Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

[American Dream]

http://er-turfing.com/turfing/

[American Dream]

http://thequietus.com/articles/10268-al ... d-50-years


The Yoga Of Love: Aldous Huxley’s Island (1962) Revisited
Eli Lee , October 14th, 2012

Fifty years after its initial publication Eli Lee discusses the philosophical, political and cultural implications and ramifications of Huxley's utopian case study in psychedelics


Fifty years ago, in 1962, Aldous Huxley published Island, his final novel. He wrote Brave New World in 1931; it took him three decades to write his response. In a letter to the Maharaja of Kashmir, who after reading Island was inspired to write to Huxley asking where he could obtain psychedelic drugs, he described the book as “a kind of pragmatic dream – a fantasy with detailed and practical instructions for making the imagined and desirable harmonization of European and Indian insights become a fact.” As for the drugs, he gave the Maharaja Timothy Leary’s address.

Having first tried mescaline in 1953, written The Doors of Perception soon after and had his first acid trip in 1955, it is safe to say that Huxley was a psychedelics pioneer - but he had long been fascinated by all manner of drugs: there’s even a rumour that, in the ‘20s, Aleister Crowley introduced him to peyote. Whether or not this is true, Huxley was already balls deep in mind-expansion by then; in 1931 he wrote ‘A Treatise on Drugs’, a look at the history of drug-taking, as well as Brave New World, where the panacea drug soma flattens people into numbness. By the time he got around to Island, he’d spent decades researching visionary experience and self-transcendence. Psychedelics were just a part of it, though: Huxley was also into Hindu and Buddhist philosophy – most notably Vedanta, one of the main strains of Hindu thought. The psychedelic experience, as he saw it, offered a powerful shortcut to the liberation from the ego and the understanding of infinite oneness that these religious philosophies guide towards, too, by all accounts.

The idea that an acid trip might be a blissful blast of mystical experience is common enough these days, but Huxley was one of only a handful suggesting it back in ’62. (There was the mysterious Alfred M. Hubbard, who sung the LSD gospel in the ‘50s; Timothy Leary and Ram Dass, known then as Richard Alpert, who were just wrapping up two years of their Harvard Psilocybin Project – Huxley was one of their volunteers; and in ’64, there was Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters, galloping around the States, doling out psychedelics.) The near-blind Old Etonian was one of the western world’s boldest early psychonauts, and Island was the synthesis of his investigations. No wonder it took him five years to write – he had a lot to pack in.

Huxley knew it was a patchy novel; after he’d written it he said there was a “disbalance between fable and exposition.” He’s right, of course: the plot and the characters are weak. Pissed-off British journalist Will Farnaby finds himself shipwrecked onto the shores of Pala, the ‘forbidden island’ of South-East Asia, during a stay on the nearby Rendang-Lobo - an industrialised, militarized, oil-rich nation, whose rulers see Pala as backwards in light of its refusal to adopt most forms of technological progress. Will finds, of course, that Pala is heaven on earth.

The plot stays skimpy, but the world-building is rich: the majority of the novel follows Will on a tour of the island, where its perfection throws his grim memories of England into sharp relief. These memories, many of which involve desolately shagging a lover called Babs who lives in a “musky, strawberry pink alcove above the Charing Cross Road,” seem toxic, but they’re also obvious plot devices, slotted in as clumsy contrasts to Pala’s idyll.



So the novel proceeds as an Open Day for Pala – and while most of the characters don’t get to do anything more than stand around explaining how its society works, the ideas are brilliant. There’s a methodical detail about it, as if Huxley asked himself: "How can we create the best kind of people and the best kind of society possible?" Economically, politically, educationally, spiritually – you name it, he’s got an answer. There’s appropriate technology, co-operative economies and free contraception; “the economics decentralist and Henry-Georgian, the politics Kropotkinesque co-operatives”. There are also ‘Mutual Adoption Clubs,’ giving Palanese children about twenty family homes they can roam freely between to avoid the whole ‘they fuck you up, your mum and dad’ thing, encapsulated in a perfectly Palanese soundbite:
“Take one sexually inept wage-slave, one dissatisfied female, two or three small television addicts; marinate in a mixture of Freudism and dilute Christianity, then bottle up tightly in a four-room flat and stew for fifteen years in their own juice. Our recipe is rather different: take twenty sexually satisfied couples and their offspring; add science, intuition and humour in equal quantities, steep in Tantrik Buddhism and simmer indefinitely in an open pan in the open air over a brisk flame of affection.”

If that sounds a bit smug and preachy, well, that’s kind of the tone of Island. It’s not off-putting – it’s just that you’re aware there’s some urgency. Eighty years ago, Huxley was wary of the devouring, dehumanizing machine of technological progress – thirty years and a world war later, he was still banging the same drum. These days, his ideas seem just as relevant; and yet they’re still fringe. Of course they are! Their ultimate goal is happy, evolved humans, not economic growth. There’s a lot of intelligent application of psychotherapy here too, even if some of it is reductive. Huxley’s second wife Laura was a psychotherapist and a big influence; in Island, he’s just as prescriptive, if not more so, about people’s inner lives as he is about the structures that surround them.

The only thing that doesn’t work is his take on overpopulation: there’s a scene in which the islanders explain why they’re happy only having two kids, and tell Will that they use artificial insemination to ‘improve the race’. The eugenicist implications of this are briefly alluded to – Will asks them about the ethical aspects – but it’s brushed off with a firm comment about its clear advantages. This is uncomfortable reading - especially as Island was written in the shadow of World War II and repeatedly refers to its horror – and also given there was such an emphasis on the freakishly cruel stratification by caste in Brave New World. Yet the single-minded pursuit of strong, healthy Palanese people is somehow seen as benign. Neither this discomfort nor the half-assed storyline ultimately detract from the novel’s philosophical punch. On the whole, a Huxleyian utopia even comes out as something to envy – especially if you like your sex and drugs.

On Pala, education in tantric sex – the ‘yoga of love’ – starts when you’re a kid, as do ritual drug-taking ceremonies. Moksha is Huxley’s vision of a perfect psychedelic; a cultivated yellow mushroom that grows in the mountains of Pala. Unlike soma in Brave New World, which is an escape from reality, moksha is a drug that’s meant to bring the Palanese ego liberation – enlightened awareness – neatly reflecting its Sanskrit meaning. A lot of Island is like this, spiritual hints and tips by way of fictional devices. It’s sometimes clumsy, but it still resonates.

There’s a scene where the kids take the moksha-medicine in a ritual ceremony – imagine spending a day at school taking LSD up a mountain with your teacher. It’s heady stuff and brilliantly done. Huxley was never afraid to wade into the heart of spiritual experience – this time via a smoothly syncretized mix of Mahayana Buddhism and Vedantic Hinduism – and come back with a full report. If you’re into spirituality at all, this bit is fantastic; you’ll smell the incense, see the dancing Shiva in your mind’s eye, hear the chanting and a sense of the sacred might briefly arise. It feels odd to read fiction that’s so unreservedly on Team Spirituality, though, and if you’re more secular-minded, it might be a little cringeworthy.

In the final chapter, Will himself takes the moksha-medicine and goes on an epic trip. Some of this is based on Huxley’s real-life psychonautical adventures; in 1955 he took LSD and listened to Bach’s Fourth Brandenburg Concerto; his wife wrote it up in an Erowid-style trip report. This, along with its attendant revelations, is exactly what happens at the end of Island. It’s a rare novel in which the last scene features the main character tripping his nuts off. Words and phrases like ‘infinity’, ‘loving gratitude’ and ‘luminous bliss’ earnestly populate the final pages – by this point, it should make all but the most obstinate cynic bosh the nearest hallucinogen and hope for great things.

Of course, the whole novel has built up to this – to its protagonist and readers sharing in the author’s insight. Not allowing anyone to be swept away, though, Huxley punctuates with a realist’s acknowledgement that the suffering caused by life’s “collective paranoias and organized diabolism” will remain “everywhere, always”. For this, he prescribes not drugs but compassion. Fifty years on, you still can’t argue with that.

[American Dream]

Page 167 of one 1955 MK-Ultra document refers to the study of an assortment of mind-altering substances described as follows:

Substances which will promote illogical thinking and impulsiveness to the point where the recipient would be discredited in public.

Substances which increase the efficiency of mentation and perception.

Materials which will prevent or counteract the intoxicating effect of alcohol.

Materials which will promote the intoxicating effect of alcohol.

Materials which will produce the signs and symptoms of recognized diseases in a reversible way so that they may be used for malingering, etc.

Materials which will render the induction of hypnosis easier or otherwise enhance its usefulness.

Substances which will enhance the ability of individuals to withstand privation, torture and coercion during interrogation and so-called “brain-washing”.

Materials and physical methods which will produce amnesia for events preceding and during their use.

Physical methods of producing shock and confusion over extended periods of time and capable of surreptitious use.

Substances which produce physical disablement such as paralysis of the legs, acute anemia, etc.

Substances which will produce “pure” euphoria with no subsequent let-down.

Substances which alter personality structure in such a way that the tendency of the recipient to become dependent upon another person is enhanced.

A material which will cause mental confusion of such a type that the individual under its influence will find it difficult to maintain a fabrication under questioning.

Substances which will lower the ambition and general working efficiency of men when administered in undetectable amounts.

Substances which promote weakness or distortion of the eyesight or hearing faculties, preferably without permanent effects.

A knockout pill which can surreptitiously be administered in drinks, food, cigarettes, as an aerosol, etc., which will be safe to use, provide a maximum of amnesia, and be suitable for use by agent types on an ad hoc basis.

A material which can be surreptitiously administered by the above routes and which in very small amounts will make it impossible for a person to perform physical activity.

http://web.archive.org/web/200711282302 ... auto,0,151

[American Dream]

Caveat Lector...

http://idynamo.wordpress.com/2013/07/07 ... its-drugs/

Better Living Through Chemistry: The Sixties And Its Drugs

July 7, 2013

by R.E. Prindle

If the Sixties had had a motto it would have been the variant of the Dupont slogan: Better Living Through Chemistry. It was sincerely believed that a pill could make your life shine. Amphetamines, LSD, barbiturates, just about anything that could be swallowed, sniffed, or popped. The Sixties mind was blown and never fully recovered. If as Fugs’ percussionist Tuli Kupferberg observed: America is insane, it was drugs that pushed it over the edge.

When drugs hit in the Sixties they were relatively new, no immunity to their use had been built up. Drugs were to American youth what alcohol had been to the American Indian in the nineteenth century and American youth dressed as funny as the Indians had; Youth adopted all sorts of bizarre behavior and clothing. It seemed funny at the time but I’m not laughing anymore. By the end of the Sixties from a sort of contact high the older generations tried to look and act just like the youth who by the end of the Sixties were no longer so young. Both age groups were laughable. It was something to see.

Of course chemistry had been discovering all kinds of new things from the nineteenth century on; people just couldn’t find an immediate use for the sort of drugs discovered. Barbiturates were first synthesized in 1864 by the German chemist Adolf von Baeyer. The formula sat around on the shelf till 1903 when some bored soul found that you could use the formula to put dogs to sleep. I suppose it wasn’t a great stretch to apply what was learned of dogs to humans.

At any rate new formulations began to appear through the thirties and in 1946 the tranquilizer Miltown was formulated. By 1955 Miltown was a great hit to be followed by the blockbuster Valium in 1963. You began to see a lot dopey people walking around, mostly over forty, who said they couldn’t live without the stuff.

Barbiturates were called downers. At least on the West Coast they seemed to be the preferred chemical.

The East Coast, for reasons I will explain, was powered by amphetamines from the late fifties through the Sixties decade. Out on the West Coast we thought the stuff was pernicious, Speed Kills was the slogan. Probably didn’t stop too many people from using it. I saw enough amphetamine casualties walking about.

Amphetamines were first synthesized by the German chemist Edeleano in 1887; methamphetamine by a Japanese chemist in 1919 and worked with by the Brit-American Gordon Alles who came up with Benzedrine in the thirties. By the thirties, then, uses were found for the drug. Refinements followed.

The chemists were also analyzing foodstuffs so that the various vitamins were being discovered during the twenties and thirties. So in addition to drugs the pharmacopeia included previously undiscovered nutrients. The nutrients were more important than the drugs. For all of previous history there may have been no human not suffering from some vitamin or mineral deficiency. For the first time beginning in the thirties a human could be fully supplied with all the necessary vitamins, minerals and amino acids. True health.

It only remained for someone to come up with the bright idea of combining amphetamines and vitamins to appear to create a wonder drug, a veritable fountain of youth, or so it would seem.

As Henry Kaiser proclaimed on his cement trucks: Find a need and fill it. He was talking concrete but a Jewish-German doctor by the name of Max Jacobson did the obvious and combined amphetamines and vitamins along with certain other unmentionables, oh well, monkey balls, into what he thought was a healthful rejuvenating cocktail. As Max got his medical license in 1929 while the Nazis came to power in 1933 his medical career in Germany was short. Max terminated his German residency in 1932 leaving first for Prague, then Paris and in 1936 for the new Promised Land of the USA.

Max’s chronology seems a little crowded and perhaps askew but between 1929 and 1932 he claims to have invented his cocktail going rapidly from obscurity to apparent fame. According to Max, Lertzman and Birne quoting from his diary, his concoction was so well known that the Nazis demanded his formula before they would allow him to leave. Apparently they were incapable of chemically analyzing it.

As Max left in ‘32 and the Nazi’s came to power in ‘33 his chronology is somewhat suspect. However, if the Nazis had stolen his formula Max proved to be responsible for Hitler’s deteriorization if Hitler’s doctor Theodor Morrell had purloined the formula and injected Hitler, as he did.

Amphetamines gained such acceptance in the thirties that all the combatants of WWII were dispensing amphetamines to their troops to keep them cheerful as the bombs exploded around them rattling their nerves. Interestingly the Germans realized the danger of the drug ceasing to dispense the pills, probably why they lost the war.

Smith Kline separated dextroamphetamine from Benzedrine in the forties so that the amphetamine pharmacopeia that Max Jacobson could use in his concoctions had grown by 1946 when Max’s post-war career in the US kicked into high gear.

During the fifties while Max was developing his formulas and expanding his clientele geometrically, the pharmaceutical company Smith, Kline, French, later Glaxo-Smith-Kline, was developing its own business of Benzedrine inhalers, Benzedrine (Bennies) and Dexedrine (Dexies) into a phenomenally successful enterprise. Thus the licit and illicit markets were booming.

By 1960 Max Jacobson’s reputation as a miracle doctor had expanded wildly and his fame would soon reach the White House. He naturally spawned imitators and by the early sixties Robert Freyman, Elois Peter Warren, Jack Cohen and John Bishop were injecting non-stop flooding NYC with speed and vitamins.

One should pay attention to the vitamins. Beginning in the forties their importance was noted to the extent that Wonder Bread began enriching their product with vitamins. Thus by the early fifties in my avid reading of cereal boxes I noted that they too were vitamin enriched. The enrichment eliminated vitamin deficiency diseases like beri beri and pellagra so my generation was perhaps the healthiest the world had yet seen.

Vitamins and minerals are nutrients that build and maintain bodily processes, most prominently in the brain, while drugs consume essential substances without replacing them. Thus the amphetamine doctors in combining massive doses of vitamins and amphetamines provided some healthful chemicals along with the deleterious chemical drugs. God only knows what the human placenta and monkey balls Max used did but Max thought they were beneficial. As a doctor he never conducted any experiments so he was only guessing.

Still, his concoction was fairly dangerous stuff. Like many experimenters Max tried out his formulas on himself. As one formula he tried left him with a permanently crippled leg I think it safe to assume there was some permanent brain damage. Edie Sedgwick of the Warhol gang certainly destroyed her brain from the massive injections she took from Max, Dr. Robert and Dr. Bishop, aka Dr. Roberts, all three. She really liked the stuff. Max himself was a steady user of his stuff to the extent we are told that he didn’t even sleep for a month or more at a time.

As he had undoubtedly been using from 1932 on, by 1960 he must have been a living psychotic reaction. While he had never been one for controls by ‘60 he had lost control, padding around his office in a blood stained smock, unwashed, with dirty, stained finger nails.

It was in this state in September of 1960 that he was enlisted to shoot up John F. Kennedy just before the first Nixon debate. Kennedy soon became an amphetamine freak.

Before we go on with amphetamines let’s take a look at the second great drug development of the Sixties, LSD.

II

The active ingredient in LSD occurs naturally in a rye ergot from which it was isolated by Dr. Albert Hofmann in Switzerland in 1938. Finding no use for it he shelved the substance until 1943 when he re-examined it. He accidentally imbibed some thusly experiencing its disorganizing mental effect. This was not necessarily a use for it but at the time the wartime predecessor of the CIA, the OSS, was searching for a reliable truth serum. LSD wasn’t reliable or even a truth serum but the CIA decided to give it a few test trials anyway. Thus research programs were begun at such universities as Harvard, UC-Berkeley and Stanford University. At the same time psychologists thought that LSD might be a perfect drug for psycho-analytic uses. They believed, at least, that with a great deal of experimentation they had achieved some success and could have achieved more if the substance hadn’t been outlawed in 1966.

So with both amphetamines and LSD we are talking about legal chemicals until 1966.

LSD received some notoriety in the fifties as I even wrote a high school essay concerning it in 1956. Aldous Huxley and many of the Hollywood crowd were quite familiar with LSD in the late fifties. Cary Grant was a proponent of the substance while samples began leaking from the labs at UC Berkeley and Stanford, or gushing might be a more appropriate word.

LSD along with mescaline, peyote buttons, mushrooms and whatever were revered as mind or consciousness expanders. People in the Sixties really believed that they had penetrated the secrets of the cosmos when all they were looking at was their own mind, in most cases fairly empty. The early users, an interesting group, actually thought of themselves as supra-human. They could barely deign to talk to the inexperienced while avoiding any physical contact. They were fairly awesome in their belief that they were in contact with something out there.

So, while Dr. Timothy Leary of Harvard may have given LSD its first real national exposure with the substantial aid of the Luce’s and their Time and Life magazines, LSD was around the Bay Area long before Timmy brought it to the fore. I first actually saw tabs in late 1963 when I took a job with a mortgage banking firm called Lowell, Smith and Evers. My indoctrinator lived near campus of UC Berkeley. The first time out I met him at his house where he had a bowl of what looked like aspirin on his living room table. ‘Lotta headaches?’ I asked. ‘Well, no,’ he said smiling mysteriously, ‘go ahead and have one.’ I declined but as it turned out he took a tab before work. He enjoyed a most leisurely work pace as we got very little done on that first day.

So, by then the West Coast acid guru, Ken Kesey, who as it would turn out I would know slightly, was distributing sunshine down in La Honda preparing the way for the acid paradise of Haight-Ashbury.

Leary back at Harvard violated protocol and was expelled from his post. He then ended up at Billy Hitchcock’s vast estate at Millbrook New York where Tim began his vastly misguided career. Timmy was on a religious trip so he thought he was finding not only the secrets of the cosmos but shaking hands with God himself or, maybe, himself.

Thus Tim became a drug guru describing LSD as the Greater Sacrament and marijuana as the Lesser Sacrament. Well, you know, why not? Thus Tim legitimized their use for a whole generation turning the Sixties into a mess. In his acid delusions Tim decided that the recently introduced Aramis aftershave was God’s own scent. Rather extraordinary claim I thought but I bought a bottle. Out of production for a few decades it has been recently reintroduced. I bought another pint so as to maintain traditions. It is a damn fine scent although whether God uses it or not I can’t say.

Tim was associated with some colorful characters in his attempt to turn on the world including the reprehensible Allen Ginsberg the so-called poet and the remarkable Michael Hollingshead who billed himself and titled his autobiography The Man Who Turned On The World. The autobiography is free on the internet.

From about 1963 to 1965 then Kesey and his Merry Pranksters and Leary and his Millbrook crowd turned the country on its head. If America was insane as Tuli Kupferberg said, it was the result of the LSD and amphetamine infestations.

III

To return to Max Jacobson, New York City and its amphetamine plague from 1960 to 1965. As I say, by 1960 Max Jacobson, the original amphetamine pusher, was booming. He naturally engendered imitators. Thus a Dr. Robert Freyman, who after the busts wrote a book called What’s So Bad About Feeling Good, established himself uptown near Max. He was immortalized by the Beatles in their song Dr. Robert. In midtown Dr. John Bishop aka Dr. Roberts with an s established himself. He is well described by Cherry Vanilla in her memoir, Lick Me, and his association with Edie Sedgwick and the film Ciao, Manhattan.

In addition there were Dr. Jack Cohen and Dr. Alois Peter Warren. Haven’t located much as these two yet although a record of Warren’s appeal to his 1970 conviction for trafficking in amphetamines is available on the internet.

Of some significance to the early sixties NY scene is a connection to Andy Warhol with Jacobson. Warhol whose atelier The Factory of ‘64-’65 and ‘66 was fueled by amphetamines was at least a one time patron of Max. This may have been sometime in ‘62 or ‘63. If as Andy would have been deeply impressed by the celebrity clientele crowding the waiting room where they apparently waited for hours he may have transferred the idea of mind control through amphetamines to his own celebrity location at the Factory which he successfully had by 1965. Andy yearned for celebrity status as much as Max did. Max’s bizarre persona may also have made a significant impression on Andy who was no stranger to bizarre personas.

Andy, himself, during the First Factory years was said to have limited himself to a quarter tab of Obetrol, I believe a Dextroamphetamine formula. He would also have understood the controlling power of the drug. If you’ve got celebrities standing around for hours, believe me, you have control of them.

Now, in 1962 Anthony Burgess published his novel A Clockwork Orange. The English fashion photographer David Bailey immediately seized on the book’s potential to further the Yobbo revolution. Bailey became attracted to Mick Jagger of the emerging rock group The Rolling Stones so that gathering up Mick in 1963 they hopped a big 707 to cross over to NYC to visit Andy. Bailey may have met Andy in 1961 in an earlier visit. The idea was to star Jagger probably in a Warhol movie in a glorification of the novel’s Droog lifestyle.

Bailey, Warhol and Jagger bought the film rights to the novel from Burgess. Andy actually made an adaptation of the novel in 1965 titled Vinyl, available on the internet, although not starring Jagger. Jagger went on in his post 1967 stage persona to imitate the Droog style. Thus one may believe that the culture of the First Factory was based on the Droog’s while the culture was fueled by speed.

But, back to Max. As I said Max was approached to medicate JFK before the first Nixon debate. Kennedy was a very sick man who was nearly exhausted by the demands of the 1960 campaign while he was fearful of losing his voice for the debate. Max shot him directly into the larynx. A spry speed rapping Kennedy shot down Nixon to essentially win the election that night.

Kennedy who was always in a lot of pain found significant relief from Max’s shots. Max immediately became a regular visitor to the White House after Kennedy’s inauguration. Thus by April and the Bay of Pigs Jack was dependent on Max Jacobson and his amphetamine shots. Jacks dependence on amphetamines probably affected his judgment during that fiasco.

In June of 1961, a couple months later, Max accompanied JFK to the Vienna Summit with Nikita Khruschev. Kennedy’s behavior around the Bay Of Pigs fiasco was erratic while at the Summit where he received at least three shot before the interview Khrushchev walked all over him.

It is known that Max gave Kennedy at least three shots before the Khruschev meeting. Kennedy was clearly out of it. It seems possible then, if not probable, that Max was able to exercise considerable control over Kennedy. Max knew a little something about hypnotic suggestion while the rush or flash of the amphetamine coming on would leave the patient open to a well placed suggestion.

Thus as Kennedy was undoubtedly shot up once or twice before or during the Bay of Pigs Max might easily have planted a suggestion in Kennedy’s mind to botch the operation while in shooting up JFK at least three times before the Khruschev meeting it seems certain that he at least rendered Kennedy ineffective.

There is no reason to not believe that Max was following his own agenda or that of some organization. He was Jewish.

Max continued to minister to Jack. Brother Bobby Kennedy, Jack’s Attorney General, looked askance at Max. He had a number of vials analyzed and at least realized that his brother the President was being drugged with amphetamines.

Jack didn’t care but Bobby did. Max had an entrée to the White House. As he was entering Bobby intercepted him and told him to get the hell out, not to bother his brother again. Jack was totally dependent if not addicted so that he dropped affairs of State to fly to New York to beg Max to forgive the situation and give him another shot. Imagine that! The President of the United States flying to a quack doctor to beg him for treatment. There is a real transfer of power there. Was it Mind Control the CIA was looking for?

Max had been deeply offended by Bobby. Remember that Max himself had been self medicating for maybe twenty years. He must have had but a tenuous grip on whatever passed for reality in his own mind. In other words his subconscious ruled his conscious mind; subjectivity overruled objectivity. Max was not the forgiving kind. Jack had to pay. As Max was experimenting continually he is sure to have had different formulations that produced different effects. He is described by one client as taking a little from one vial, a little more from another and so on and then shooting it in. One client described himself as going blind for three days after a shot.

In this case Max gave Jack a formulation of such potency that Jack ripped off his clothes and began streaking naked through the corridors of the Carlton Hotel where he was staying. Fortunately he was restrained before he could make the lobby and possibly go streaking down the street. Another doctor had a heck of a time bringing Jack under control with yet other drugs.

Yes, indeed! Now, Jack was President of the United States and he had freaked out. He was in control of the nuclear armament of the United States. As Commander in Chief he was entrusted with the little red button. What would happen if he had a psychotic reaction to one of Max’s shots and freaked out with all those nuclear weapons at his command; Dr. Strangelove for real.

He was dependent. He was addicted. He was out of control. The only possible solution was evident. On 11/22/63 they pulled the trigger.

I don’t know how Max survived when Kennedy didn’t but he did.

As the fact of Kennedy’s addiction has been only slowly surfacing in the last few years one can only assume that Max’s boasting of being Kennedy’s doctor at the time brought society patients to him even after 11/22/63. Indeed he was affectionately known as Dr. Jake and apparently, as document maker Martin Kasindorf titled his film, Everyone Went To Max is close to the truth.

Yet, even as ‘Doctor Jake’s’ reputation spread the casualties of his practice surfaced. While it would seem that Max should have taken notice he seems to have been in denial. He did believe that some chemical reaction took place between the vitamins, speed and monkey balls that converted the speed more or less into an actual nutrient that negated its deleterious effects.

Still, as in the case of Bob Cummings the beloved 50s movie and TV star when his reaction began to show and develop Max just laid on more drugs until Cummings was a wreck. One would think that at that point Max would have sent his concoction to a chemical lab to determine whether the baleful effects of the amphetamines were moderated or not. But, then, Max himself was zonked and making a lot of money.

At any rate, by 1966 and ‘67 the casualties were piling up. One of the most tragic was Edie Sedgwick who was associated with Andy Warhol. She was frequenting not only Max but John Bishop aka Dr. Roberts and Robert Freymann aka Dr. Robert. The greatest crime committed against her was when Bishop dosed her continuously during the filming of Ciao! Manhattan.

Other members of Andy’s group began having negative reactions also, as the amphetamine craze in NYC was coming apart.

As the 70s began a crackdown on the doctors began. As noted Warren was set up, busted and sent away for five years. Dr. Jake, Max Jacobson, began to be investigated by the medical board in ‘72 and his license was taken away in ‘75. I have found nothing on the fate of Jack Cohen while Kasindorf notes that Bishop quietly slithered off to nether Long Island.

The medical use of amphetamines was also reviewed and prescriptions fell off notably after 1970. However there was Ritalin….

Also it should be noted that the use of amphetamines in Viet Nam was endemic and huge. If the Nazis gave up dosing their troops because of negative reactions US troops in Viet Nam were not responsible for their actions.

It should be noted also that US Air Force regulations today require pilots to be dosed so that they stay alert during missions. If they refuse they can be grounded.

IV

The important thing to remember is that behind amphetamine and LSD pot and barbiturates were constants as well as alcohol although for a while alcohol was disparaged and some totally rejected it. Many people were running on as many stimulants as they could cram in. Some people had an astonishing capacity while still being able to function, after a fashion of course.

The generation from 1938 to 1943 went buggy for some reason. I still haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Probably a combination of absurd indoctrination in school and bizarre television programming. Some stuff people consciously remember some they don’t. Dave Garroway’s ridiculous TV show for instance had a profound effect on my class although the guy always repelled me. A lot of inane nonsense entered our minds through those sources. It’s all suggestion.

As important as anything was the emergence of rock and roll. This was combined with the Negro influence entering the main stream. Fats Domino and Little Richard, Eartha Kitt, Harry Belafonte. Everybody loved records and wanted to record. During the fifties as today the emphasis was on single songs or 45s not LPs. The change to LPs probably came about through Folk Music. It was easier to put together thematic LPs around what were considered folk songs. Harry Belafonte did well and, of course, the greatest of the Folk groups, The Kingston Trio, outshone and outsold everyone.

Thus when Folk and Rock merged and groups developed ‘sounds’ LPs of all ‘original’ material became de riguer and expressed the psyche of the generation much as novels had in earlier generations. Instead of one hit song and ten standards comprising ten or twelve minutes a side an LP had to be twenty minutes a side or forty minutes a disc. That was a very significant difference.

As the LP and group concept developed they did so within a context of social unrest, the civil rights movement and Viet Nam war. To this was added drugs. Sound quality improved while bands recorded their music under the influence of speed, acid or whatever so that while the music might sound a little discordant or strange to a straight listener, the music might take on a much better quality if you, like the musician, were also on speed or acid. So this furthered the appeal of drugs.

Thus when LSD exploded after 1966- ‘67 so-called acid rock was all the rage. Perhaps the most total acid record was Jimi Hendrix’s Are You Experienced. People who had taken LSD were experienced, as the term went, and people who hadn’t weren’t. The songs on Hendrix’s record directly referred to the LSD experience. Thus the younger generation’s minds were conditioned to look on drug use as a positive good thing.

The real problem with drugs was that they were inward looking. They tended to solidify one’s opinions into concrete unshakable truths. As drugs were believed to be the opposite, that is, mind or consciousness expanding, people actually believed their meager thoughts were cosmic. As you can see, divorced from reality.

Listening to song lyrics in this hypnoid state the lyrics entered their minds as suggestion which then became programs of action. As Jimi Hendrix, who had been psychedelicized noted, the band could lay down a hypnotic rhythm and when the desired stage had been achieved zing in the suggestion with a very good chance of it sticking. Once accepted it couldn’t be removed. There was some pretty effective mind control going on.

All the arguments of the Left had little effect compared to the hypnotic suggestions. The anti-war and anti-racist efforts were effected from the grooves of records and not from inane and insane political activists. If the Days of Rage at the 1968 Democratic convention failed it was probably because the command to violence was defeated by the cry for peace and non-violence implanted by musical propagandists.

As the demand for psychedelic drugs grew an amazing ability to supply the demand ran apace or ahead.

V.

By the end of ‘66 then both LSD and amphetamines were declared illegal. Speed could still be prescribed by doctors for medical use but their success brought them under closer scrutiny that would put them out of business in the seventies. LSD was supported by fanatical mind expansionists who were convinced that the Greater Sacrament was wiping clean their doors of perception. The notion was supported by the heroes and demi-gods of the generation, the rock stars.

These rather ordinary boys and girls who really had little going for them but a modicum of musical talent were hailed as infallible gurus. Their lyrics most of which were inscrutable and/or laughable were ingested as sacred texts. The musicians were able to keep up the charade during the Sixties but as the seventies got underway they all copped the plea: Hey, I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band. The Great Droog Jagger came up with: It’s only rock and roll, but I like it.

Until Altamont at the end of ‘69 the fans expected miracles and if they didn’t get them from the music they thought they were from LSD.

Where there’s a huge demand you can bet there will be a huge supply. Whereas speed had been predominantly an NYC phenomenon Acid found its spiritual home on the West Coast. The Hippie explosion occurred after the ban of LSD in the West Coast city of San Francisco. Sixty-seven, eight and nine were the big years of that phenomenon until it imploded possibly helped along by the Altamont fiasco which was a big deflator.

The most representational band of the Hippies was The Grateful Dead. The Dead had been the house band for the Kesey affair. Kesey had been on the lam on drug charges but actually for being totally offensive to the more sedate fathers of society. Besides he had or would graduate from acid as he said. Connected to both Kesey and the Dead was the fantastic acid head Owsley Stanley, often referred to as Stanley Owsley or most frequently just Owsley. Owsley was the Hippie chemist par excellence. If living could be made better through chemistry Owsley was your man.

Strange one too. In 1969 when I was just getting my record store off the ground The Grateful Dead came to play at Mac Court UofO. By 1969 communes were big and many, many people had ‘returned to the land’, that is they were living in hovels out on the mountain slopes, perhaps growing some weed instead of vegetables and while professing a peaceable disposition ready to shoot dead anyone who came near their patch. If you were totally insane or close to it your time had arrived. If you were merely insane all it required was an aptitude for navigation. You will note those are the only three available options. Everyone was flying high with a defective auto-pilot.

So there I am standing in my little tiny 400 sq. ft. record store dreaming big dreams, some might have said impossible dreams, when in walks this guy clutching a gallon jar of what looks like blue and white aspirin although more crumbly, not so firm. This apparition announces himself as Owsley. Well, alright. What’s that you’ve got in the jar?

He had, god only knows, perhaps ten thousand tabs of LSD. Well, OK, but don’t you think you should have them wrapped in a brown paper bag, a pillow case or something? I mean, my store is under surveillance. And what do you want to do with your, uh, stash?

It wasn’t his stash, it was his merchandise and he wanted to me to buy the jar. To say that my mind was boggled would be to miss the point. Of course my mind was boggled but as my record store was considered a head shop by everyone Right and Left, while depending on the heads for my clientele I didn’t want to jeopardize my position by an outright no. Every objection I made was countered until I came up with what I considered the clincher: I didn’t have the money to buy a jar of 10K tabs. Owsley stunned me by saying That’s alright, just take it, you can pay me when you sell them.

Well, this was a problem. Assuming 10K tabs at a dollar each that would be 10K in 1968 dollars, probably 100K-200K in today’s inflated currency. Knowing my employees and clientele I could just imagine at least half disappearing, probably the whole jar overnight, while I’d probably be busted before sundown next day if the jar hadn‘t disappeared. I really, really didn’t want to get involved. As politely and forcefully as possible I told Owsley I just couldn’t do it. He looked hurt, disappointed at best, but clutching his jar of LSD to his breast he turned and walked out. That’s how the LSD business was conducted back in the old Hippie days with Haight-Ashbury still in full flood and the communes filling up.

It couldn’t last. It was a high markup quick turnover business. All you needed was a good chemist such as Owsley, the right ingredients, a lab and you could turn out enough LSD to literally turn on the world.

At Leary’s Millbrook compound he had been the guest of a Mellon heir by the name of Billy Hitchcock. Billy now came West and either set up or organized one of the more spectacular criminal enterprises in the world.

Leary himself was entering the maddest phase of his career. Because of his immense LSD intake he was probable operating in two different parallel universes at the same time. Unfortunately the prisons where he was headed were in this universe which actually controlled his body. He could go anywhere in his mind but, you know, his body stayed in prison. Only God and Leary knew what was going on in the other universe but Tim seemed to be able to combine the two in one persona.

Sprung from one prison by the infamous Weathermen Tim found himself in Algeria along with Eldridge Cleaver then by a circuitous route leading through Switzerland and Afghanistan to Folsom Prison outside Sacramento, California, USA. Tim tells it all in his many books if you want to know the full story. He’s a good writer too. As experienced as he was he remained incredibly naïve.

After his eviction from Millbrook at the end of 1967 Tim wended West where he fell in with the Brotherhood of Eternal Love. This was a dope smuggling unit that discovered LSD and through a member named Nick Sand manufactured an enormous amount of the gold standard of the late sixties, Orange Sunshine. Sand came on the scene as a result of meeting an LSD chemist named Tim Scully. (Not to be confused with the Grateful Dead manager Rock Scully.) Tim Scully himself had met Owsley Stanley from whom he learned the process. After Owsley was arrested at the end of ‘67 Scully joined forces with Sand to manufacture LSD.

The authorities were hot on the tail of the chemists by 1967, only a year after LSD was made illegal, so that the chemists’ activities were disrupted and brought to an end by 1970-71. Owsley had been out on bail through ‘68 and ‘69 but now went to McNeil penitentiary in Washington State at this time. I knew several alumni who did time about these years. Must have been an interesting crowd at McNeil.

By 1970 then the big drug rush of the 60s was brought to if not an end a hiatus. Amphetamines had been discountenanced officially so prescriptions were way off while its baleful effect led to at least a temporary lack of interest. With the departure of Owsley, Sand, Scully and the BEL the supply of LSD withered.

Leary served some time at Folsom, was released and spent the rest of his life in one nutty experiment or another.

Thus the great experiment in better living through chemistry and its so-called consciousness expansion concomitant came to an end. Cocaine, of course, replaced the psychedelics and its baleful influence felt from 1970 to the present.

Hybridization of pot led to ever stronger varieties so you can really knock yourself out if you want.

Regrettably drugs seem to be a permanent part of our culture but one is wise to live the straight life.

[American Dream]

ooh yeah

that cough’s got no chance

should also clear up any unwanted thoughts or feelings you might have



http://class-struggle-anarchism.tumblr. ... hould-also

[American Dream]

http://stevenhager420.wordpress.com/201 ... info-quiz/

Take the Disinfo Quiz

Can you tell the difference between a legitimate area of deep-political research and a carefully constructed rabbit hole leading nowhere? When navigating the conspiracy wilderness of mirrors, it’s important to realize 90% of the so-called “research” is garbage being spread by kooks or people pretending to be kooks, unless, of course, it’s a mainstream book parroting the official government line, in which case it will be praised to the skies in all the major media from far and wide. This is how the entire spectrum of conspiracy research has been removed from the accepted borders of reality. In the jargon of mind control ops, all researchers have been “sheep-dipped” as lunatics. Good or bad, crazy or sane, every deep-political researcher is just another conspiracy crackpot. So much for investigative research. Investigative research is practically extinct at this point. So the kookier the stuff that gets published, the farther they drive the center of gravity away from uncomfortable realities that might stir people into action, and the deeper they go into the designated rabbit hole, a place filled with fearful sheeple and paranoid delusions. Manufacturing all this disinfo noise is a sophisticated game played out on several fields. Most religion (and any other mind-control cults) work by first leading the gullible down a designated rabbit hole, to a state of fearful resignation.

This test is designed to measure your ability to navigate the many rabbit holes that dot the conspiracy landscape, so I invite everyone to take my Disinfo Quiz. Most of the theories listed here are discussed in greater detail elsewhere on my blog.

All conspiracy research falls into one of three categories: 1) credible research; 2) manufactured rabbit hole leading nowhere; or, 3) limited hang-out, a deflection of the real story, usually scapegoating the designated patsy. Limited hang-outs are often employed as lightning rods to capture the center of energy on an emerging consciousness.

So tell me which of the following categories do these popular internet conspiracy theories fall into?

Credible story?

Rabbit Hole?

or

Limited Hang-out?


1) The CIA killed JFK


2) We never landed on the moon.


3) 9/11 was a ritual event based on Crowley magick


4) Chemtrails are poisoning the world


5) Fluoride is poisoning the world



6) Cannabis cures cancer


7) The Aurora shooting was a magic ritual event


8 ) Madonna is Queen of the Illuminati


9) Circumcision is a form of ritualized child abuse


10) Albert Hoffman, of LSD fame, secretly worked for the CIA


11) A vaccine given in the 1950s is creating an explosion of cancer in Baby Boomers


12) The Jews are running the world


13) JFK Jr was murdered


14) Elvis is alive

***
***

***



After you compile your score (answers below) find out how you rank, Magus or Sheeple?

13-14 correct: Magus

11-12 correct: Senior

9-10 correct: Junior

7-8 correct: Sophomore

5-6 correct: Freshman

4 or less correct: you are undoubtedly a member of the brainwashed sheeple

And

Here

Are

The

Answers:

1) credible

2) rabbit hole

3) limited hangout

4) rabbit hole

5) credible

6) credible

7) rabbit hole

8 ) rabbit hole

9) credible

10) credible

11) credible

12) limited hangout

13) credible

14) rabbit hole

[American Dream]

A more tangible link between Skull and Bones and the assassination [of JFK] is the figure of Bonesman Henry Luce, founder of Time-Life magazine. Luce was a curious figure, to put it mildly. He was a staunch supporter Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, going so far as to put the Generalissimo on the cover of Time magazine no less than eleven times between the years 1927 and 1955. Chiang Kai-shek and his Kuomintang party would go on to play a major role in the founding of the World Anti-Communist League, an organization many figures who crop up in the assassination were affiliated with, as noted in parts two and three of this series.


the Generalissimo was also reputedly one of the largest heroin traffickers in the world for much of his lifetime

Bizarrely Luce and his wife, Clare Boothe Luce, would also become one of the earliest proponents of recreational LSD use, at least for the right social classes.

"Henry Luce, president of Time-Life, was a busy man during the Cold War. As the preeminent voice of Eisenhower, Dulles, and Pax Americana, he encouraged his correspondents to collaborate with the CIA, and his publishing empire served as a longtime propaganda asset for the Agency. But Luce managed to find the time to experiment with LSD – not for medical reasons, but simply to experience the drug and glean whatever pleasures and insights it might afford. An avid fan of psychedelics, he turned on a half-dozen times in the late 1950s and early 1960s under the supervision of Dr. Sidney Cohen. On one occasion the media magnet claimed he talked to God on the golf course and found that the Old Boy was pretty much on top of things. During another trip the tone-deaf publisher is said to have heard music so enchanting that he walked into a cactus garden and began conducting a phantom orchestra.

"Dr. Cohen, attached professionally to UCLA and the Veterans Hospital in Los Angeles, also turned on Henry's wife, Clare Boothe Luce, and a number of other influential Americans. 'Oh, sure, we all took acid, it was a creative group – my husband and I and Huxley and[Christopher] Isherwood,' recalled Mrs. Luce, who was, by all accounts, the grande dame of postwar American politics. (More recently, she served as a member of President Reagan's Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board, which oversees covert operations conducted by the CIA.) LSD was fine by Mrs. Luce as long as it remained strictly a drug for the doctors and their friends in the ruling class. But she didn't like the idea that others might also want to partake of the experience. 'We wouldn't want everyone doing too much of a good thing,' she explained."
(Acid Dreams, Martin A. Lee & Bruce Shlain, pg. 71)


Henry Luce

Life magazine would later one of the publication to most vigorously denounce LSD.

"... In March 1966 Life magazine ran a cover story entitled 'LSD: The Exploding Threat of the Mind Drug That Got Out of Control,' which described the psychedelic experience as chemical Russian roulette in which the player gambled with his sanity. Pictures of people on acid cowering in corners, beyond communication, were used to underscore the message that LSD 'could be a one-way trip to an asylum, prison, or grave.' Life, whose publisher, Henry Luce, had one spoken favorably of psychedelics, didn't pull any punches: 'A person ... can become permanently deranged through a single terrifying LSD experience. Hospitals report case after case where people arrive in a state of mental disorganization, unable to distinguish their bodies from their surroundings... it brings out the very worst in some people. LSD is being dropped in girls' drinks. Terrifying parties are being given with a surprise in the punch. The Humane Society is picking up disoriented dogs...'"
(ibid, pgs. 150-151)

http://visupview.blogspot.com/2013/12/t ... e-and.html

[American Dream]

Mathew Charles Lamb
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Mathew Charles "Matt" Lamb (5 January 1948 – 7 November 1976) was a Canadian spree killer who, in 1967, avoided Canada's then-mandatory death penalty for capital murder by being found not guilty by reason of insanity. Abandoned by his teenage mother soon after his birth in Windsor, Ontario, Lamb suffered an abusive upbringing at the hands of his step-grandfather, leading him to become emotionally detached from his relatives and peers. He developed violent tendencies, which manifested themselves in his physical assault of a police officer at the age of 16 in February 1964, and his engaging in a brief shoot-out with law enforcement ten months later. After this latter incident he spent 14 months, starting in April 1965, at Kingston Penitentiary, a maximum security prison in eastern Ontario.

Seventeen days after his release from jail in June 1966, Lamb took a shotgun from his uncle's house and went on a shooting spree around his East Windsor neighbourhood, killing two strangers and wounding two others. He was charged with capital murder, which under the era's Canadian Criminal Code called for a mandatory death penalty, but he avoided this fate when the court found, in January 1967, that he had not been sane at the time of the incident. As a result, he was committed for an indefinite time in a psychiatric unit. Over the course of six years in care at Penetanguishene Mental Health Centre's Oak Ridge facility, he displayed a profound recovery, prompting an independent five-man committee to recommend to the Executive Council of Ontario that he be released, saying that he was no longer a danger to society. The Council approved Lamb's release in early 1973 on the condition that he spend a year living and working under the supervision of one of Oak Ridge's top psychiatrists, Elliot Barker.

Lamb continued to show improvement, becoming a productive labourer on Barker's farm and earning the trust of the doctor's family. With Barker's encouragement, Lamb joined the Rhodesian Army in late 1973 and fought for the unrecognised government of Rhodesia (modern-day Zimbabwe) for the rest of his life. He started his service in the Rhodesian Light Infantry, and won a place in the crack Special Air Service unit in 1975, but was granted a transfer back to his former regiment a year later. Soon after he was promoted to lance-corporal, Lamb was killed in action on 7 November 1976 by an errant shot from one of his own men. He received what Newsweek called "a hero's funeral"[4] in the Rhodesian capital, Salisbury, before his ashes were returned to Windsor and buried by his relatives.

Early life

Mathew Charles Lamb was born in Windsor, Ontario on 5 January 1948, the only child of a 15-year-old mother who abandoned him soon after birth. Raised by an assortment of grandparents, aunts and uncles,[2] he rarely saw his mother while growing up and never knew his father, who died in the United States while Lamb was young. Lamb spent most of his childhood with his maternal grandmother and her new husband Christopher Collins at their home on York Street in the South Central neighbourhood of Windsor, where his presence was resented by the step-grandfather Collins.[6] According to interviews with relatives, friends and neighbours conducted by Lamb's legal counsel Saul Nosanchuk in the mid-1960s, Collins subjected the boy to sustained emotional and physical abuse, beating him and frequently calling him a "little bastard".[7] The direction of this violence was not limited to Lamb himself, however; he often witnessed his step-grandfather and grandmother fighting while he was still a small boy.[7]

Lamb started exhibiting violent traits of his own from an early age. Nosanchuk writes that the young boy lured his cousins into his bedroom, locked them in a closet and threatened them. On one occasion he followed through with these threats and beat one of his cousins so badly that medical attention was required at a local hospital.[7] "I remember once," said Greg Sweet, a childhood friend, "when he was about seven years old, he held a knife to a smaller kid and made him eat dog faeces".[8] Lamb first attended Colbourne School in Tecumseh, where Collins later said he appeared to be normal.[6] School staff agreed, later telling the Windsor Star that he rarely got into trouble, and was capable, but unable to concentrate for extended periods.[6]

Kingston Penitentiary

On the evening of 24 December 1964, Lamb smashed the front window of Lakeview Marine and Equipment, a sporting goods store in Tecumseh, and stole three revolvers and a double-barrelled shotgun. Using one of the revolvers, he fired twice on a police constable and the shop's co-owner, missing both times. The officer returned several shots, leading Lamb to come forward with his hands raised. "Don't shoot. I give up," he said.[9] He then showed the constable where he had hidden the other two handguns and the shotgun. Lamb, who turned 17 during the trial, was tried and convicted as an adult for "breaking, entering and theft ... [and] possession of a .22 calibre revolver, dangerous to public peace".[9] Motivated by a presentence investigation report, which characterised Lamb as exceptionally violent,[10] Magistrate J. Arthur Hanrahan sentenced him to two years at Kingston Penitentiary, a maximum security prison.[9] According to Nosanchuk's account, the severity of the sentence was unusual for a first-time adult offender who had not caused anybody physical harm. Hanrahan, Nosanchuk writes, must have deemed Lamb beyond rehabilitation.[10] The boy arrived at the penitentiary in April 1965.[6]

Psychiatric examinations and psychological tests conducted on Lamb at Kingston revealed an extremely immature young man who was strongly drawn to weapons. The prison doctors noted that the boy was very aggressive, did not tolerate discipline and had very little control over his behaviour.[10] Soon after he arrived, Lamb assaulted another prisoner and had to be put into solitary confinement. The prison's director of psychiatry, George Scott, said that the boy had shown signs of "an obvious mental breakdown".[2][6] Not long after this, Lamb knelt beside his bed and pushed a broom handle into his rectum. When he was discovered in this state by a guard, Scott examined the boy immediately, having to sedate him to do so. "I think this young man is developing a mental illness of hypomanic nature," he wrote in his report.[10] In further interviews conducted by Scott, Lamb related what the doctor described as "elaborate fantasies involving robberies, fights, and shootings that demonstrated enormous hostility".[10]

Shooting spree

Incident

Only 17 days after his release from Kingston Penitentiary, on the evening of 25 June 1966, Lamb discovered a shotgun in his uncle's house. He took the weapon and left the house shortly before 22:00 Eastern Time, then walked a single block north along Ford Boulevard and hid behind a tree outside number 1872. Six young people—Edith Chaykoski, 20, her 22-year-old brother Kenneth, his wife and three friends, 21-year-old Andrew Woloch, Vincent Franco and Don Mulesa—were heading south from 1635 Ford Boulevard on their way to a bus stop on Tecumseh Road when they approached the tree behind which Lamb was hiding at about 22:15. Lamb suddenly stepped out in front of the strangers, pointed the shotgun at them and said "Stop. Put up your hands!"[11] When Edith Chaykoski stepped forward, towards Lamb, he shot her in the abdomen. Woloch then moved and was hit in the stomach by a second shot, which also wounded Kenneth Chaykoski. Lamb then ran across the street to 1867 Ford Boulevard and fired on a girl whose silhouette he had spotted in a side doorway of the house; his target, 19-year-old Grace Dunlop, was injured. As law enforcement and medical assistance were summoned, Lamb strolled away and walked two blocks before knocking on a door, which he had seemingly chosen at random. Pointing the shotgun at the elderly lady who lived there, Ann Heaton, he threatened to kill her. When Heaton cried out to her husband Forrest to phone the police, Lamb fled, throwing the shotgun over the old couple's fence into a field. He returned to the Hesketh house and went to sleep.[11][12]

Edith Chaykoski died from her wounds at Windsor Metropolitan Hospital at about 05:30 on 26 June.[11] Police searched the neighbourhood during the morning and found the shotgun where Lamb had thrown it. They identified it as Hesketh's and concluded that the 18-year-old must have taken it and gone on a shooting spree the previous day. Lamb was arrested at 15:30 on 26 June and charged with the capital murder of Edith Chaykoski.[11] Under the terms of Canadian law at that time, he faced a mandatory death penalty if convicted. When Woloch's injuries also proved fatal at 14:45 on 11 July 1966, his murder was added to Lamb's charge.[13]

Psychiatric examination

On the morning of 27 June 1966, Lamb appeared without legal counsel at Essex County Magistrate's Court in Windsor, where he was remanded for psychiatric examination.[7] As he was being escorted from the courthouse at around noon, the boy attempted to escape custody and, when restrained, begged the officers to shoot him.[6] A private psychiatrist from Windsor, Walter Yaworsky, gauged the teenager's mental state in an interview starting at 12:30. Yaworsky said that Lamb was "hyperactive and agitated";[14] he was unable to sit still and periodically rose from his seat and paced around the room. He was silent for a few minutes, apparently irritated, then began laughing as if in a state of euphoria. When questioned by Yaworsky directly, Lamb did not appear concerned about the interview: he treated his murder charge lightly and when asked about his spell in Kingston Penitentiary began laughing.[14]

After dismissing a few more questions as "unimportant", the 18-year-old giggled childishly and said he "needed a lawyer".[14] Lamb's conversation with the doctor continued incoherently, with Lamb "leaping from topic to topic",[14] in Yaworsky's words. The young man continued to rise and pace around the room as the interview went on; he spoke in a casual, off-hand manner, giving non-specific answers to the doctor's questions and describing people especially vaguely. When asked about his parents, he simply said "I don't remember."[14] Yaworsky then inquired where his mother was, leading the boy to laugh as he replied, "I don't remember. Somewhere."[14] When the doctor finally asked directly about the night of the shootings, Lamb said that he could not recall shooting anybody and that all he remembered was going home in a taxi, then being awoken by his uncle shaking him.[14]

When the interview ended at 13:35, the doctor noted that he found Lamb's hour-long maintenance of this seemingly hypomanic behaviour "remarkable".[14] Simulation on Lamb's part was unlikely, Yaworsky believed, and lack of memory credible. The doctor wrote in his report that Lamb had been "suffering from a disease of the mind" at the time of the shootings, which had caused him to be in a kind of dream world, outside of reality.[15] Standing before the magistrate that same afternoon, Yaworsky testified that Lamb was mentally unsound and not fit to stand trial. The magistrate once again remanded Lamb, this time to custody at Penetanguishene Mental Health Centre for a minimum of 30 days.

Psychiatric care

Treatment at Oak Ridge

He [Lamb] was one of Elliott [Barker]’s ... I wouldn’t want to say 'all-stars', but he had about as cold a personality as psychopaths have and he really seemed to warm up and benefit from the program.
--Gary Maier, a psychiatrist at Penetanguishene during Lamb's time there, talks to author Jon Ronson[25]

As had been made clear several times before and during the trial, Lamb's court victory did not make him a free man. He was escorted by police back to Penetanguishene and placed in the hospital's maximum security unit at Oak Ridge, where he was to remain indefinitely pending an order from the Ontario Executive Council.[6]

Elliot Barker, the head of Oak Ridge's therapeutic division,[26] had already interviewed Lamb in 1966 and spoken on his behalf at his trial.[15] The doctor had arrived at Penetanguishene in 1959, and in 1965 stepped up his efforts to reform the unit's programmes, which on his arrival were still based around the traditional methods of neuroleptic tranquillisation and electroconvulsive therapy, supplemented by long periods of isolation for each inmate. Barker innovated a programme whereby the patients could spend more of their time in each other's company, in a more natural environment; he believed that the key to overcoming these illnesses was communication. "My original vision," he writes, "was that I wasn't really dealing with patients. I thought we could evolve a social structure where people could resolve the internal conflicts in community."[27] Barker's "Social Therapy Unit" (STU), initially made up exclusively of young male psychopaths and schizophrenics of normal intelligence, began in September 1965, with a programme of 80 hours of treatment a week, focussing on cures brought about by mutual cooperation and interaction.[27]

Joan Hollobon, the medical editor of the Toronto Globe and Mail, volunteered in 1967 to spend two days at Oak Ridge as if she were a patient, and afterwards heaped praise on the inmates, saying that they were "pioneering a brave and exciting experiment in self-government and self-therapy ... [displaying] individual responsibility, co-operation with colleagues and authority, and acceptance of rules reached by consensus."[28]
In August 1968 the unit created a "Total Encounter Capsule", which was a windowless, soundproofed room, 8 feet (2.4 m) wide and 10 feet (3.0 m) long, with green-painted walls, a green wall-to-wall mat on the floor and a ceiling containing a one-way mirror. It was empty apart from a sink and lavatory. In one of the earliest uses of videotape in therapy, television cameras were trained through the mirrored ceiling and through holes in the walls. Liquid nourishment was provided through drinking straws that were built into the door. The Capsule's purpose, Barker writes, was to provide "a place of undisturbed security where a small group of patients could focus on issues they felt important enough to warrant the exclusion of the usual physical and psychological distractions."[29] Though participation in the STU programme was required, entering the Capsule was voluntary, and each patient could choose how many days he spent inside.[29] Groups numbered between two and seven and stayed in the room for as little as 24 hours or for sustained periods as long as 11 days.[30] Because Barker believed that they were more inclined to reveal their inner selves if unclothed, the inmates entered the Capsule naked. To further encourage communication, they were administered with LSD-25. The room was lit at all times, making day indistinguishable from night. While members of the programme were inside the Capsule, other patients operated the room and watched over those inside, running the cameras, keeping records and maintaining an appropriate room temperature.[29]

Following his arrival in January 1967, Lamb enthusiastically took part and thrived in Barker's new programmes, becoming, the Montreal Gazette writes, "a model inmate".[31] He became widely respected by his fellow patients and was successfully nominated as the ward's "patient therapist". "He was helpful to the other patients," Barker told the Globe and Mail, "and they looked up to him."[26] Barker elaborated on this subject in an interview with the Windsor Star, telling them that during 1972 Lamb had been "one of the most respected therapists in the hospital".[2] Lamb started a newspaper at Oak Ridge, for which he wrote articles while also encouraging others to contribute.[32] Barker and his colleagues were so impressed by the young man's progress that they began to take him to lectures at Ontario Police College in Aylmer, where they introduced him as evidence of rehabilitation's potential.[2] After about five years at Oak Ridge, the matter of Lamb's liberty was taken up by a five-man Advisory Review Board made up of Ontario Supreme Court Justice Edson Haines, two independent psychiatrists unrelated to Lamb's case, a lawyer and a lay person.[33] The advisory board's recommendation that Lamb be released was approved by the Ontario Executive Council in early 1973; the board gave him a clean bill of health and said he was no longer dangerous.[26]

Release and further improvement

When Matt Lamb was released into the community he had a better mental health clearance than you or I.
-Dr Elliot Barker, quoted in the Windsor Star, 10 November 1976

The conditions of Lamb's release were that he must spend a year living with the Barker family on their 200-acre (0.80 sq km; 0.31 sq mi) farm, under the doctor's observation. The former inmate proved to be an industrious labourer, helping to fence the property and becoming one of the farm's best workers. Barker and his wife came to trust Lamb so closely that they allowed him to babysit their three-year-old daughter, who became very attached to the young man.[25] During his time living and working on the farm, Lamb read a number of books on psychiatry, including The Mask of Sanity by Hervey M. Cleckley, which affected him particularly.[33] He told the doctor that he had come to terms with his condition as a psychopath and that he wished to go overseas and do something purposeful with his life. At the same time, he considered a career in the military, which Barker supported.[25] "He wanted that kind of life," Barker later told the Globe and Mail. "He really seemed to need the esprit de corps of an army organisation."[26] When Egypt and Syria attacked Israel on 6 October 1973, starting the Yom Kippur War, Lamb thought he had found his calling—using money he had saved from his labourer's salary and gifts from his grandmother, he bought State of Israel Bonds and, with Barker's encouragement, travelled to Israel to volunteer for the Israel Defense Forces. However, after hitch-hiking to the Israeli lines, Lamb became disillusioned by conversations he had with the soldiers there, many of whom were loath to fight and wanted to go home.[33] He applied anyway, but was turned down because of his psychiatric history.[34] He resolved to instead tour the world, and to that end left Israel days after arriving,[31] intending to travel to Australia.[35]

Military career in Rhodesia

On his way to Australia in October 1973, Lamb stopped off in South Africa and Rhodesia (today Zimbabwe), where he cut his travels short to enlist in the Rhodesian Army.[31][36] According to Barker, Lamb travelled to Africa with this intention all along.[26] Rhodesia's unrecognised and predominantly white government was at that time fighting a war against communist-backed black nationalist guerrillas who were attempting to forcibly introduce majority rule.[37][38] Like most of the foreign volunteers in the Rhodesian forces, Lamb mustered into the Rhodesian Light Infantry (RLI), an all-white heliborne commando battalion engaged largely in counter-insurgency operations. He and the other foreign soldiers received the same pay and conditions of service as the Rhodesians they served alongside.[39] "In many respects the RLI was a mirror of the French Foreign Legion, in that recruiters paid little heed as to a man's past and asked no questions," writes Chris Cocks, a veteran of the unit, "and like the Foreign Legion, once in the ranks, a man's past was irrelevant."[40] So it proved for Lamb; keeping his past a secret, he became a highly regarded and popular member of 3 Commando, RLI,[40] noted for his professionalism and physical fitness.[41] "The Rhodesians thought he was a first-class soldier," Barker later told the Globe and Mail.[26]

Lamb visited his aunt and uncle in Windsor on leave in May 1975, "proudly wearing his uniform", journalist Tony Wanless writes.[2] Turned out in the RLI's tartan green ceremonial dress and green beret,[42] he was conspicuous walking along Ouellette Avenue, one of the city's main thoroughfares. Coincidentally, a funeral procession was being held for Edith Chaykoski's grandmother along that very street at the same time, leading Edith's younger brother Richard to spot Lamb on the pavement. The soldier remained oblivious, but his presence horrified the Chaykoski family. "He had the uniform and looked a little different," Richard told the Windsor Star a year later, "but I never forgot his face."[8] Chaykoski's mother was so upset by the incident that for some time afterwards she refused to leave the house alone.[8] While staying with the Hesketh family, Lamb went to see Barker and told him that serving in the Rhodesian security forces had enriched him personally and made him respect himself for the first time. Because of this he wished to forget about his previous life in Canada; in particular he said he "didn't want it associated with his adopted country".[26] He expressed his concern that if he were killed or captured, the Canadian press might reveal his prior history and embarrass the Rhodesian Army, the Canadian government and the Penetanguishene mental hospital. However, he said, he felt great loyalty towards Rhodesia and would still go back to continue his service.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mathew_Cha ... _Oak_Ridge

[American Dream]

http://aconstantineblacklist.blogspot.c ... style.html

Bleak House: A Case of Nazi-Style Experimental Psychiatry in Canada

By Steve Smith and Alex Constantine




Foreword

"These people are like the movie Brazil if you have seen it - they don't want anything to land on their desk that looks like it might stick to them." - Steve Smith

After 20 years of frustrated efforts to do much of anything about the nightmarish "treatment" Steve Smith received in a Canadian mental institution, the paperwork began to trickle in.

In 1991, Smith requested his clinical records from the archive of the Oak Ridge Mental Hospital and received a grand total of 15 pages. Predicated on these, Smith filed a complaint with the College of Physicians and Surgeons about an illicit, sadistic experimental regimen of psychiatric "treatment" euphemized by his handlers as "Defense Disrupting Therapy." The College investigated and denied that Oak Ridge had ever conducted experimental studies on Smith or anyone else.

Smith appealed to Canada's Health Professions Board and submitted the hospital records to support his complaint. The Board ordered the College of Physicians and Surgeons to reopen the investigation. In a 19-page letter, the Health Board demanded a thorough investigation. "I have copies of the correspondence between the Board and the College," Smith says, "and they have become quite critical, applying to the former such terms as 'not serving the public interest.'"

It can only serve the public interest to relay Smith's freefall into a horrifying world of brutal psychiatric experimentation and the men who presided over it, particularly Dr. Elliot T. Barker, the psychiatrist who supervised Smith's "treatment" at Oak Ridge. The selection of experimental psychiatric subjects is often arbitrary when sanctions are handed around by secret bureaucracies, and Smith suspects the involvement of CIA mind control personnel. Illicit experimentation on human subjects is ongoing. Like Smith, many subjects may struggle for decades to assemble a case documenting their exploitation. His account is not unique. Anyone is a prospective subject to a scientific underground based on absolute disregard for human rights.

- Alex Constantine


In the winter of 1968 I left high school, and no one seemed bothered by that.

An adolescent urge to wander set me on the road to California. At that time I was learning to drive and getting a drivers license was the most important thing in my life. I'd sometimes swipe my mothers keys and drive around the back streets of my neighborhood. My parents were divorced when I was ten. My brother and I lived with my father in Sudbury, Ontario. My mother ran off with a tough good-looking bartender, and my father's life was rapidly overcome by alcohol and self-destruction. My brother and I were left to fend for ourselves in a house that was neglected and often without food. The decimation of my father took about a year, and we were sent to live with my mother and Bill. These were years of physical and emotional abuse. We were all victims of Bill's drunken rages. He committed suicide in 1987. My mother lives out the declining years of her life alone with her dogs and cats. I do not blame her for any of this. Once ruled by her great beauty, my mother's vanity slowly eroded and was a lonely desert when that beauty faded.

After a few brushes with the Sault Ste. Marie police, and a system of justice that dealt heavy-handedly with the local counter-culture, I headed for the west coast.

My friend Ben and I hit the road in the dead of winter, no funds, no plans. The first hitch took us to WaWa, Ontario. We spent the night in the basement of a church. The next morning was freezing cold and hitching a ride was punishment. We hitched on to White River, the "coldest spot in Canada."

Our choices were to walk or die. We reached Marathon sometime in the night, desperately cold. Everything in town was closed. There was no point in looking for an open restaurant. We didn't have enough money between us for a cup of coffee. Ben and I found a small used car lot on the outskirts of town and stole a car. We drove to the next town and arrived just before dawn, abandoned the car at a service station. As we were climbing out, the police pulled in behind us. Five minutes earlier or later, and the course of my life would have been entirely different.

A child of the times, I had in my shirt pocket two tablets of LSD I'd planned on taking when we reached Vancouver. The tabs were about the size of a match head. The trip to Vancouver was ended by our arrest, so I swallowed the tablets and thus began my trip into hell that was to last eight months and haunt me the rest of my life.

My recollection of the next 24 hours is fuzzy, but much is unforgettable:

I am in a black steel cell covered with lurid graffiti, handcuffed, standing in front of a doctor. The floor is rolling like a wave.

In a hospital emergency room large men hold me down, dodging and maneuvering to insert a plastic tube in my nose. I am struggling.... A glass of what looks like red wine. I drink and within seconds I'm violently throwing-up. I am overdosing, very sick, more frightened than I have ever been in my life.

The next several hours are a blank. I remember standing in a court Room full of skeletons in black robes. The judge took one glance at me and I was bundled off to 30 days of observation at the local psychiatric hospital.

The first day I was confined to bed with little or no contact with anyone. The next week was uneventful. I was interviewed a few times but I don't remember if I told anyone about the LSD. I had the impression they either believed me to be faking or drugged. Within a short time I was given my clothes and permitted to wander about the hospital. I was not locked in, and I suppose I could have walked out. I met a girl from another ward and she invited me to a dance that evening. I was leaving my ward for this rendévouz when I was stopped by an attendant who objected to the way I was dressed, very 1960s counter-culture, beads, the usual accouterments. The attendant was hostile. He pushed me against the wall and pawed at my jeans, blustering something about proper dress.

I made another big mistake. I fought back. He dragged me to the floor in short order. Reinforcements came running, and in an instant my pants were around my ankles and I was injected with something painful. I was dragged down the hall, tossed into an empty room and locked inside. I was furious. The girl was waiting for me and here I was, naked, locked in this little room. I pounded on the door and screamed until my lungs were aching.

There is an entry in my clinical record, dated April 26, 1968, a few days after this incident: Steve Smith "... tends to become resentful, hostile and uncooperative when he is not able to have his own way...." Of course, I didn't realize how dangerous an outburst of defiance could be. Never get mad in a mad house. The next day I was informed that I was to be sent to Penetang Hospital for the criminally insane. I have no words to express the fear that swept over me at that moment. Penetang was notorious. It's the end of the line, you never get out. I was in big trouble, but not INSANE! I think it was the next day that I was dragged onto a train in handcuffs by two burly guards who made it clear that they would take no nonsense from me. They showed me a billy club and a large syringe. We traveled in a private berth. Neither of my traveling companions shifted their gaze from me.

We reached Midland, Ontario. There was a car waiting for us. A short drive later, I was at the front gate of Oak Ridge Hospital, which resembled a prison. The iron gate rang behind me and I was not to see the outside world again for eight months. I was struck by the size of the guards. I have never in my life seen such a collection of oversized homo-simians. As far as I knew, no one knew that I was there. I had disappeared off the face of the earth. I'd never felt more alone and helpless. No one said a word to me. I was treated like a slab of meat. Stripped naked. My hair, mouth and armpits were probed for concealed weapons or contraband. My head was shaved. I was sprayed with a disinfectant that burned, given a heavy canvas gown and locked in a cement cell with nothing but a blanket. Not a word from anyone. The door slammed shut.

I don't know how many days passed. It occurred to me that I could be incarcerated for the remainder of my life. If there was anything in that cell I could have used to kill myself, I believe I would have done so. The light was on 24 hours a day. I ate from paper plates. No utensils, not even a plastic spoon. The only escape was sleep, and I forced myself to do as much it as possible. Men strolled past my cell dressed in street cloths. I thought they were doctors or hospital staff. I tried to talk to them, find out what the hell is going to happen to me. No one even looked my way. I was completely ignored. I don't know how many days this went on.

One day the door slid open and a Dr. Elliot T. Barker entered. He was charming, soothing, smiling, his arm around my shoulder. He addressed me by my first name. It seemed I'd never known contact with another human being. I fell for it, not knowing what this man had in store for me, the torture and degradation I was to suffer.

"Do you think you are mentally ill?"

"No I do not."

He grinned, his arm around my shoulder.

"Why do you think you are here?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'll tell you. You are a very sick boy," Barker told me. "I think you are a very slick psychopath, and I want you to know that there are people just like you in here who have been locked up more than 20 years. But we have a program here that can help you get over your illness. If you volunteer for this treatment, it will improve your chances of release - but you must cooperate with the program."

He told me that being a psychopath was essentially an inability to communicate with others, and that beneath the reinforced surface was a deeply rooted psychosis. What he proposed to do, through the use of LSD, methedrine and other drugs, was to bring out this "hidden psychosis" and treat it. In other words, to cure you I must first drive you mad.

I was locked in a cold, brightly-lit cell, numb with cold, clutching a blanket. Anything would be better than this. I agreed to cooperate.

I was released from my cell, given a shower, khaki pants and shirt, escorted to the "Sun Room," an unfurnished vestibule occupied by six or seven men (boys) about the same age as myself. They had all been in this room for a week or more. Dr. Barker informed me that he was locking me in with them without prior "conditioning" to "shake things up a bit." I watched them for a few days without saying much. Nothing they did was rational. They seemed to be playing some kind of psychotic game, talking like doctors. When their attention shifted to me, I was forced by ringleaders to concede that I was mentally ill. The pressure was intense, unrelenting. Here I was imprisoned in this snake pit of a hospital, encircled by rapists and killers determined to convince me that I was insane.

I was the only one in this equation who wasn't deluded.

My sole possession in the world at this stage was my sanity, and I wasn't about to give it up. I was soon to discover that these mental patients had more resources at their command than group pressure. After a few days of primarily silent resistance, the other patients decided that I needed some drugs to "loosen" me up - the patients prescribed them. They recommended I be given methamphetamines. Dr. Barker signed his approval. Two attendants and a nurse entered and chased me around the room until I was cornered and dragged to the floor. I put up a good fight but they finally managed to slip the needle into my arm. The drug hit me within seconds. I lived for that drug for the next five years. I would do anything to get it.

Dr. Barker's program was run by the inmates. The staff observed and approved their decisions. What followed was a systematic bombardment of drugs intended to break my resistance and to bring out the so-called "hidden psychosis." I suggest that these potent drugs did not reveal something that was already there, but in fact created a drug-induced psychotic state. In his published papers, Dr. Barker describes the drugs he used and the results that he hoped to obtain, but he says nothing about the horrors suffered by the victims of these experiments.

I will try to relate some of the effects of the drugs forced on me over a sustained period. During the drug treatments, it was standard practice to handcuff patients together with seatbelts and padlocks. It was also common for any patient resisting the injections to be choked into unconsciousness by twisting a towel around his neck. This was done to me a few times before I realized that I was more likely to stay alive if I submitted to the drugs. I remember a direction that I was to be an "observer," that I must stay awake all night to watch the other patients sleep. To aid me in this task I was given as much Benzedrine as I wanted. I was equipped with a log book and a pencil stub and told to record everything that happened. Everyone slept. I wrote all night.

The hallucinations began after a few days of sleep deprivation, smoke at the edge of my peripheral vision and eventually thousands of bugs crawling on my skin. I tried to show these bugs to other patients and the attendant who arrived with our meals. Everyone would take a close look and start laughing. Two attendants came in and without a word put me in handcuffs and leg restraints.

Then paranoia, not the generalized anxiety that is so common in current language, but the real thing, full-blown psychotic paranoia. I thought everyone just out of my range of hearing was conspiring to kill me. I remember laying on a mattress on the floor with a blanket pulled over my head. I assumed the two patients next to me were prying a staple out of the log book to impale my eye.

I lifted a corner of my mattress. The floor was seething with bugs and worms. That was it! I jumped up in a panic, attacked the two patients next to me. I tried to wrench my arm around one of them, and with the seatbelt straps locked around my wrists strangle him before anyone could stop me. This outburst was the result of chemical torture and sleep deprivation, otherwise known as "Defense Disrupting Therapy."

A series of drugs was forced on me. I remember something called scopolamine, a so-called truth serum. I was told that it was used by the Nazis as an effective means of chemical interrogation. The effects of this drug are so overwhelmingly horrifying that I am at a loss to describe them. It was administered in three injections, about an hour apart. After the first, my mouth dried up completely. The throat constricts to the size of a pinhole. When you try to swallow you hear a dry, clicking sound. One side-effect is a very high pulse-rate (160 sitting down) and a sense of suffocation and anxiety. After the second injection you begin to slip in and out of delirium. Time sense and continuity are disrupted. The third injection is followed by an 8-to-12 hour period of complete delirium, incoherence, restlessness, hyperventilating.

Patients undergoing this study of medieval degradation were handcuffed to two other patients throughout the ordeal. It was the job of these observers to stop the subject from bashing himself into walls, and stop him from hyperventilating himself to death. No training was provided for this. The life of another patient could be in the hands of people who themselves were on the same drugs a few days before. Both sides of this experiment were extremely stressful. I think I was given scopolamine three times during my stay in the "sun room" and a continuous diet of "speed" and "goofballs".

I don't recall much about the months that followed. I slipped further into a drug-soaked existence, punctuated by incidents of extreme brutality. Dr. Barker came into the sun room with a small can of something. He flipped it from one hand to the other, and described a wonderful new invention he called "mace." With no justification but a test of its effectiveness, he let loose with this spray and blasted us all to the floor. That's the kind of man he was: very curious and always willing to try a little hands-on experiment. I think I was in the sun room for about two weeks when Barker moved me into the regular program.

At this point I was resisting everything, and fought Dr. Barker's attempts to morph my mind with drugs so he could reshape it to his own idea of normalcy. I was moved to a cell with a real bed and my own sink and toilet.

Shortly thereafter, a patient-teacher came to my cell with a stack of psychological tests and insisted I do them. He was dressed in street cloths and conducted himself like hospital staff. I'd had enough of this. I told him to take his tests and shove off. He came back with two attendants who strangled me with a towel and injected me. My clothes were peeled off. I was thrust into an empty cell.

The patient-teacher returned with the tests and said with a smile, "are you ready to do this or do you need a little more prompting." I was so drugged I could not keep my eyes open. I started to do the tests. I fell asleep face down on the paper. I woke up with someone squeezing a nerve point on the back of my heel. I started to write again. It was impossible to concentrate. Math questions, logic questions. What's wrong with this picture? I fell asleep again and came to under an ice-cold shower, locked in place by attendants at each arm. This was torture and I screamed. Back into the cell, dripping wet and turning blue.

Do the tests or submit to torture. I did the tests.

Hospital records claim that my IQ is roughly equivalent to my shoe size. I don't remember completing these tests, but eventually I was allowed to sleep.

The next day a formal brainwashing program got underway. Every minute of the day was structured. The basic idea was to force patients to memorize long papers dealing with defense mechanisms and some kind of twisted logic. A rule of silence was strictly enforced. Inmates were not permitted to talk to one another outside the groups. No warnings were given. Any breach of the rules was met with immediate punishment. This could be anything from having your cell stripped, leaving nothing but a blanket on the floor, to strapped incarceration and drugging that went on for days. An infraction of the rules could be something as simple as turning your eyes to the ceiling in a gesture of disbelief. After a week of this discipline, I was a whipped animal, docile and cooperative. I followed Dr. Barker's dictates like a robot.

We were forced to perform military exercises three times a day. When the whistle blew, we dropped for push-ups. Put your heart into it or take punishment. I never knew what the next phase was going to be, but throughout the ordeal of drugs, handcuffs and humiliation came the authoritarian obligato. I gave the answer expected when asked if I was mentally ill.

I suppose I had truly been driven mad. I saw LSD used in massive doses on selected patients. There were beatings and murders. I remember the names Matt Lamb, Peter Woodcock and others.

All of this under the direct control of inmates. This in itself makes this story all the more difficult to write. It sounds so absurd. That's how it was. And I couldn't request a review of my case by hospital administrators - it required the approval of a panel of mental patients.

Dr. Barker's treatment program was devised to drive young men into a drug-induced psychosis, and through fear and discipline from within the group create a self-sustaining system of docile mental patients. How any doctor could view this as a benefit to the mentally ill is beyond me.

But in light of what I have since learned of CIA-sponsored LSD experiments, and the part that Canada played in the Agency's MK-ULTRA program, my story is placed in a context that is far from outrageous. Much of what occurred in Oak Ridge was comprehensible only after I began to fit it with pieces of a mind control puzzle.

For example: the cutthroat world of covert operations lurks in the subtext of this report from the Toronto Globe & Mail on the premature release and death of the homicidal Matt Lamb, a "rehabilitated" Oak Ridge patient:

Army clash with guerrillas Killed two in Ontario, Canadian slain in Rhodesia

A Windsor man who spent seven years in an Ontario mental hospital after killing two people has been slain in action with the Rhodesian army. Lance Corporal Matthew Charles Lamb, 28, died in a clash with black nationalist guerrillas seeking to oust Rhodesia's white minority government. Dr. Elliott Barker, a psychiatrist who treated Lamb for several years in hospital and befriended him, said he was not recruited but traveled to Rhodesia about two years ago with the purpose of joining the army. Lamb was released in 1973 from the maximum security section of the Penetanguishene Mental Health Center, where he had been sent after the shotgun slaying of two young people walking with friends on a Windsor street. Lamb visited relatives and went to see Dr. Barker at his farm near Penetanguishene while on leave last summer. "He knew when he went back he probably would be killed," Dr. Barker said yesterday.

A communiqué issued by the Rhodesian security forces yesterday said that the Canadian and eight blacks identified as guerrillas were killed in clashes during the past 48 hours. Dr. Barker said he was advised that lamb was killed on Sunday.

Last month another Canadian serving with the Rhodesian forces, Trooper Michael McKeown of Dartmouth, N.S., was sentenced to a year in prison for refusing to fight. He said he was recruited in Canada. Lamb was 19 in January, 1967 when he was found not guilty by reason of insanity on a charge of murdering 20 year old Edith Chaykoski. She was in a group of young people walking toward a bus stop when a man stepped out from behind a tree and began shooting. Three other people were wounded, and one of them a 21 year old man, died later.

During court proceedings in his case, Lamb made two unsuccessful attempts to escape.

In 1965, when he was 16, Lamb served 14 months in penitentiary after he robbed a suburban store and exchanged shots with a policeman. After his 1967 committal to Penetanguishene, Lamb was treated by Barker, who was then head of the therapeutic unit at the hospital's maximum-security division.

He was released in 1973 by order of the Ontario Cabinet, acting on a recommendation of an advisory review board. "He was given a clean bill of health," Dr. Barker said in an interview. "The advisory review board felt he was no longer dangerous. He had been sick and he was no longer sick.

During his two to three years in the hospital, he was one of the patient therapists, and they looked up to him."

After he was freed, Lamb lived with Dr. Barker and the psychiatrist's family for a year on their 200-acre farm near the hospital, earning his keep as a laborer....


Fortunately for me, the laws governing committal to hospitals were changed during my stay at Oak Ridge. A review board was created to give patients an avenue of appeal.

I remember sitting in a chair before five or six bureaucrats. They were my last chance at reclaiming my life. The interview lasted less than half an hour, and in the end they told me that I would be released as soon as arrangements could be made. It was out of Barker's hands. Within days I was on a bus to Toronto. It ended as suddenly as it began, but the consequences of my months as Dr. Barker's guinea pig were to affect the direction of my life for years to come. I had tried LSD twice, and the second time precipitated my downfall. Like most people my age in the 1960s, I experimented with drugs. But after Oak Ridge I was addicted to amphetamines. My slide into self-destruction, revisiting my father's decline.

Before Oak Ridge, the thought of sticking a needle into my arm was repulsive. But when you want amphetamine, the quickest way is the only way. It came to living in the back of an abandoned car, using a refill from a ball-point pen for a fix. Barker left me shipwrecked upon the shore.

But there came a time when I was able to reclaim control of my life and determine my own direction, because that's who I am. Today I have my own business. I have a little sailboat and I go skiing when I can.

Many others were left incurably injured. I have found some of them. Dr. Barker completely desiccated our lives. I saw murder in Oak Ridge. I saw torture that one would only expect to see in the most squalid Third World country. I have been over this for years, and it seems that every question inevitably leads to more questions. I want answers from Oak Ridge and Dr. Barker.

http://www.mindcontrolforums.com/v/smith.htm

[American Dream]

I would say that most of the people I see for things like depression, addiction, chronic pain, chemical sensitivities, digestive complaints, heartache, fatigue, grief, anxiety (just to name a few) are connected because most of their suffering is rooted in generational and collective trauma and oppression…Usually their healing is a long and non-linear path, supported by some awesome healing practitioners, leaning into their connections to their communities, creating rituals and new habits around food, movement, and rest, and having their pain acknowledged and held with compassion and tenderness. And when we heal, we have to remember we are not just healing for us, we are healing through time, healing patterns woven through us, healing our ancestors and our lineage.

--Dori Midnight

[American Dream]

[American Dream]

http://www.dnaindia.com/scitech/report_ ... er_1526605

Nazi soldiers given highly addictive crystal meth to fight longer, harder

Daily News & Analysis | March 31, 2011

Even though Adolf Hitler’s Nazi party rules stressed the importance of keeping fit by abstaining from drink and tobacco to keep the Aryan race strong and pure, it has emerged that his soldiers were taking addictive and damaging chemicals to fight longer and harder.

A study on the medicines used by the Third Reich revealed how Nazi doctors and officers issued recruits with pills to help them fight without rest. The German army’s drug of choice, as it overran Poland, Holland, Belgium and France, was Pervitin, pills made from methamphetamine, commonly known today as crystal meth.

Hundreds of thousands soldiers were addicted to the pills by the time the invasion of the Soviet Union was launched in 1941, and records of the Wehrmacht, the German army, show that some 200 million Pervitin pills were doled out to the troops between 1939 and 1945.

Research by the German Doctors’ Association also showed the Nazis developed a cocaine-based stimulant for its front-line fighters that was tested on concentration camp inmates. “It was Hitler’s last secret weapon to win a war he had already lost long ago,” the Daily Mail quoted criminologist Wolf Kemper, author of a German language book on the Third Reich’s use of drugs called Nazis On Speed, as saying.

The drug, codenamed D-IX, was tested at the Sachsenhausen concentration camp north of Berlin, where prisoners loaded with 45lb packs were reported to have marched 70 miles without rest. The plan was to give all soldiers in the crumbling Reich the wonder drug – but the invasion of Normandy in June 1944, coupled with crippling Allied bombing, scotched the scheme.

“The Blitzkrieg was fuelled by speed. The idea was to turn ordinary soldiers, sailors and airmen into automatons capable of superhuman performance,” a pharmacologist said.

Medical authorities say the downside of the plan was that many soldiers became helplessly addicted to drugs and were of no use in any theatre of war.

Otto Ranke, a military doctor and director of the Institute for General and Defence Physiology at Berlin’s Academy of Military Medicine, was behind the Pervitin scheme.

[American Dream]

From Peter Bebergal:

Sobriety is its own kind of altered state of consciousness. For the addict, it is nothing less than a complete rearrangement of perception, both internal and external. A consciousness that beforehand was a fraying patchwork quilt of alcohol, THC, cocaine, LSD, and sundry delusions is unexpectedly pushed face-to-face with things as they really are. And those things are not very pretty. The kind of rationalization required to give up basic dignity in order to maintain being high and drunk is really a strip of gauze that lets just enough light through to allow you to get around without bumping into things, but not enough to really see any detail.

Removing the pall of daily addiction is like flash powder going off in your face. At first, it’s nearly as blinding. There are the spots of light that keep you squinting. But soon, as reality itself starts again to take shape, you get to see in perfectly illumined clarity the true state of your life.

Garbage is heaped in piles in the kitchen. The cupboards are empty and the refrigerator is filled with nothing but a once-used jar of mayonnaise and some old soy sauce packets. Then there is the lack of anything around of value; everything of worth has been either sold or stolen by someone else. An empty water bowl for cats that have long since disappeared sits dry in a corner. By the phone are the stacks of bills that seem so incongruous, as if they belonged to another dimension. There is nothing here to love, not really much to hate, but there is shame and a sicklysweet disgust at what stares back from the mirror.

There are other realities as well. Sleeping for the first time sober and waking up clean is a mystery of boundless grace. A cup of coffee in the basement of a church during a twelve-step meeting tastes like the nectar of the gods. A roast beef sandwich on rye with shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles from the local deli is like eating something from Eden. The first time I saw the new buds of spring while clean, I finally understood what Aldous Huxley meant by the “is-ness” of things. Of course, not being afraid after a very long time—my whole life, in fact—made me only that much more afraid I would lose that gift.


Excerpted from Too Much to Dream: A Psychedelic American Boyhood by Peter Bebergal.

http://www.pw.org/content/too_much_to_d ... r_bebergal

http://mysterytheater.blogspot.com/2013 ... mbers.html

Lego Secret Society Members




Freemason (Master of the Lodge w/ gavel)



Mathers-esque Chief of Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (w/ dagger and cup)



Kabbalist and his golem (sefirotic tree, of a type, in background)



Rosicrucian (1600s, wholly imagined)



Reptillain Illuminati

[American Dream]

The Life and Death of Juliano Mer-Khamis →

In 1985 Juliano Mer – he dropped ‘Khamis’ from his name – starred in Amos Guttman’s film Bar 51, a tale of obsessive love between a brother and sister, set in Tel Aviv’s hedonistic underground. He seemed poised to become a star of Israel’s emerging independent cinema. ‘Juliano had the material of great actors,’ Amos Gitai, who cast him in seven films, told me. But he was looking for something more intense. In 1987 he went to the Philippines, where he spent a year, mostly high on mushrooms. He lived in a tent, talked to monkeys and declared himself the son of God. His parents had him rescued. But he felt that something important had happened to him under the influence of the mushrooms: ‘I lost all my identities.’ As an actor this was no bad thing: ‘I have a gift, you are not only consciously un-nationalised, you are inside yourself divided. Use it!’ He took the idea to the streets. In downtown Tel Aviv he would remove his clothes, cover himself in fake blood or olive oil or paint, and denounce Israel’s response to the First Intifada, which had just broken out.[2] His performances in Palestinian refugee camps were physically more demure but scarcely less provocative. ‘They think that if you replace the Israeli occupation with the Arafat occupation, it’s going to be better,’ he said, ‘and I say no, fight both of them!’

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v35/n22/adam-shatz ... mer-khamis

[American Dream]

WEATHER UNDERGROUND: The Wrong Forecast - Blind Alley of Individual Terrorism

http://www.crvenakritika.org/english/73 ... -terrorism

The Genesis
Weather Underground has its roots in the anti-war student movement that swept American campuses in the second half of sixties. This movement found its expression initially through a nationally based student organization called Students for a Democratic Society (SDS). SDS was born silently in 1960 out of academic liberal left circles. Its initial actions were concentrated around moderate reformist demands such as: promotion of international peace initiatives, support for non-violent Civil Rights movement in the south and fight against social polarization within the American capitalism. As the radicalization of American youth grew, with the lack of any traditional national student union, SDS turned out to be the only channel for organizing and co-ordination. By 1968, radicalized SDS became the backbone for national mobilizations against the Viet Nam war, organizing hundreds of thousands students and young people, with numerous political currents working inside it. SDS became the symbol of the American “New Left”. However, after years of tireless mass protests and no sign of any loosening of American imperialism in sight, it became clear that a new evaluation of tactics was needed and that a loose organization such as SDS could no longer satisfy the fast politicizing layer of students. Illusion that the mass protests by themselves would be enough to stop the imperialist beast turned into frustration. A growing number of activists came to conclusions that “something more” had to be done. But, what?

In what was to be its last convention in 1969, SDS split into different fractions. One of them named its convention paper after a line from a Bob Dylan song. The Group gathered around the colorfully titled “You Don’t Need a Weatherman to know which Way the Wind is blowing” resolution consisted of some of the most prominent leaders of the student movement including the SDS national secretary Bernardine Dohrn (“la Passionara of the lunatic left”-in the words of J. Edgar Hoover) and Columbia University leader Murk Rudd. Weathermen denounced the non-violent approach of the student movement and presented themselves to be openly pro-Revolution, on the side of the world’s struggling majority.

“The making of a Revolutionary”
The documentary does a really good job of putting the whole story in a historical context. It shows how the student militants were influenced by the worldwide uprising against imperialism form anti-colonial struggles in Congo, Angola, Viet Nam; the Cuban revolution and 68 movements in Mexico, France, Japan etc. Led partly by revolutionary optimism and partly by political ignorance, Weathermen proclaimed themselves the revolutionary vanguard inside the U.S. In the words of Murk Rudd: “We wanted to become the communist cadre, completely devoted to the Revolution”. However, they had no clear idea on how to become a cadre organization, even less on how to bring about a Revolution.

In order to transform themselves into “communist cadres”, Weathermen members decided to break with their petty bourgeois student existence. They abandoned their studies and workplaces in order to form Weather collectives in major U.S. industrial centers and tried to insert themselves and organize among the working class youth. Part of their “break with bourgeois society” was also the forceful breaking of monogamy and practice of “free love” within the group. Building of communist morals inside an isolated group within capitalism was not all that romantic and naïve as it may seem. One of the interviewed members recalls “the picking of individuals”-rituals in which the whole group under the influence of LSD would humiliate an individual in order to “test” him/her and break that person’s bourgeois moral. Ex Weathermen David Gilbert, currently serving a 75 year sentence in prison, clearly explains how it was the women who most often ended up exploited again in these “free love communes” by being pressured to have multiple partners against their will. With their boasting proclamations and hyper militant stand, the Weather commune ended up unconsciously reproducing the same macho culture of patriarchal society that they were trying to escape so badly.

Days of Rage
Weather collectives started organizing their first public action soon. Sick of predictable protests, in which the protesters marched and went home while nothing was changing, Weathermen started calling for open confrontation with the police and violent demonstrations. Weathermen started to promote their “Days of Rage” demonstration on summer 1969 in downtown Chicago. As one of the leaders Bill Ayers explains, the reasoning back then for many was “the bigger the mess we make-the better”. Used to mass protests they organized within SDS, Weather leadership was pretty confident that from all across the country thousands of angry youth and working people will pour into Chicago and start the new chapter of the anti war movement. However, it turned out the masses didn’t share their enthusiasm for confrontation. What was supposed to be a mass rally, ended up being a gathering of not more then 300 people equipped with baseball bats and helmets.

Bill Ayers admits that candidly that night he wished “somebody came down and prevented us from continuing”. But, it was too late for backing up. Having gone that far, the Weathermen decided to proceed and march downtown smashing bank and shop windows on the way. Soon, a police cordon blocked their way far outnumbering the protesters. Weathermen decided to charge. What followed could be described as a “slaughterhouse”. By miracle there was no loss of lives. At least three protesters were wounded from gunshots and the rest were brutally beaten by the police squad and arrested. This action was perhaps best described by the Chicago Black Panther leader Fred Hampton (who was murdered in his sleep by that same Chicago police only few months later). In his typical tone and style Fred stated:

“We believe the Weather action was anarchistic, individualistic and opportunistic…they took the people in a situation where they could be massacred. They call it a Revolution, but it ain’t nothing but child play. It was led by a bunch of muddle-heads and scatterbrains”.

Tactics of open confrontation proved to be a disaster. Instead of attracting the working class youth to them Weathermen found themselves even more isolated form the masses. On top of that, the FBI started to follow their every move. This way the group opened itself to police repression and gave an excuse to president Nixon to denounce the anti war demonstrators as nothing but “criminal thugs”.

In an attempt to analyze what went wrong it never crossed the mind of Weather leadership that something was wrong with their political analysis. Instead, quite predictably, they came to a conclusion that the American working class is hopelessly “bought off”. As every isolated sect, they came to the conclusion that they were all alone.