matters. Every household should have at least a week’s supply of peyote tea on hand. It’s better than coffee for kickstarting your day. Unfortunately, peyote is so effective in bringing balance and insight into the lives of men and women, that most peyote fields through the Southwest and Northern Mexico have been picked clean. I am hoping that once marijuana is legalized that we can look to making peyote a legal sacrament for the population at large and the cultivation of peyote will become a thriving industry like artichokes and endive. America would greatly benefit from having psychedelic salad on our dinner tables.
The following documentary on peyote will help you plan ahead.