ayahuascakhan
12-09-2007, 11:13 PM
I was just featured in this magazine I would love to hear people's opinions and Pinchbeck's if he still has time for us little folks.
December 2007
Issue #3002
1. The Genuine Review is a catalyst toward the global conscious shift that is absolutely imperative for the survival of our species as well as our planet. Our goals are not politically motivated although our actions might cause politically charged results. Our goal is to unify humanity under the banner of universal consciousness, that which is deep seeded love, peace and unity for all that exists within the universe. We strive to save the planet and ourselves… and in this we realize that we all must undergo rapid personal transformation. The Genuine Review provides yet another forum to express and decode what is happening internally, externally and globally. So please, if you feel that your goals for the next few years share a path that is intertwined with ours, realize that communication and networking are our most important assets. With this we ask you to please pass The Review on to anyone that you think would have something to offer and/or benefit from this
conversation. We are always looking for volunteers: artists, writers, poets, and the like to submit material. With that said please add your email to the family, and help toward networking the global conscious expansion that is needed to save our species and planet. If you would like to submit material please email me at : majesticpoeticness@yahoo.com, put an asterisk and your name in the subject column. To subscribe type subscription in the subject column. And please... please... forward this email to anyone and everyone. We thank you all so much for your subscriptions and help in building a community of genuine companionship. The Genuine Review is you... The Genuine Review is a vehicle... this vehicle is an extension of the universe perceiving itself in the form of art and dialogue on a global network of computers. The future is ours. The future is open. Peace, Love, and Over standing.
Donald Arrington
1. Genuine Preamble
2 Contributions
*Columns
3. 2007 And Far From Heaven
4. Horizons: The Psychedelic Renaissance
5. The American Cockroach
*Poems
6. It's Always Someone's Heart Burning
7. The Unknown Poet
8. Norman, Why Couldn't You Live Forever
9.. City Nights
**Artist of the Month**
10. Bio
11. Revolution
12. Welcome Home
13. The Godhead
14. The Self
15. The Illusion
16. Conversations with Asad
2. Contributors
Donald Arrington- poet, musician, columnist ,founding editor of The Genuine Review
Rich Quatrone- columnist, poet, and playwright living at the jersey
shore for 15 years. He's the father of John and Eric. Rich
produces the Playwrights-on-the-Rise series for the Strand
Theater in Lakewood; he and Joe Musso have just completed
the indie film, Pussy of God, in which Rich is featured.
Asad Khan- ***Artist Of The Month***
Luke Smith- Columnist, layout, and design.
Trip! - master of jelly. Has spread himself all over the
world's bread, he is looking to further his career by toasting. Having
been labeled an eco-terrorist, charlatan, hedonist, and funkle, he
averts attention under his moniker as an hallucinegenic expatriate.
Understanding the limits of humanity, Trip indulges in an organic
vegan lifestyle made up of yoga, frequent masturbation, and
scrap-booking.
Columns
3. 2007 AND FAR FROM HEAVEN
Today's New York Times on the front page reports that between 100, 000 and 300, 000 barrels of oil a day are disappearing in Iraq. That's $5 to $15 million worth of oil disappearing daily in Iraq. I remember a few months ago the astonishing fact reported on CNN that $4, 000, 000, 000 dollars in one hundred dollar bills had disappeared in Iraq. That's four billion dollars in $100 bills, stolen, lost, in Iraq. This was reported on the corporate news one night. It was mentioned on a subsequent night, and "mentioned" is the key word. After that, nothing. Now, nothing. So, this is as good a place as any, I suppose, to say something about 2007. We are raping Iraq. I don't know, can you rape a dead victim? That's necrophilia, right? America has become a necrophiliac, then. Or perhaps I'm being unfair to the people of Iraq. They're not dead. Not all of them. We've managed to leave some alive. And people will always survive, as they did in Nazi Germany, as they do in Palestine, as
they do in Darfur, as they did and do in the African diaspora.
So maybe these remarks can focus on survival. On how we manage to keep our sanity, our health, our humor, our love, our hope, in 2007. Because really, what else is there for me to report about? We were given a chance on September 11, 2001. Corporate media never speaks of it this way, as we know. We received a wake up call that day, from the world. From the have nots of the world. We, the haves and the have mores, heard from the desperate that day. They'd been calling out to us for years, for decades, for longer than that. It wasn't coincidence that a few weeks before the attack on the World Trade Center our delegates walked out of the conference on the world's poor, held at Durbin, South Africa. We walked out. Didn't want to hear what the real needs were. Didn't want to hear what our global economic policies were doing to the economies and to the poor and vulnerable all over the planet, particularly in so-called third world countries. Of course, the attack on September 11
was planned before the Durban conference. But one might view our behavior there as the final signs of an illness about to make its full eruption onto the skin of a disease-riddled body. Our body. America's body.
So, 2007? Well, we might say it's something of a miracle that we're still standing in 2007. We, meaning America. Or at least the America of the rulers. The America whose president is George Bush. For, obviously by now, the real America has no president. It's leaderless. Of course, wisdom tells us, both America's are leaderless. And this is, perhaps, something we can see more clearly in 2007-- that the haves and the have everything’s thought they could install Bush and he would serve them well, fill their coffers, feed their appetites. But, by now, even they realize they've gone too far. That George Bush and his forces have pushed the world beyond its limits. Even pushed Nature beyond its limits. Sane folks could easily panic now in 2007. Or brave folks, wise folks. There is a time to panic. Or at least to be terrified. Or at least to anticipate being terrified. This is real terror. The terror we should feel and fear. The terror we should protect ourselves and posterity
from. This, the terror created by our own misdeeds, our own actions, our own cruelties, our own arrogance, and in the end, our own cowardice. 2007? An amazing year, then. Amazing because we're still walking around ignoring reality, ignoring the dangers inherent in our actions and policies, ignoring the violence we not only continue to do to the world's poor, beginning here at home, but are increasing.
What is the hope then in 2007? I'm not sure. I'm not sure there is any hope. I'm sorry to say it. I mean, there is always the painful hope, the hope I've spoken of to young people, including my sons. The hope that follows the full bloom of a disease that devastates an organism but doesn't kill it entirely. This is, I think, just about the only hope America currently has. What wise, strong, loving, patient people live with. That after the destruction and collapse of America as we know it, there will be those of us who survive, the few, the strong, the lucky, who will learn from all the errors, and begin anew.
Now, some will read these remarks and use them against me. Will say I'm not a patriot. Will say I'm dangerous. Of course, this is untrue. I am a patriot. I believe, for all its faults, in the Constitution. I believe America's forefathers, for all their blatant moral faults, had some inner core of wisdom, some dream perhaps, that said, maybe, just maybe, if we create this republic with this Constitution, a document with built-in methods of amendment, maybe we can transcend our own cruelty, maybe we can transcend the horrors we've committed against the Natives and the Africans, maybe we have created a document that purges itself and purges us, and in so doing, sets the framework for a nation in the future which will be truly a nation of all the earth's people come together, truly a nation with kindness, moral character, wisdom, strength and hope.
This is the real understanding we can, if we choose, have in 2007. We can work in intimate and public ways to help the earth survive us but also to benefit from us.
Rich Quatrone
4. Horizons:
The Psychedelic Renaissance
“There is nothing more American then Psychedelics!” proclaimed Neil Goldsmith Ph. D with a grin from the stage of the Judson Memorial Church in NYC. Neil, (whose ‘Ten Lessons of Psychotherapy, Rediscovered’ can be found in psychedelic medicine: new evidence for hallucinogenic substances as treatments [Praeger, 2007]) was one of the ten speakers who graced the stage at the first annual Horizons: conference for contemporary perspectives on psychedelics. He then proceeded to say, “that a science that can include alternate universes can surely make room for altered states of consciousness.”
The event was organized by Kevin Balktick, and sponsored by the non-profit organization MAPS (The Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies). On Saturday October 27, 2007 the historical church filled itself with open hearted, open minded explorers of consciousness. There was an absolutely magical aura radiating throughout that building as visionaries’, and true American patriots descended on New York City to push toward the public stream consciousness the importance of these sacred sacraments in a completely rational and scientific based dialogue.
Personally, I am sick of being forced by my government (the same government that claims to be exporting freedom across the globe) to live in secrecy. I am forced to hide my deepest most intimate connection to the universe, my spiritual union with the creator. No one should have to feel criminal in their search for the truth, in their search for the divine… especially in America!!!
Even in the midst of the ‘Drug War’, Opiate related deaths doubled from 1999 to 2004, and most were from legal opiates used to treat pain. Now I don’t know about you but I’ve never heard of anyone ever over dosing on marijuana (just to name one of these entheogens that have sacred roots throughout planetary culture. When I look around I see hopeful eyes in hopeless places with their needles in their arms... With crack pipes hanging out of their mouths... With no faith in humanity... We are loosing the war on drugs…
I’ve been told that freedom doesn’t come free, and I say that I am not free to practice my own spirituality. The time for religious persecution in America is over. We as Americans, take our liberty for granted the way we take our natural resources for granted, seeing both rather casually as being magically self replenishing (Naomi Wolfe, The End Of America, 2007 ). Amidst this struggle – this fight to ward off the fascist scumbags that have high jacked America and its constitution, it was really nice you know to sit down in the middle of New York City… the cultural epicenter of the western world and be able to just take a breather. To just sit and smile, and look around and know that I am not here alone. That we are all in this together, that no matter where I may go I will always have a home… because I will always have my comrades’ – brothers and sisters in arms, whether at Burning Man or at Horizons or even just a local show, you can catch those eyes that just seem to
speak to you… to beacon you… to shine just a little brighter than all the rest. You know your on the same page, and that feeling makes all the difference.
As Terence McKenna said, “A specter is haunting planetary culture – the specter of drugs… and the time has therefore come in the deal of great natural discourse that is the history of ideas, thoroughly to rethink our fascination with the habitual use of psychoactive and physioactive plants.” (Terence McKenna, Food Of The Gods). And that’s what Horizons was all about – an open dialogue to help rethink our perceptions of altered states of consciousness so that we might one day as a species be able to harness the energies of these experiences, to help use them to heal not only ourselves but our planet. And for that I am so thankful for this freshly inaugurated annual event, thank you Horizons… thank you… you couldn’t have come at a better time, it's because of events like you and organizations such as MAPS that the psychedelic renaissance is here.
MAPS is fighting for and organizing psychedelic research throughout the world. The first legally sanctioned human studies with LSD are set to begin sometime in early 2008. Go to www.maps.org for more info.
Donald Arrington
5. The American Cockroach
(New York City) – An unidentified terrorist menace has been destroying public and private property for weeks. Residents of Washington Heights from 175th street to 209th street follow the ink trails, and find one thing in common; cockroaches.
Police have identified cockroach caricatures riddled on corporate buildings, apartments, sidewalks, and public parks. The Citywide Vandals Taskforce, headed by Chief Ed Young, is sponsoring a $500 reward program for any information that will lead to the arrest and conviction of this vandal.
“Graffiti is something for which our administration has zero tolerance,” Mayor Bloomberg said, calling it “an invitation to criminal behavior.”
In each painting, the cockroaches are personified into domestic human roles. Along the historic cobblestone 190th subway station, a cockroach is seen blowing bubbles that form into peace symbols. The bubbles scatter twenty feet away from the insect.
“I kind of enjoy it,” said a local, who wishes to remain anonymous, “It makes me feel good to see it on my way to work.”
But the police department disagrees. With recent collaborative efforts within the city, infrared cameras have been installed in discreet locations
across Manhattan. In order to locate and incarcerate vandals, detectives are examining graffiti patterns.
“I think it’s misguided young people,” said James Degina, 72, who spoke while fishing on Sunday in the harbor in the village. “I fought in World War II against this type of thing.”
If you have seen any vandalism, report it immediately to your local police station, or dial 311. across Manhattan. In order to locate and incarcerate vandals, detectives are examining graffiti patterns.
Trip!
Poems
6. IT'S ALWAYS SOMEONE'S HEART BURNING
the way of the world
in iraq endless murders are taking place
women men children homes burned demolished
all for america's sick heart
bush the madman on the rampage
unbridled greed arrogance stupidity malice idiocy
it's always someone's heart burning
35 million americans gone hungry last year
american children starving
children and the elderly and the rest of us
without healthcare
the rich fatten in their mansions mexican vacations
bloated meals at fancy restaurants
the new york times carries ads for watches that cost
thousands of dollars dresses and suits and a multitude
of obscene luxuries the same
it's always someone's heart burning breaking smothering
beneath this sick nations unchecked violence
kids killing kids in schools
teachers fucking students
millions of american homes without real books or art
televisions poisoning the minds and hearts of teenagers
and little children
the nightly news lying to us
ignoring real stories for trivia and bizarre tales
of individual depravity
while national depravity is left unmentioned
it's always someone's heart burning and breaking
and starving from lack of real nourishment hope love
and then of course there are the small travesties
and betrayals we withstand daily in our private lives
which pale by comparison
17nov07
8:23am
rich quatrone
7. THE UNKNOWN POET
for bob laguardia
take this ode to the unknown poet
30 years silence
but not in his garret
where the best poetry was written
where he poured out his heart soul mind
now we have an ode to him
better than those with reputations
friend allen was out there making his play
became the most famous poet in his day
talking to us, the people on the street, the people
off our feet, down, out, beat
that's it
beat
and he did a good job
he had followers
why, i'm one, no doubt
claimed ancestry to whitman
had conversations with blake while high
i sigh
but behind it all
beneath it all
lay the deeper load
the mother lode
the silent explosion of the unknown poet
drawing on the culture of the past
on our literary ancestors
drawing on the knowledge of warfare
drawing on a conversations with his brother
there he was
like no other
said, damn it
i won't take part in this charade
i won't have it made
and so for thirty years his poetry cooked in its own juices
the long stew
compressed beneath itself
burrowing deep into the core
anabolic poetry
having learned the art of submersion
the unknown poetry of the unknown poet
secretly plodding secretly plotting
writing the poem to show the final folly of all wars
the world went along
the sycophantic scribblers and rhymers made big reputations
for themselves
and passed themselves off as the real deal
but who, tell me, who really believed this lie
only the simpletons the bored and the boring
those who needed flattery and something to tell
themselves to keep away the suicidal impulses
liars all
uninspirers all
so now
another twenty years gone by
the world about to die
on the threshold of his own death
the unknown poet give us his
last breath
9nov07
brick, nj
Rich Quatrone
8. NORMAN, WHY COULDN'T YOU
LIVE FOREVER!?
i loved you, norman
and now my son loves you!
jesus, norman, why couldn't you live
forever, or at least another 20 years,
to see us through this godforsaken time
with the likes of bush in the white house
and the country gone to shit.
norman!!!!!!
norman mailer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
where the hell are you now when we all
need you?
you're in your books, i know. 30 books!!
i read the new york times article about you
by some shmuck reporter who makes you out
to be some kind of egomaniacal nutcase with
talent.
hell, no, norman!
you were the real deal.
a genius of the highest order.
well, i'm tired, norman, i really am.
i'm only 60 and i'm tired.
how the hell did you make it to 84?
okay, norman, i'm going back to
my life. see you in 20.
regards
Rich Quatrone
9. City Nights
Shattered realms, and beats dancing open new vortexes’
Of light and happiness. We gather around the
The moon and tell stories of the beds we used
To sleep in,
collecting new information and wishing
that we could fall back in time,
comfortable in the womb.
Crystal culture opens portals to heaven on earth, and
The cleansing remembering about our souls.
Shells surround our bones as we grow toward
Enlightenment and the showing of the globe.
Open mouth, ingest the seed. Mind expand,
Let go of greed. Let go of the past, future,
Dreams and memories.
Enter the moment of
Now… Beautiful we stand,
incumbent of ourselves.
Ecclesiastical signs penetrate third eyes in paintings of life
Alive on mirrored walls. Do what ever you want,
Whenever you want -
you only live once.
II.
Walk past dead animals and stolen artifacts jailed inside
The glass our own dirty history of destroying the
World. Planet used to be covered in trees now
Concrete and cold. Space molds now, with then
and us with them. Extraterrestrial metal structuring
Staring into the eyes of the sun we be one with natures
Mystery writing away our wrongs and regrets choke
The chest as our eyes ingest our past ink telling me
The lies that the past thinked willingly,
a country in disguise is a very
unnatural looking thing.
Space monkeys programmed Apollo holding the globe
On its axis. God is a hermaphrodite and the virgin
Mother mary is a whore. Bible spliffs puff quick
As monsters knock on our door. “Come just let me
In for a second.” Wide pupils eventually leave
Beer on the floor.
III.
Departure from this concrete maze of torture and pigs and
Junkies galore. Magic metal bird flying through skies
Filled with sorrow and war. Carry people from home
To home, always come back for more. The garden
State magnetic field attracts crap in the cracks of the
Boards we walk upon,
hot summer lawn exploding
Into meat.
We meet the same girl and share our insanities with each others
Manly halves.
We are all prisoners of some kind of war. Missing in the action
Of being fully alive. These day’s I almost feel like I’m dying –
And I am, - one day at a time.
We all fall in love with dirty little whores, - they, knock us down
Back into line like we’re some kind of five foot bowling
Pins. And, “how did the world come to this?” we ask.
In our fits of rage with no place to place the hate
and animosity of a generation.
Stuck in a technological trap with television chords
wrapped around our necks,
tourniqueting our heads from our bodies.
work sleep eat breath,
our favorite hobbies have lost meaning.
Creating revenue for corporate gains instead of maintaining
Open brains - minds knotted in spotted patterns, we were raised
to think like this.
Unfit to hip lifts in conciseness, extinguishing
our pure thoughts of love and peace and love.
Hieroglyphics on old buildings show the decay of western society
Art ‘labeled’ vandalism is historic for that. Or at least - it will be.
New world forming in place of the old one. Our chapter in
History lies before us. One foot in front of the other,
Building blocks of humanity,
art can save the world,
yes art can save the world,
yes art can save the world…
February 20, 2007
12:00PM Brick, NJ
Donald Arrington
December 2007
Issue #3002
1. The Genuine Review is a catalyst toward the global conscious shift that is absolutely imperative for the survival of our species as well as our planet. Our goals are not politically motivated although our actions might cause politically charged results. Our goal is to unify humanity under the banner of universal consciousness, that which is deep seeded love, peace and unity for all that exists within the universe. We strive to save the planet and ourselves… and in this we realize that we all must undergo rapid personal transformation. The Genuine Review provides yet another forum to express and decode what is happening internally, externally and globally. So please, if you feel that your goals for the next few years share a path that is intertwined with ours, realize that communication and networking are our most important assets. With this we ask you to please pass The Review on to anyone that you think would have something to offer and/or benefit from this
conversation. We are always looking for volunteers: artists, writers, poets, and the like to submit material. With that said please add your email to the family, and help toward networking the global conscious expansion that is needed to save our species and planet. If you would like to submit material please email me at : majesticpoeticness@yahoo.com, put an asterisk and your name in the subject column. To subscribe type subscription in the subject column. And please... please... forward this email to anyone and everyone. We thank you all so much for your subscriptions and help in building a community of genuine companionship. The Genuine Review is you... The Genuine Review is a vehicle... this vehicle is an extension of the universe perceiving itself in the form of art and dialogue on a global network of computers. The future is ours. The future is open. Peace, Love, and Over standing.
Donald Arrington
1. Genuine Preamble
2 Contributions
*Columns
3. 2007 And Far From Heaven
4. Horizons: The Psychedelic Renaissance
5. The American Cockroach
*Poems
6. It's Always Someone's Heart Burning
7. The Unknown Poet
8. Norman, Why Couldn't You Live Forever
9.. City Nights
**Artist of the Month**
10. Bio
11. Revolution
12. Welcome Home
13. The Godhead
14. The Self
15. The Illusion
16. Conversations with Asad
2. Contributors
Donald Arrington- poet, musician, columnist ,founding editor of The Genuine Review
Rich Quatrone- columnist, poet, and playwright living at the jersey
shore for 15 years. He's the father of John and Eric. Rich
produces the Playwrights-on-the-Rise series for the Strand
Theater in Lakewood; he and Joe Musso have just completed
the indie film, Pussy of God, in which Rich is featured.
Asad Khan- ***Artist Of The Month***
Luke Smith- Columnist, layout, and design.
Trip! - master of jelly. Has spread himself all over the
world's bread, he is looking to further his career by toasting. Having
been labeled an eco-terrorist, charlatan, hedonist, and funkle, he
averts attention under his moniker as an hallucinegenic expatriate.
Understanding the limits of humanity, Trip indulges in an organic
vegan lifestyle made up of yoga, frequent masturbation, and
scrap-booking.
Columns
3. 2007 AND FAR FROM HEAVEN
Today's New York Times on the front page reports that between 100, 000 and 300, 000 barrels of oil a day are disappearing in Iraq. That's $5 to $15 million worth of oil disappearing daily in Iraq. I remember a few months ago the astonishing fact reported on CNN that $4, 000, 000, 000 dollars in one hundred dollar bills had disappeared in Iraq. That's four billion dollars in $100 bills, stolen, lost, in Iraq. This was reported on the corporate news one night. It was mentioned on a subsequent night, and "mentioned" is the key word. After that, nothing. Now, nothing. So, this is as good a place as any, I suppose, to say something about 2007. We are raping Iraq. I don't know, can you rape a dead victim? That's necrophilia, right? America has become a necrophiliac, then. Or perhaps I'm being unfair to the people of Iraq. They're not dead. Not all of them. We've managed to leave some alive. And people will always survive, as they did in Nazi Germany, as they do in Palestine, as
they do in Darfur, as they did and do in the African diaspora.
So maybe these remarks can focus on survival. On how we manage to keep our sanity, our health, our humor, our love, our hope, in 2007. Because really, what else is there for me to report about? We were given a chance on September 11, 2001. Corporate media never speaks of it this way, as we know. We received a wake up call that day, from the world. From the have nots of the world. We, the haves and the have mores, heard from the desperate that day. They'd been calling out to us for years, for decades, for longer than that. It wasn't coincidence that a few weeks before the attack on the World Trade Center our delegates walked out of the conference on the world's poor, held at Durbin, South Africa. We walked out. Didn't want to hear what the real needs were. Didn't want to hear what our global economic policies were doing to the economies and to the poor and vulnerable all over the planet, particularly in so-called third world countries. Of course, the attack on September 11
was planned before the Durban conference. But one might view our behavior there as the final signs of an illness about to make its full eruption onto the skin of a disease-riddled body. Our body. America's body.
So, 2007? Well, we might say it's something of a miracle that we're still standing in 2007. We, meaning America. Or at least the America of the rulers. The America whose president is George Bush. For, obviously by now, the real America has no president. It's leaderless. Of course, wisdom tells us, both America's are leaderless. And this is, perhaps, something we can see more clearly in 2007-- that the haves and the have everything’s thought they could install Bush and he would serve them well, fill their coffers, feed their appetites. But, by now, even they realize they've gone too far. That George Bush and his forces have pushed the world beyond its limits. Even pushed Nature beyond its limits. Sane folks could easily panic now in 2007. Or brave folks, wise folks. There is a time to panic. Or at least to be terrified. Or at least to anticipate being terrified. This is real terror. The terror we should feel and fear. The terror we should protect ourselves and posterity
from. This, the terror created by our own misdeeds, our own actions, our own cruelties, our own arrogance, and in the end, our own cowardice. 2007? An amazing year, then. Amazing because we're still walking around ignoring reality, ignoring the dangers inherent in our actions and policies, ignoring the violence we not only continue to do to the world's poor, beginning here at home, but are increasing.
What is the hope then in 2007? I'm not sure. I'm not sure there is any hope. I'm sorry to say it. I mean, there is always the painful hope, the hope I've spoken of to young people, including my sons. The hope that follows the full bloom of a disease that devastates an organism but doesn't kill it entirely. This is, I think, just about the only hope America currently has. What wise, strong, loving, patient people live with. That after the destruction and collapse of America as we know it, there will be those of us who survive, the few, the strong, the lucky, who will learn from all the errors, and begin anew.
Now, some will read these remarks and use them against me. Will say I'm not a patriot. Will say I'm dangerous. Of course, this is untrue. I am a patriot. I believe, for all its faults, in the Constitution. I believe America's forefathers, for all their blatant moral faults, had some inner core of wisdom, some dream perhaps, that said, maybe, just maybe, if we create this republic with this Constitution, a document with built-in methods of amendment, maybe we can transcend our own cruelty, maybe we can transcend the horrors we've committed against the Natives and the Africans, maybe we have created a document that purges itself and purges us, and in so doing, sets the framework for a nation in the future which will be truly a nation of all the earth's people come together, truly a nation with kindness, moral character, wisdom, strength and hope.
This is the real understanding we can, if we choose, have in 2007. We can work in intimate and public ways to help the earth survive us but also to benefit from us.
Rich Quatrone
4. Horizons:
The Psychedelic Renaissance
“There is nothing more American then Psychedelics!” proclaimed Neil Goldsmith Ph. D with a grin from the stage of the Judson Memorial Church in NYC. Neil, (whose ‘Ten Lessons of Psychotherapy, Rediscovered’ can be found in psychedelic medicine: new evidence for hallucinogenic substances as treatments [Praeger, 2007]) was one of the ten speakers who graced the stage at the first annual Horizons: conference for contemporary perspectives on psychedelics. He then proceeded to say, “that a science that can include alternate universes can surely make room for altered states of consciousness.”
The event was organized by Kevin Balktick, and sponsored by the non-profit organization MAPS (The Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies). On Saturday October 27, 2007 the historical church filled itself with open hearted, open minded explorers of consciousness. There was an absolutely magical aura radiating throughout that building as visionaries’, and true American patriots descended on New York City to push toward the public stream consciousness the importance of these sacred sacraments in a completely rational and scientific based dialogue.
Personally, I am sick of being forced by my government (the same government that claims to be exporting freedom across the globe) to live in secrecy. I am forced to hide my deepest most intimate connection to the universe, my spiritual union with the creator. No one should have to feel criminal in their search for the truth, in their search for the divine… especially in America!!!
Even in the midst of the ‘Drug War’, Opiate related deaths doubled from 1999 to 2004, and most were from legal opiates used to treat pain. Now I don’t know about you but I’ve never heard of anyone ever over dosing on marijuana (just to name one of these entheogens that have sacred roots throughout planetary culture. When I look around I see hopeful eyes in hopeless places with their needles in their arms... With crack pipes hanging out of their mouths... With no faith in humanity... We are loosing the war on drugs…
I’ve been told that freedom doesn’t come free, and I say that I am not free to practice my own spirituality. The time for religious persecution in America is over. We as Americans, take our liberty for granted the way we take our natural resources for granted, seeing both rather casually as being magically self replenishing (Naomi Wolfe, The End Of America, 2007 ). Amidst this struggle – this fight to ward off the fascist scumbags that have high jacked America and its constitution, it was really nice you know to sit down in the middle of New York City… the cultural epicenter of the western world and be able to just take a breather. To just sit and smile, and look around and know that I am not here alone. That we are all in this together, that no matter where I may go I will always have a home… because I will always have my comrades’ – brothers and sisters in arms, whether at Burning Man or at Horizons or even just a local show, you can catch those eyes that just seem to
speak to you… to beacon you… to shine just a little brighter than all the rest. You know your on the same page, and that feeling makes all the difference.
As Terence McKenna said, “A specter is haunting planetary culture – the specter of drugs… and the time has therefore come in the deal of great natural discourse that is the history of ideas, thoroughly to rethink our fascination with the habitual use of psychoactive and physioactive plants.” (Terence McKenna, Food Of The Gods). And that’s what Horizons was all about – an open dialogue to help rethink our perceptions of altered states of consciousness so that we might one day as a species be able to harness the energies of these experiences, to help use them to heal not only ourselves but our planet. And for that I am so thankful for this freshly inaugurated annual event, thank you Horizons… thank you… you couldn’t have come at a better time, it's because of events like you and organizations such as MAPS that the psychedelic renaissance is here.
MAPS is fighting for and organizing psychedelic research throughout the world. The first legally sanctioned human studies with LSD are set to begin sometime in early 2008. Go to www.maps.org for more info.
Donald Arrington
5. The American Cockroach
(New York City) – An unidentified terrorist menace has been destroying public and private property for weeks. Residents of Washington Heights from 175th street to 209th street follow the ink trails, and find one thing in common; cockroaches.
Police have identified cockroach caricatures riddled on corporate buildings, apartments, sidewalks, and public parks. The Citywide Vandals Taskforce, headed by Chief Ed Young, is sponsoring a $500 reward program for any information that will lead to the arrest and conviction of this vandal.
“Graffiti is something for which our administration has zero tolerance,” Mayor Bloomberg said, calling it “an invitation to criminal behavior.”
In each painting, the cockroaches are personified into domestic human roles. Along the historic cobblestone 190th subway station, a cockroach is seen blowing bubbles that form into peace symbols. The bubbles scatter twenty feet away from the insect.
“I kind of enjoy it,” said a local, who wishes to remain anonymous, “It makes me feel good to see it on my way to work.”
But the police department disagrees. With recent collaborative efforts within the city, infrared cameras have been installed in discreet locations
across Manhattan. In order to locate and incarcerate vandals, detectives are examining graffiti patterns.
“I think it’s misguided young people,” said James Degina, 72, who spoke while fishing on Sunday in the harbor in the village. “I fought in World War II against this type of thing.”
If you have seen any vandalism, report it immediately to your local police station, or dial 311. across Manhattan. In order to locate and incarcerate vandals, detectives are examining graffiti patterns.
Trip!
Poems
6. IT'S ALWAYS SOMEONE'S HEART BURNING
the way of the world
in iraq endless murders are taking place
women men children homes burned demolished
all for america's sick heart
bush the madman on the rampage
unbridled greed arrogance stupidity malice idiocy
it's always someone's heart burning
35 million americans gone hungry last year
american children starving
children and the elderly and the rest of us
without healthcare
the rich fatten in their mansions mexican vacations
bloated meals at fancy restaurants
the new york times carries ads for watches that cost
thousands of dollars dresses and suits and a multitude
of obscene luxuries the same
it's always someone's heart burning breaking smothering
beneath this sick nations unchecked violence
kids killing kids in schools
teachers fucking students
millions of american homes without real books or art
televisions poisoning the minds and hearts of teenagers
and little children
the nightly news lying to us
ignoring real stories for trivia and bizarre tales
of individual depravity
while national depravity is left unmentioned
it's always someone's heart burning and breaking
and starving from lack of real nourishment hope love
and then of course there are the small travesties
and betrayals we withstand daily in our private lives
which pale by comparison
17nov07
8:23am
rich quatrone
7. THE UNKNOWN POET
for bob laguardia
take this ode to the unknown poet
30 years silence
but not in his garret
where the best poetry was written
where he poured out his heart soul mind
now we have an ode to him
better than those with reputations
friend allen was out there making his play
became the most famous poet in his day
talking to us, the people on the street, the people
off our feet, down, out, beat
that's it
beat
and he did a good job
he had followers
why, i'm one, no doubt
claimed ancestry to whitman
had conversations with blake while high
i sigh
but behind it all
beneath it all
lay the deeper load
the mother lode
the silent explosion of the unknown poet
drawing on the culture of the past
on our literary ancestors
drawing on the knowledge of warfare
drawing on a conversations with his brother
there he was
like no other
said, damn it
i won't take part in this charade
i won't have it made
and so for thirty years his poetry cooked in its own juices
the long stew
compressed beneath itself
burrowing deep into the core
anabolic poetry
having learned the art of submersion
the unknown poetry of the unknown poet
secretly plodding secretly plotting
writing the poem to show the final folly of all wars
the world went along
the sycophantic scribblers and rhymers made big reputations
for themselves
and passed themselves off as the real deal
but who, tell me, who really believed this lie
only the simpletons the bored and the boring
those who needed flattery and something to tell
themselves to keep away the suicidal impulses
liars all
uninspirers all
so now
another twenty years gone by
the world about to die
on the threshold of his own death
the unknown poet give us his
last breath
9nov07
brick, nj
Rich Quatrone
8. NORMAN, WHY COULDN'T YOU
LIVE FOREVER!?
i loved you, norman
and now my son loves you!
jesus, norman, why couldn't you live
forever, or at least another 20 years,
to see us through this godforsaken time
with the likes of bush in the white house
and the country gone to shit.
norman!!!!!!
norman mailer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
where the hell are you now when we all
need you?
you're in your books, i know. 30 books!!
i read the new york times article about you
by some shmuck reporter who makes you out
to be some kind of egomaniacal nutcase with
talent.
hell, no, norman!
you were the real deal.
a genius of the highest order.
well, i'm tired, norman, i really am.
i'm only 60 and i'm tired.
how the hell did you make it to 84?
okay, norman, i'm going back to
my life. see you in 20.
regards
Rich Quatrone
9. City Nights
Shattered realms, and beats dancing open new vortexes’
Of light and happiness. We gather around the
The moon and tell stories of the beds we used
To sleep in,
collecting new information and wishing
that we could fall back in time,
comfortable in the womb.
Crystal culture opens portals to heaven on earth, and
The cleansing remembering about our souls.
Shells surround our bones as we grow toward
Enlightenment and the showing of the globe.
Open mouth, ingest the seed. Mind expand,
Let go of greed. Let go of the past, future,
Dreams and memories.
Enter the moment of
Now… Beautiful we stand,
incumbent of ourselves.
Ecclesiastical signs penetrate third eyes in paintings of life
Alive on mirrored walls. Do what ever you want,
Whenever you want -
you only live once.
II.
Walk past dead animals and stolen artifacts jailed inside
The glass our own dirty history of destroying the
World. Planet used to be covered in trees now
Concrete and cold. Space molds now, with then
and us with them. Extraterrestrial metal structuring
Staring into the eyes of the sun we be one with natures
Mystery writing away our wrongs and regrets choke
The chest as our eyes ingest our past ink telling me
The lies that the past thinked willingly,
a country in disguise is a very
unnatural looking thing.
Space monkeys programmed Apollo holding the globe
On its axis. God is a hermaphrodite and the virgin
Mother mary is a whore. Bible spliffs puff quick
As monsters knock on our door. “Come just let me
In for a second.” Wide pupils eventually leave
Beer on the floor.
III.
Departure from this concrete maze of torture and pigs and
Junkies galore. Magic metal bird flying through skies
Filled with sorrow and war. Carry people from home
To home, always come back for more. The garden
State magnetic field attracts crap in the cracks of the
Boards we walk upon,
hot summer lawn exploding
Into meat.
We meet the same girl and share our insanities with each others
Manly halves.
We are all prisoners of some kind of war. Missing in the action
Of being fully alive. These day’s I almost feel like I’m dying –
And I am, - one day at a time.
We all fall in love with dirty little whores, - they, knock us down
Back into line like we’re some kind of five foot bowling
Pins. And, “how did the world come to this?” we ask.
In our fits of rage with no place to place the hate
and animosity of a generation.
Stuck in a technological trap with television chords
wrapped around our necks,
tourniqueting our heads from our bodies.
work sleep eat breath,
our favorite hobbies have lost meaning.
Creating revenue for corporate gains instead of maintaining
Open brains - minds knotted in spotted patterns, we were raised
to think like this.
Unfit to hip lifts in conciseness, extinguishing
our pure thoughts of love and peace and love.
Hieroglyphics on old buildings show the decay of western society
Art ‘labeled’ vandalism is historic for that. Or at least - it will be.
New world forming in place of the old one. Our chapter in
History lies before us. One foot in front of the other,
Building blocks of humanity,
art can save the world,
yes art can save the world,
yes art can save the world…
February 20, 2007
12:00PM Brick, NJ
Donald Arrington