Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Fri Mar 31, 2017 6:18 pm

http://www.splicetoday.com/writing/an-a ... or-junkies

An Antipathy for Junkies

Alan Cabal

Junkies are like flies: they eat shit and bother people.

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Daisy’s 38-year-old junkie son is coming down from Rhode Island, claiming he wants to get clean. He got busted last October after smashing his car up while in possession of several bags of smack. He’s had six months to get clean. Junkies lie all the time. Never trust a junkie.

My hatred of junkies borders on the pathological. Heroin addicts arouse a deep visceral loathing in me based entirely on experience and reason. It’s a Darwin thing. It’s also related to my affair with crystal methamphetamine, which went on sporadically from 1968 to 1995. Anybody over 40 who uses refined white powder stimulants is begging for a heart attack. Drug use is a discipline. It’s a form of yoga. Drug abuse is Darwin in Action.

I was about 10 years old when I started stealing the occasional cigarette from my mom and smoking in the stairwell of the Esplanade at 74th St. and West End Ave. in Manhattan, where we lived at the time. At 13, back in Camden, New Jersey, I started stealing my father’s Librium and my mother’s Darvon and Dexedrine. At 14, in February of 1968, my buddy Danny and I skipped school and hiked from East Camden to Cramer Hill in the freezing cold to cop our first bag of pot from Frank and Andrea, two enterprising junkies that dealt everything they could get. That was the day I slammed my first spoon of meth.

I was a garrulous kid, and Frank and Andrea thought it would be funny to see what a shot of meth would do to me. The initial rush was amazing. For the first few minutes, I felt like George God riding on a rainbow. Then I clammed right up and doodled in a notebook with a felt-tip marker for about three hours while we all smoked pot. They were amazed at the paradoxical effect. I watched Frank and Andrea get off on heroin. It gave me the creeps. Danny and I split after that. A couple of weeks later, Frank got shot by a biker he’d ripped off and Andrea took it on the lam to points unknown. I found better connections, hipper connections uninvolved with heroin.

I avoided junk and junkies throughout my tenure as a speed freak and acid-head. I cultivated an elitist disdain, correctly perceiving them as thieving lying lowlifes tending towards bad hygiene. My social circles were LSD-centric. We were pursuing higher awareness, not analgesia. Meth is not truly addictive, and I could take it or leave it. Mostly, I took it. I couldn’t understand how somebody could become addicted to a drug like junk. I was a voracious reader and kept myself informed about the drugs I was using and drugs in general. I was familiar with the works of Aldous Huxley, R. Gordon Wasson, Tim Leary, Ken Kesey, John Lilly, and the startling genius of Art Kleps. I was also reading a lot of William S. Burroughs, whose works are pretty raw and explicit as regards the horrors of heroin addiction. I hung out and corresponded with Burroughs a bit during the 1980s. He was appalled by the hipster trash dabbling in heroin after reading his books. “They’re missing the goddamned point,” he’d exclaim with disgust.

I assiduously avoided junkies up until I landed in San Francisco in the 80s, when a good friend and fellow initiate of Aleister Crowley’s OTO (Ordo Templi Orientis) by the name of Patrick King hooked up with an Exxon heir from Beaumont, Texas, who called himself “Pasque.” His given name was “Waldo,” so the alias was understandable. He looked like Marc Bolan. Patrick was a gorgeous blond guy from Salt Lake City who in every way was God’s Own Huckleberry Finn until he hooked up with Pasque. Patrick was an innovator, unusually creative for the Crowley crowd. He’d single-handedly resurrected the incredibly obscure Eleventh Degree of the OTO under the authority of Grady McMurtry, the Caliph at the time, and opened it to women, an unprecedented and genuinely revolutionary gesture in an organization as phallocentric as the OTO. He initiated me during a visit to NYC in 1980, and I initiated my wife Bonnie shortly thereafter. We were both madly in love with Patrick.

The OTO had a well-deserved reputation for drugs and orgies at the time, and we were at Ground Zero, San Francisco, right across the Bay from the Berkeley HQ. It being the 80s and what with Reagan and Nicaragua and the Contras and the CIA, quality cocaine became abundant and cheap. When Reagan took office in 1981, cocaine was going for $20,000 per kilo in Miami. When he left office, it was priced at $12,000 per kilo, such was the abundant harvest of CIA operations in Bananaland. I’ve been in the presence of kilos of cocaine in bricks, uncut. I’ve always preferred good quality meth. Used judiciously, meth gives more bang for the buck, it’s cheaper, and it’s safer. Even massive doses are rarely fatal. You can be channeling John Belushi for weeks with your blow habit, and one day whiff up a little tiny bump and die. Coke is unpredictable like that. That’s why they made Novocain.

There was a weird and very destructive subset of heroin aficionados in the OTO at that time, tiny, but elite in rank. It was some kind of macho pose; the dabblers were exclusively male. It had its roots in Crowley’s attitude toward heroin, best expressed in his mediocre novel, Diary Of A Drug Fiend. It was a boast, shooting heroin and assuming that you can control it. It’s akin to that drunk driving thing, or fucking with venomous reptiles. For all his blather about “Will,” Crowley couldn’t control it. When he died in 1947 at the age of 72, he was shooting enough smack to kill a small roomful of people.

Patrick had always been an adventurer, a wanderer, hitchhiking around and moving where the Dharma put him. When he hooked up with Pasque, everything changed. Pasque wanted to settle down and play house, and junk was going to be the baby. They first moved into some crappy motels down near the Marina district. They destroyed the rooms on a weekly basis and moved on to the next one.

Just to have the experience, and because they weren’t thieves or lowlifes, I shot up with them in one of those motel rooms. It was absolutely horrible in every way. It felt like the flu. No sooner had the shot gone into my mainline but the light shifted all red and smoky, like the light that the Tibetan Book Of The Dead warns you about. My skin began to itch, and I felt like I was wrapped in heavy wool. It enhanced nothing, it was pure analgesic, and nothing more. Nothing pleasant about it: unconsciousness in a can. Alcohol is about the journey to oblivion, observing the sights, watching yourself get stupid. Heroin is oblivion. There is no journey.

Not long after that, Patrick and Pasque were living in absolute squalor in a really nice two-bedroom apartment at California and Hyde, on Nob Hill. Bonnie and I were living on the very edge of Chinatown, at Bush and Powell. It was an easy walk. Pasque got $3500 on the first of every month from his trust. They had a small entourage of dependent and dedicated junkie followers partially supported by Pasque’s fascination with spreading his habit around, and they ran out of money by the third week of every month. Bonnie and I would do a couple of rails of meth on weekends, smoke some pot, and tote a grocery bag full of bread, peanut butter, beans and rice down to them and hang out with the trust-fund junkies. It was bizarre.

It all fell apart one day when, in a classic atavistic resurgence of my youthful affiliation with communism, I went off on them both for having achieved an utterly perfect form of reverse alchemy, turning gold into shit, oil into smack. We parted company, forever. Patrick and Pasque broke up. Patrick went back to his wandering ways and wound up in Prague, where he was beaten to death by the Czechoslovakian police after a fire in his apartment. Pasque went off the screens, no doubt back to Beaumont, Texas, to become yet another in the long line of repentant Satanoids, queers, dope fiends, and Illuminists saved by the blood of Jesus and a Chick pamphlet or two, not to mention continued access to the family fortune.

The next junkie I had the misfortune of meeting was a real creep at the Big Apple Circus in 1989, a spotlight operator named Chris. His wife was the Production Assistant, not a junkie, and he’d suckered her into getting him the job. He’d convinced her that he was clean. He was glib and slippery, oozing charm from every pore. He was also a thief. He slipped into their sleeper and stole $300 from the hard-working horse grooms, money they’d saved to buy Christmas presents for their folks back home. Circus justice being what it is, he left the show with a broken leg.

I argued with Daisy about the advisability of inviting a junkie into your home. I pointed out that it’s a lot like that common trope in zombie movies where there’s always a character who refuses to admit that their loved one has been completely transformed and winds up getting eaten. It was like yelling at a cat. There’s no convincing a mother to give up on her son. She’ll just have to find out the hard way. I warned her son in no uncertain terms that if he rips her off, he’ll be dealt with. Junkies are like flies: they eat shit and bother people.
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby liminalOyster » Sat Apr 01, 2017 12:00 pm


Hitting the High Notes

The story of jazz in the post-war era is one of revolution and rebellion, as musicians like Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk and Dizzy Gillespie re-invented the genre, giving birth to bebop.

But alongside the music, something else emerged in this period: a mini-epidemic of heroin use among jazz musicians which broke out in the mid-1940s, as the drug became more freely available in cities like New York, Philadelphia and Chicago.

The most notorious musician associated with drugs of addiction, then as of now, was also the greatest exponent of modern jazz - Charlie Parker. Parker's story, with its heady combination of drugs and music, is hard to ignore. But one man's story isn't science, and what's clear is that the use of heroin was much more widespread in the jazz community, involving hundreds of musicians as well as the fans of this new, modern style of music.

In their attempt to understand and tackle the rising problem of drug addiction and the moral panic that ensued, the US Government targeted and arrested many jazz musicians. But instead of sending them to conventional prisons, many ended up at an institution known as the Narcotic Farm, located in Lexington, Kentucky. Part prison, part hospital, it was the first attempt anywhere in the world to simultaneously treat addiction as a health problem, whilst studying the science behind it. Though it practiced an enlightened approach to therapy, it also carried out what today would be considered highly unethical experiments on patients, which even included re-addicting them in order to study the symptoms of withdrawal.

The roll-call of jazz musicians who spent time at Lexington is astonishing: Sonny Rollins, Elvin Jones, Chet Baker, Lee Morgan, Sonny Stitt, Bennie Green, Jackie MacLean, band leader and trumpeter Red Rodney ... the list goes on. What's perhaps even more surprising is that the doctors and the researchers who were at Lexington could have viewed jazz as part of the problem - as part of a number of elements that predisposed people to become heroin-addicted. Instead they chose to look at it as a potentially therapeutic activity. Musicians were given instruments and rooms where they could play for up to six hours a day. Collaboration was actively encouraged. As a result, bands formed - jazz super groups - who performed regularly in the prison's auditorium to enthusiastic audiences of patients, medical staff and guards. The shows became so famous that one band was invited onto the Johnny Carson Show on US television. Sadly the tape was destroyed a few years later - seemingly the only recording ever made.

In this programme, Dr Sally Marlow, an addiction researcher at the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology and Neuroscience at King's College London, examines the relationship between heroin and jazz in the post-war period and explores its impact on creativity, therapy and addiction science both then and now. She hears from musicians of that period, travels to Lexington and discovers that a recording of a 'Narco' concert, made by a member of staff in the late 1960s, has survived.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b08k4s1k


This related doc (haven't watched yet) is likely a repost:

56 minutes. Funded by ITVS and broadcast on public television across the U.S. in 2009
Produced and Directed by JP Olsen and Luke Walden.
Photographed and Edited by Luke Walden.
Narration and musical score by Wayne Kramer.
narcoticfarm.com
In 1935, government scientists at the U.S. Public Health Service Narcotics Farm began a quest to discover a cure for drug addiction. Forty years later, this federal prison for the rehabilitation of drug addicts closed amid scandal over its practice of conducting drug research on convicts. Today, former inmates and doctors tell the story of what happened inside the Narcotic Farm.
Funded by the Independent Television Service, Corportation for Public Broadcasting, the Fund for Investigative Journalism, New York State Council Arts and the Experimental Television Center

https://vimeo.com/91392115
"It's not rocket surgery." - Elvis
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Sat Apr 01, 2017 1:55 pm

That narcotics farm was of course a notorious testing ground for MKULTRA type drugs.

As to heroin, I want to be clear that I'm not proposing "bad drugs" exist, though I do tend to agree with Alan Cabal that letting a chemically dependent broke person into your world can be a problem, when heroin is the drug in question.

In the realm of music, I like Coltrane back when he was doing heroin but much more when he moved on to acid (OM excepting- that was a bit over the top to me).

My main interest was in the OTO- not as the hub of any putative satanic and/or jewish conspiracy- but as a major hub of drugs etc. in the 70's and 80's. Personality change can be catalyzed with such things and Uncle Sam may have been hiding in there somewhere.


On Edit: Added a "p".
Last edited by American Dream on Sat Apr 01, 2017 3:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby liminalOyster » Sat Apr 01, 2017 2:47 pm

I'm with you regarding junk. It's ugly. I have two good friends who are recovered heroin addicts (one of whom sent me that BBC piece this morning) and they are both candid about the obliterated ethical core that followed from their use.
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Sat Apr 01, 2017 5:29 pm

I have to wonder how much of the psychological and social damage wrought by heroin (and illegal drugs generally) is intentional by the deep political forces involved vs. truly being just "collateral damage".
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Sun Apr 02, 2017 7:46 pm

REVIEW: CRAWL SPACE BY JESSE JACOBS

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Reviewed: Crawl Space by Jesse Jacobs
Published by Koyama Press, Toronto, 2017




Jesse Jacobs shares the singular experience of world building with his latest graphic novel, Crawl Space. There’s even one part of the story where he shows readers what it looks like inside his head, when he envisions squiggling lines of color flying together to coil around a set of eyes and collapse upon themselves, settle, and become a face. There’s a character, there! I see it. I see what you did there. Is that how it really looks like to you? Cool, man. Thanks for sharing.



“Why is anything like anything anywhere?”



But, onto the story!



The Story

Crawl Space is about Daisy: The flower child who’s transcended generational gaps. She understands how permeable the boundaries between worlds are. She tried to show others the way back to love, to acceptance, but they trashed the place. Shattered her world. But she can’t let it go. She chases her innocence as far as it’ll take her, even if that means she’ll end up casting off what everyone else sees as “reality”, forever, to hid inside a world of her own invention.



The trip starts abruptly. I didn’t recall taking a hit, but it was apparent to me from page one that we weren’t in Kansas anymore. Enter two kaleidoscopic woman-shaped creatures carved from different slices of the same Rainbow Bright.



Daisy, the new girl in town is trying to explain to Jeanne-Claude just how to let go of the electrical signals her body’s telling her to remember to respond to and to accept the way things are now, in the world inside the washing machine. (They enter into the dryer and come out of the washing machine, as I understand it.)



It takes a little coaxing, but like any good trip, if you have good intentions, you’re open-minded and you follow the directions of your tour guide, that’s the only way you’ll be able to fully immerse yourself in the environment and enjoy what this new world has to offer you.



“Allow yourself to dissolve into the patterns.”



Daisy distinctly tells Jeanne-Claude not to spill her guts about the washing machine, yet she goes and does it anyway, to the most vapid little twats imaginable at their school.



You’ve seen this trope before, but it’s probably never brought you to tears. Word travels and soon there’s a party raging in Daisy’s basement, while she’s lost (or has she finally found herself?) inside the machine of color and amorphous shapes.



The problem is, the other kids are trying hard to grow up too fast. They can’t understand how dangerous it can be to gobble up everything in sight. They desecrate the sacred world of spiritually-enhanced beings. They broke Teapot, my favorite little gift-giver. And what did he do to them? Those little brats just took and took and turned the dancers from another realm into monsters.



Which leads us to the great departure. It’s time for Daisy to leave again. Her parents are sending her to boarding school and Jeanne-Claude must get going to soccer practice. What’s more important, though? Playing pretend games on a pretend field of grass, where you can’t even use yours hands. What’s with that? I, myself, would prefer to chase my dreams even if they lead me into a dank sewer tunnel and away from a world where being normal is more important than being who you are.


http://queenmobs.com/2017/03/review-cra ... se-jacobs/
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Wed Apr 05, 2017 9:58 am

The LSD Chronicles: George Hunter White Part I

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"George White received his earliest indoctrination into the art of clandestine operations in 1942 at the ominously named Camp X. Located on the north shore of Lake Ontario, between the Canadian towns of Oshawa and Whitby, the camp was the first paramilitary training school in North America. Established in December 1941, just one day before the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, the 270-acre site was operated by Britain's ultra-secret Special Operations Executive. SOE had been formed as a branch of MI-6 in July 1940, after Winston Churchill instructed his military advisers to counter Nazi blitzkrieg victories and 'set Europe ablaze.' SOE's first order of business was to recruit and train hundreds of secret agents, who were responsible for advancing sabotage, subversion, and organized resistance against Axis occupied areas. Camp X, also called Project J and STS-103, offered its carefully selected students a full curriculum in the techniques of guerrilla warfare, covert action, and assassination. In his diary entry for February 28, 1942, just three days after he arrived there, White referred to the Ontario site as 'the school of murder and mayhem.'

"Training at Camp X was extremely rigorous. Recruits were routinely roused well before dawn to perform several hours of strenuous physical exercise before they were allowed a Spartan morning meal consisting of little more than a glass of milk and a hard roll. Then it was on to a full day of classes with instructions on subjects like 'Close Combat,' 'Small and Concealed Weapons,' and 'Silent Killing.' The camp featured a number of extremely difficult 'infiltration courses,' one of which featured a large swamp dubbed 'Lake Oshawa' by SOE instructors; for more substantial water exercise, the frigid waters of Lake Ontario were only twenty minutes away. Camp X's training ethos was kept simple; it revolved around the mantra, 'Kill or be killed.' Several times a week, trainees would participate in group jiu jitsu training, led by their chief instructor, British Major William Ewart Fairbairn, during which words were chanted, in cadence with martial movements, for hours on end. Said one former student years later, 'It turned our values upside down and we wondered about making a world fit for terrorists.'"


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"White was sent to Camp X not only to be trained, but also to become a trainer himself, which he did when he was assigned in 1942 as Branch Chief of Schools and Training for the OSS Counter-Espionage Division in Washington D.C. Subsequently, he became Deputy Chief of Counter-Espionage, or X-2, as it was commonly called. In his trainer role, White rotated among several secret sites, including Area B3, a 9,000-acre center hidden away in Maryland's Cotoctin Mountain Park, a few miles from today's Camp David Presidential retreat. Another secret training site was known as Area A2, a 5,000-acre wooded site near Quantico, Virginia. 'The Farm,' located forty miles from Washington, D.C., was a third site. White's own training continued, as well. In May 1942, together with Garland Williams and Phillip Strong, White took a brief break from his trainer's position to attend a six-week advanced commando and parachute school in Virginia.

"Among White's first OSS students were several novice officers who would later become top CIA officials: Richard Helms, Frank Wisner, Jr., James Jesus Angelton, Lyman B. Kirkpatrick, Jr., Thomas Karmessines, and William Colby. Several other notable students were anthropologists Carlton S. Coon and Gregory Bateson, psychologist Dr. James Hamilton, future Federal Narcotics agent Howard Chappell, and Alfred M. Hubbard, an elusive and fascinating figure who arrived at OSS's Area B fresh from a stint in prison."

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More at: http://visupview.blogspot.com/2012/12/t ... white.html
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Wed Apr 05, 2017 5:47 pm

Caveat Lector/TW

The Laughing Gnostic —
David Bowie and the Occult


by Peter–R. Koenig
First publication: 1996, recent update: 2016



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Angie Bowie recalled a good deal of occult activity during the LA period of 1974–76; it was also clear that Bowie was vulnerable to the influence of sycophants and hangers–on while he was heavily into cocaine. It has been alleged that at this time he scribbled frantic cabbalistic calculations on his own correspondence, stored his own urine in a fridge of Michael Lippman’s home where he was living then, and was obsessed about preventing anyone else getting hold of his nail–clippings and hair–trimmings, so they could not fall into the hands of those he thought wished to put spells on him. This sort of voodoo superstition — a fear that bodily waste could be used for evil purposes by occult enemies — can also be found in Aleister Crowley's more secret teachings.

Here is one of those 'secret teachings': "All bodily excrements, such as cut nails, and hair, should be burnt; spittle should be destroyed or exposed to the Sun; the urine and faeces should be so disposed of that it is unlikely that any other person should obtain possession of them.All bodily excrements, such as cut nails, and hair, should be burnt; spittle should be destroyed or exposed to the Sun; the urine and faeces should be so disposed of that it is unlikely that any other person should obtain possession of them. It is even desirable in theory that linen should not be washed by strangers, and that old clothes should not be given to the poor until some time after the occasion of wearing them." (Aleister Crowley: "Of the Secret Marriages of Gods with Men." Published for example by Francis King: "The Secret Rituals of the O.T.O.", London 1973).

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Aleister Crowley: "I note that Cocaine first excites imagination and apparently [...] confers a quite peculiar point of view, with a strangely intense and almost drunken pleasure equally unknown to those who have not taken it. This point of view seems to be that of the animal–subconscious; it owns no censor, moral or mental, and may be criminal or insane without qualm. It possesses one, like the 'devil' in the old pathologies. (Perhaps these describe and explain facts as well as or better than, the new.) In me, of course, such tendencies are rudimentary; and the mental and moral inhibitions would cry 'Halt! Who goes there?'"
[John Symonds and Kenneth Grant: "The Magical Record of the Beast 666. The Diaries of Aleister Crowley 1914–1920", London 1972, page 228.]



Bowie constructed an altar in the living room and he graced the walls with various magick symbols which he hand–painted. Candles burned around the clock, he regularly performed banishing rituals, and he protected his friends by drawing sigils on their hands.

The seventeen–year–old Cameron Crowe allegedly found a stirred–up Bowie burning black candles against an aborted magical ritual during the LA period. Eventually Crowe published several narratives in 'Rolling Stone' and 'Playboy' of Bowie drawing black magick symbols, seeing disembodied beings, thinking he was the Messiah, keeping bottles of his urine in the fridge, etc., etc.

Yet still in March 1987 Bowie was insisting: "I don't think I ever was particularly in the Occult."

And for all these years he sang about the 'Jean Genie' who "keeps all your dead hair for making up [witchy] underwear."




Angie Bowie witnessed her husband exorcising the swimming pool: "When he did the exorcism he cited from one of the books I got for him from the magick store in Hollywood [for example, the so–called 'Rituale Romanum'] . Some exorcism spell, who knows? I offered to bring in the Greek Orthodox Bishop from Santa Sophia’s Cathedral in Los Angeles. I though I might humilate him into behaving himself, stop doing so much cocaine and have to receive a house visitor; but that didn’t work. David performed the ‘Swimming Pool Exorcism’ himself... in fact, when I found a house in California in Los Angeles, an old Hollywood house with a second–foor solarium with a pentagram painted on the foor, he nearly had a heart attack and said we couldn’t live there! David loves to play weird. He just can’t stand not to be the head Ho Ho." [My interview with Angie Bowie in 2003]

Bowie asked someone for a mezuzah, a talisman against demons used by Qabalists. In April 1974, while in London, Angie Bowie received a phone call from her husband in LA, who claimed that he was kidnapped by a magician and two witches who wanted to steal his sperm. Allegedly, they intended him to father a Baby for Rosemary.

Angie Bowie reacted reluctantly: "Believing he was held captive by a warlock and [*** C*** ***] and he was to inseminate the whatever by All Hallows’ Eve. I told him, I said, why did they bother to hold you captive, they just needed to ask. I’m sure you’d have been delighted to [***] AGAIN... I never bought his stories. NEVER. Flying all the way to Los Angeles for him to invent some hallucination, drug–induced, about witches and warlocks... Please!" [My interview with Angie Bowie in 2003]


"Such is the stuff from / Where dreams are woven"


In February 1975, Bowie insisted, "that Hitler was a terrible military strategist but his overall objective was very good." It was obvious that he was living in other realms.
On the CBS The Cher Show, 23.11.1975, he was undoubtedly speaking to himself in the duet with the sex icon Cher in 'Can you hear me?' Was he 'Calling Sister Midnight'?

Bowie was reading Helena Petrovna Blavatsky and Georges I. Gurdjieff, and (according to Peter & Leni Gillman: "Alias David Bowie", London 1986) in 1975 allegedly he met the Crowleyite Kenneth Anger ("Anger vigorously denies this; he says he's never met David Bowie," Henry Edwards and Tony Zanetta: "Stardust: The David Bowie Story", NY 1986), and soon would develop a new alter ego: the emotionless Aryan superhuman called The Thin White Duke. In late 1975 he started recording the songs for his next album, 'Station to Station', released in January 1976.

ImageKenneth Anger had lived in Aleister Crowley's Boleskine House in Scotland for a summer before Jimmy Page bought it in 1970 from the Canadian who owned it.

Anger's later membership in the Crowleyan Ordo Templi Orientis is easily demonstrated by the way he signs his private letters (to me, the present author) with the abbreviation "O.T.O.", and the fact that he is a known associate of the chief of a modern–day American version of the O.T.O., called the 'Caliphate'. In fact, Anger is listed as a member of the 'Caliphate' O.T.O's IXth degree in the group's membership list (see details of Crowley's sex–magical system above). A member of Charles Manson's infamous 'Family', Robert Beausoleil, lived together with Anger for some time. Before he took up murdering Hollywood celebrities in 1969, Beausoleil had acted the part of Lucifer in Anger's movies 'Lucifer Rising' in 1966 and 'Invocation of My Demon Brother' of 1969; when he was sent to prison, he composed the music for 'Lucifer Rising'. Kenneth Anger was also instrumental in the founding of Anton LaVey's 'Church of Satan'. And allegedly it was LaVey who played the rôle of Satan in Roman Polanski's movie 'Rosemary's Baby' (this is in fact not true). Sharon Tate, one of the Family's murder victims, was Polanski's wife.


ImageEd Sanders: "The Family. The Story of Charles Manson's Dune Buggy Attack Battalion", New York / Dutton, 1971.
First edition, pages 162–163.

Keywords: Aleister Crowley, Ordo Templi Orientis, LSD ...
Ed Sanders:


In 1993, Bowie admitted that it was the atmosphere surrounding the Manson murders that had induced his fascination with what he called 'Black Magick'. Manson himself was possessed by occult fantasies.

Nonetheless, most people were far more interested in Bowie's latest hair–style than his lyrics. He still maintained, "I'm Pierrot, I'm Everyman. What I'm doing is Theatre, and only Theatre... what you see on stage isn't sinister. It's pure clown... putting over the great sadness of 1976."

B.t.w, it is preposterous to assume that Bowie had ever been initiated into the O.T.O. After all, in the 1970s, it was a Swiss group that might be regarded as the only active O.T.O. worldwide.

In 1978, Bowie described his persona of 1976 as "a very Aryan, Fascist type; a would–be romantic with absolutely no emotion at all but who spouted a lot of neo–romance." [Bowie interviewed by Timothy White: "Turn and Face the Strange", in 'Crawdaddy', February 1978.]


Christopher Sandford (via Angie Bowie) ("Bowie — Loving the Alien", Revised and Updated, London 1997): In March 1976 "Bowie gave an interview in which he said, 'I want to be prime minister of England.'" — "I just want to have a revolution in England [...] The one thing I want to do when I get back to England is see what is happening there politically [...] When I'm a lot older and know what I'm talking about politically, I would like to get into our politics back home. I still have my Grand King complex. I'll never lose that. I'm ultra Capricorn." [BOWIE: NOW I'M A BUSINESSMAN, 'Melody Maker' 1976, Interview by Robert Hilburn.]
Sandford: "Then he began, with the aid of his book of magic numbers, to calculate the ideal moment for him to assume power."


According to Bowie's manager Kenneth Pitt from about 1967 to 1970, Bowie's mother, Peggy, naively joined Mosley's Blackshirts in the 1930s for no other reason than she liked the uniform. [Kenneth Pitt: "Bowie: The Pitt Report", London 1983].


ImageOn platform 8 in Victoria Station / London on 2nd May 1976 Bowie had been photographed (by the 'New Musical Express': see small scan of the item in question on the right) giving something that looked vaguely like a Nazi salute (which did not come across in both the footage ! ), and had been overheard muttering "I am the only alternative for Premier in England. I believe Britain could benefit from a Fascist leader. After all, Fascism is really nationalism" a week before in Stockholm.
David Bowie salute that looks like a nazi salute which does NOT come across in the two videos. New Musical Express May 1976


"People aren't very bright, you know. They say they want freedom, but when they get the chance, they pass up Nietzsche and choose Hitler."
"Adolf Hitler was one of the first rock stars... think about it... I think he was quite as good as Jagger. It's astounding. And, boy, when he hit that stage, he worked an audience. Good God! He was no politician. He was a media artist himself. He used politics and theatrics and created this thing that governed and controlled the show for those 12 years."
"I think I might have been a bloody good Hitler. I'd be an excellent dictator. Very eccentric and quite mad."
"I'd love to enter politics. I will one day. I'd adore to be Prime Minister. And yes, I believe very strongly in Fascism. The only way we can speed up the sort of liberalism that's hanging foul in the air at the moment is to speed up the progress of a rightwing, totally dictatorial tyranny and get it over as fast as possible
."
[Bowie interviewed by Cameron Crowe: "A candid conversation with the actor, rock singer and sexual switch–hitter", printed in 'Playboy', September 1976.]




Bowie's flirtation with nazism fuelled the 'Rock Against Racism' (RAR) movement in 1976.

Years later he distanced himself from any taint of fascism.
"Let me clear this up once and for all [...] I have no political stance whatsoever. I've seen three or four variations of what I am supposed to have said." ['Daily Mirror', February 10, 1978]
"To be insulted by these fascists — it's so degrading." ('It's No Game (Part 1)', 1980)



http://www.parareligion.ch/bowie.htm
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Fri Apr 07, 2017 12:59 pm

Lysergic acid diethylamide


Suggestibility

While publicly available documents indicate that the CIA and Department of Defense have discontinued research into the use of LSD as a means of mind control[36], research from the 1960s suggests that both mentally ill and healthy people are more suggestible while under its influence.[37][38].


36."Is Military Research Hazardous to Veterans Health? Lessons Spanning Half A Century, part F. HALLUCINOGENS". December 8, 1994 John D. Rockefeller IV, West Virginia: 103rd Congress, 2nd Session-S. Prt. 103-97; Staff Report prepared for the committee on veterans' affairs. December 8, 1994.

37. Middlefell R (March 1967). "The effects of LSD on body sway suggestibility in a group of hospital patients" (PDF). Br J Psychiatry. 113 (496): 277–80. doi:10.1192/bjp.113.496.277. PMID 6029626.

38.Sjoberg BM, Hollister LE (November 1965). "The effects of psychotomimetic drugs on primary suggestibility". Psychopharmacologia. 8 (4): 251–62. doi:10.1007/BF00407857. PMID 5885648.
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Sat Apr 08, 2017 7:59 pm

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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby Elvis » Sat Apr 08, 2017 8:48 pm

Christian Tantra

And the two shall be one. —Matthew 19:5.

What is Tantra?

Tantra is an ancient practice of combining sexual energy and prayer. The easiest way to explain it is to compare sex with heating a pot of water.

Typical Sex. No prayer is involved. The couple puts the pot of water on the stove and turns the fire up full blast. The water gets hotter and hotter until it boils over and the fire goes out.

Tantric Sex. The couple begins with prayer. They put the pot of water on the stove and turn the fire on low. Prayer is continued, with more intensity, as the water gets warmer. If the water gets near the boiling point, the couple turns the fire down to a low simmer. Instead of boiling the water over, the couple uses the energy of the heated water to power their prayer, for a deeper connection to God and each other, for a long time.


My Spouse and I Tried This, But Our Pots Boiled Over Pretty Fast.

Practice, turn your fire down sooner for a while, until you learn to have longer and longer sessions. Then, you can practice with a hotter fire.


Isn't Tantra a Hindu Practice?

It is mostly known as a Hindu practice, but people of other faiths have practiced it for many centuries.


How Can It Be Christian?

Tantric techniques of directing the strong power of sex, into prayer, can just as easily be used for Christian prayer as it can for the prayers of any other religion.


Do We Need to Believe in Chakras?

The basic idea of chakras is that different energies are stored in different parts of the body. In Tantra, using the chakra system, you would be directing sexual energy from your root chakra (near your genitals) to your crown chakra (at the top of your head), where you connect with God. Whether that is true or not does not matter; the essence of what you are doing with Tantra is that you are directing energy from your sexual passions into prayer. You can do that without using the chakra system.


What About All Those Positions?

Various positions are just ways of adjusting the heat. You can use whatever positions you like.


So We Can Use Tantra in Our Marriage to Enhance Our Christian Prayer Together?

Absolutely.


Can We Use the Energy We Generate for Healing Ourselves and Our Relationship?

Absolutely.


Why Don't More Christian Churches Teach This?

Probably some combination of fear and not knowing.


I'm not a Christian, but I'm not a Hindu, either. Can I use the prayers from my religion with Tantra?

Use whatever prayers you like. God hears all prayers.


I'm Single. Do I Need a Spouse to Do This?

No, but, for a single person, Christian Tantra is quite different. Instead of building your sexual energy to high peaks, direct every bit of it into prayer. Keep your water no hotter than luke warm. If it gets any hotter, turn the fire off.


http://loversintraining.org/christian-tantra/
“The purpose of studying economics is not to acquire a set of ready-made answers to economic questions, but to learn how to avoid being deceived by economists.” ― Joan Robinson
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Wed Apr 12, 2017 9:41 am

Ordo Templi Orientis Phenomenon
Birth of a new American O.T.O.


History of the Solar Lodge of the O.T.O.
Charles Manson and the Occult


by Peter-Robert Koenig
1999/2011


ImageEd Sanders: "The Family. The Story of Charles Manson's Dune Buggy Attack Battalion",
New York / Dutton, 1971.
First edition, pages 162–163.


More below.



ImageCharles Manson, never a member of one of the many O.T.O. groups, is regularly brought up by the tabloid press in rehashed stories of his alleged brief contact with Georgina Brayton's 1960's 'Solar Lodge of the O.T.O.'

The 'Caliphate' (a new American O.T.O. founded in 1977) has frequently described this earlier O.T.O. lodge 'irregular', but Phyllis Seckler, one of the 'Caliphate's' main protagonists (she was the wife of its founder, Grady L. McMurtry) has admitted that the 'Solar Lodge' was a genuine O.T.O. body. To exaggerate a little, one could say that without Manson the 'Caliphate' would not exist at all. Let's unfold a bit of this particular history.


Continues at: http://www.parareligion.ch/sunrise/manson.htm
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Fri Apr 14, 2017 1:36 pm

http://queenmobs.com/2017/04/poems-howie-good/


POEMS: HOWIE GOOD


Image


THE STREET TO HEAVEN
The average American believes in reincarnation but hates hugs. Some even claim that the stuff inside us is the same stuff swirling inside stars. Meanwhile, elderly Jewish grandmothers were murdered to music. What was yours thinking as she sleepwalked along? Was she thinking of bones and shooting stars? No matter. You have been quietly waiting, only hands and face illuminated, for God to explain what he does nowadays. The outcome is a disappointment, needles falling off a Christmas tree in a living room in Levittown, Long Island.



HOMO HOMINI LUPUS
I said, “Hey, man, you all right?” This was someone who was trying to disappear. He seemed to be eroding, like a limestone sculpture of grief on an abandoned grave. I mentioned that the ancient Chinese recommended the healing power of dog saliva. He said nothing, didn’t even glance at me. The black dots in the distance may have been farm women beating a stranger to death with their hoes.



All government offices had closed for the day. Instead, it was the pollution that was responsible for the beautiful colors at sunset. I could feel a disaster coming even before I noticed the row of empty stores. My thoughts circled back to the magician’s blonde assistant who should have retired, like Rossini, at 38. This reminded me of a parable. A student asked the Zen master, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” The master slapped his face.



The woman put a .25-caliber Beretta, a lady’s gun, and not a very nice lady, in her purse. She had seen Double Indemnity on Turner Classic Movies something like 73 times. My primary thought was of escape. At first I couldn’t remember where I had parked the car, and by the time I did remember, the pool of blood on the ground was moving as if it were alive.



Start again, this time with a dog with an American flag bandana knotted around its neck. Which route would you rather take, the shortest or the most scenic? My mother wouldn’t drive on highways, too afraid, a phobia I don’t share but many apparently do. It was her heart that eventually killed her. As she liked to say, “Life’s what you make it.” Now it’s a boat. Now a flower pot.



THE HOTEL OF FORGOTTEN ARTISTS
There’s no one at the reception desk to welcome you. There never is. Only you don’t realize that. How could you? And so you wait. You wait and wait, and while you wait, your clothes, your manner, your worldview go out of fashion. Only you don’t realize that either. By now you don’t even realize that you are waiting, because you have been waiting so long that waiting has become indistinguishable from being, the total extent of your activities. Nothing ever disrupts or otherwise interferes with the industry of waiting. No one crosses the lobby. No one sits on the furniture placed in conversation clusters. No news enters from outdoors. It’s been a year, maybe more, since you last imagined you heard voices, footsteps, music. Upstairs the rooms are spotless – in fact, identical white boxes – and all numbered zero.



SELF-PORTRAIT IN HELL
When I leave home, it’s still dark. What I’d like to do if I could is grab a policeman and walk him on a leash down the avenue. Instead, a sad guy leaps out at me. “What’d you say?” he demands. I barely answer. The more I stare at his face, the more it looks like a carnival mask, green, violet, and pink. Misery burns us. Drugs burn us. The sun burns us. It occurs to me that you’d have to be pretty naïve to loot a ziggurat. He had covered it in that ultra-black paint of his. I don’t know why but clocks can be heard to howl. And then? And then the deer are fat and ready for eating.



REVISIONIST HISTORY
If someday you happen to think of me, think of me as rude hand gestures in super slow motion, or as a plain-looking car with a trunkful of guns, or as the cyanide pill that an American spy caught crossing the Soviet border should have swallowed but didn’t, think of me as the needles of rain keeping bored children locked up indoors all day, and forget the rest, the oracular diction, and the blue, blue eyes, and the strong shadows that can mean there was a lot of sun.




Howie Good is the author of Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize. His latest book is A Ghost Sings, a Door Opens from Another New Calligraphy. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely.
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Re: Tantra-Induced Delusional Syndrome ("TIDS")

Postby American Dream » Fri Apr 14, 2017 1:48 pm

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