A recent nostalgia purchase was Timothy Leary’s Chaos and Cyberculture, which is a ridiculous book. I remember being in 8th grade, and one day some people showed up from the high school and gave a pitch that we should join the debate team. Someone told a group of 8th graders about Terence McKenna and the “mushroom counterplan.” It was like, “You get to argue about these crazy scenarios. There’s this guy Terence McKenna who says mushrooms are from outer space, and…” I guess my town was cooler than I thought at the time.
Anyway, it was the 56k modem days (and we were late to upgrade from 14.4k). If you looked for Terence McKenna using excite.com, my favored search engine before alltheweb.com, you’d come across Erowid and deoxy.org, which also had Timothy Leary sections. I remember reading Prometheus Rising and getting into Leary’s “8-circuit model of consciousness” for a bit.
The local library had Chaos and Cyberculture, and I checked it out once. It’s interesting to see it again. Timothy Leary was definitely a white man from Harvard in the 1960s. I can’t stand the writing style in a lot of places. I don’t care about his interview with Winona Ryder. He had both insightful and ridiculous things to say about computers, which I’ll probably write about in the future.
Checking this book out from the library was well before I had a sex life, so the sections on changing sexual attitudes meant nothing to me at the time. There’s a section where he talks to a series of men and women with different perspectives on the sexual revolution. Fred was described as “a black counselor from an urban high school.”
Fred thought that television and films may have dulled consciousness and desensitized kids from the real, flesh and blood world. “You know, they watch Rambo in the theatres, bare chested, sweating, gunning down armies of gooks, and they watch Reagan smiling and waving while he’s sending bombers over Grenada and Libya, and they don’t realize the difference. They seem to think that sex is having aerobic fun rubbing body parts together like on the TV screen. They don’t seem to connect sex with the deep significance of the procreative act. It’s the yuppie-‘eighties attitude. Sex is healthy exercise, good for your self-esteem. Like dancing and jogging and bowling.
“As I remember, it was different in the 1960s. It may sound naive to say this today, but during the hippie years there was a big sense of the sacredness of life. Consciousness was the key. Everything was very important. Holy! They even called psychedelic drugs sacraments. Can you believe that!
“And sex was an act of yogic celebration. A resurrection of the body! Sounds corny to say this, but there was an undeniable reverence for life in the 1960s. Anti-war. Peace and love, baby! People talking about raising consciousness. Kids putting flowers in the barrels of National Guard rifles. Ecological concern for the oneness of life. Which led to vegetarianism. And goofy, pompous idealism. And gee-whiz spiritualism. But it’s a statistical fact that the teenage suicide rates were way down in the 1960s and so were the unconscious pregnancies.
In the 1960s there was almost no personal violence. People were blissed out, I guess. All the violence was governmental. Take Woodstock, for example. Can you imagine it? For three days five hundred thousand kids in gangs rolled around in the mud, listening to rock music, and apparently not one act of violence. Rape was unthinkable [yeah, right]. Fighting was uncool, man.
“By contrast, during one week of spring break in 1986, seven college kids died in Fort Lauderdale, falling off hotel balconies, drunk. And in the Palm Springs Easter riots, kids roamed the streets, drunk, pulling bikinis off women in cars.
“Imagine the low state of consciousness of these kids when they get drunk and fuck. No wonder there are so many unconscious pregnancies.
“I’m talking about the coarseness, the meanness, the thoughtlessness, the materialism, the low consciousness of the Reagan years. Kids seem to be fucking more and enjoying it less, if you ask me.”
There’s one point where Leary explicitly uses the phrase Marine Corps to describe what went wrong in the 1980s.
Timothy Leary was a prude who believed it was better to have sex with friends than strangers:
There is no new sexual conservatism. Nor is hedonism destroying our republic. Your daughters are safe, Archie Bunker. They are more realistic. They are smarter. They want to fuck friends, not strangers. And that has to be beneficial for the mind, for the body, for the soul, and for the American way of life.
If someone didn’t use old books to cope with life as children, how would they ever know it used to be different?
Before 1946, youngsters absorbed and joined their culture by means of personal observation of significant grown-ups. You watched the neighborhood doctor and the local carpenter and the nurse or the maiden aunt, and you drifted into a job. Books, sermons, magazine articles about heroic or antisocial figures also helped define the nature of the social game.
Television changed all that. The average American household watches television more than seven hours a day. This statistic means that yuppies learned about culture, absorbed the roles, rules, rituals, styles,and jargon of the game, not from personal observation but from television images…The only aspect of television that presents real people engaged in actions that are existentially true, credible, and scientifically objective are the sportscasts. This may explain the enormous media attention given to organized athletics.
I guess there was the 60s, and by the 90s we’d heard of the 60s, but that’s been lost. Kids these days don’t know what’s wrong with the word nigger. At the same time, psychedelics are a socially acceptable research topic again. I think it’s because the mean old people who remembered Timothy Leary finally retired, and everyone forgot why acid is supposed to be bad. They just heard of acid and reacted like humans: that’s amazing.
Before talking to Fred, Leary talked to Patricia, a random woman he met at a fancy restaurant in Dallas.
“But weren’t things different ten years ago?” I inquired of Patricia.
“You better believe it, Doc,” said Patricia. “There was that one amazing fourteen-year period between 1966 and 1980 when four thousand years of male domination were briefly overthrown. The key to this ‘sixties cultural revolution was women’s liberation! The hippies represented a feminization, a sensitization of consciousness, a gentle, erotic mellowing. The hippies totally ridiculed the male power structure just by grinning at the cops.
“Here, 1986, in Rambo-Reagan America, it’s hard to remember that back there in 1972, Vietnam soldiers were ashamed to wear their uniforms in public. The Texas Rangers freaked out because their swaggering authority was being ignored. The draft and drug laws were publicly defied. Male politicians and moralists went crazy, warning about Western civilization collapsing before this wave of paganism and hedonism and wild, bra-less feminism. It was a feisty woman, Martha Mitchell, who first blew the whistle on the Nixon Watergate cover-up.
“Remember long hair? Long hair on Texas dudes! That started the country-rock scene at the Armadillo in Austin, Texas. What did that long hair mean? Men accepting feminine erotic power. Remember that cop in Houston who requested permission to grow his hair long so that he could relate to members of the opposite sex–namely, his wife?
“It was the women who made all this ‘sixties stuff happen. The sexual freedom was really women’s freedom. God knows the men didn’t need liberation. The Judaeo-Christian-Moslem double standard always let Texan men do what they wanted.
“I don’t know what it was like up North, honey, but down here in Texas ’round 1969, women suddenly understood that they were free to fuck whom-so-ever they wanted and how-some-ever they wanted. It was the women who learned about slow, serpentine, Hindu, fuck-me-Buddha sexuality.
“Yup, it was the cowgirls who demanded some variation on the missionary position. And gently pulled the heads of their astonished boyfriends down to the promised land and taught white lads how to make girls feel good.
“And it was the women who demanded the new aphrodisiac drugs from their guys. Don’t you remember the motto of the Hippie Girl from Galveston? Keep me high, Long Horn, and I’ll ball you all night long.”
That reminded me of this Bluelight thread from a million years ago. Phreex was a Bluelight superstar. He’s answering the question, “How do you ask a girl to do coke?”
ROFL! I literally choked on a piece of my pizza when I read this one…
You don’t “get” a girl to do coke, you simply announce that you have some – that is, if she doesn’t already know (girls have a sense for these things) … then you must FIGHT to keep her from railing yer entire stash…
If you’re going to trade for sexual favors, then make DAMN SURE you get yer sex BEFORE you run out of cocaine, because no matter what she says, she will *NOT* be there when the powder is gone…
Currently, a blow job from an attractive teenage girl is worth about 2 large lines of decent quality cocaine, with full-service (thats full on sex with a splash of oral) will run ya about twice that… the trick is to draw it out over a long period of time.. give her a line, and wait until she starts to unzip yer pants before you offer more… they learn quick, it’s like genetics or something…
Further down the thread:
sunE couldnt have said it any better – it doesn’t matter if yer married or anything – if you’re a girl, and you want coke, then you get on yer knees and make yer best impression of a doughnut… and if you’re a girl, then you know this is the truth…
Sure, you can lie to yourself and say “I wouldn’t gobble crank over a little snow” .. but deep down inside, you know that the almighty coca alkaloids rule you … you’re a girl, it’s in your DNA ..
And I aint talkin ’bout no crack whores – you can get a hummer from a crack whore for a piece of wax.. you can get some real hotties if ya got some good fish-scale…
Mutually consensual, but not exactly uplifting to the human spirit. Except for being high on coke and having sex and everything. I think this is actually another instance of the pattern I wrote about here. Suppose Patricia and Phreex locked themselves in a room with a big pile of cocaine. In imaging scenarios like that, I have a really hard time believing that Patricia is totally cool with the attitude attached to the penis. Surely you can get high and fuck someone who doesn’t think you’re a stupid whore, who brags about that fact? In this behavior, women are like the black person who goes to a College Republicans’ “Affirmative Action Bake Sale” and buys cookies because “OMG they’re only 25 cents and everyone else is getting charged a dollar!” I’ve seen that. If you’re self-absorbed, you don’t see the problem.
It seems like the prevailing norm is for women to be in denial and use their sexual agency all stupid. It’s like the women declared “Mission Accomplished” and then they could indulge the regressive impulses they had all along and won’t deal with. Frat parties are a site of liberation, amirite? Wouldn’t it be easier to just fuck Rambo and nobody can hurt you and he takes care of everything? Yes, that’s why he told you that manipulative bullshit story…
This is from The Onion: