THE HOFMANN GENERATION

THE HOFMANN GENERATION

17 April 2020

"Last Friday, April 16,1943, I was forced to interrupt my work in the laboratory in the middle of the afternoon and proceed home, being affected by a remarkable restlessness, combined with a slight dizziness. At home I lay down and sank into a not unpleasant intoxicated-like condition, characterized by an extremely stimulated imagination. In a dreamlike state, with eyes closed (I found the daylight to be unpleasantly glaring), I perceived an uninterrupted stream of fantastic pictures, extraordinary shapes with intense, kaleidoscopic play of colors. After some two hours this condition faded away."

― Albert Hofmann

 

 

16th April 2018 was the 75th anniversary of Albert Hofmann’s LSD discovery, of course for the global Psychedelic Culture it was obviously, a day to celebrate, mark in some respect.  Hofmann’s, Friday, April 16,1943 was quite a discovery…

It is as it is, I’m one of Hofmann’s Generation, one of the many that have had their mind altered by the great Acid experience. Yet, as I recall, the 75th anniversary, I was in India, lost in the jungle; tripping my tits off with no way of knowing which was East, or West.

Looking back, it was funny, utterly memorable, but for all the wrong reasons.  Firstly, dawn in the Indian jungle genuinely, is not remotely akin with a nice early morning walk in the English countryside.  Dawn in the Indian jungle on acid, is like having every sense in your body lit with an industrial gas lighter.  Forget the fortunate sighting of the odd hare, fox or fat pigeon, in Britain’s green and pleasant lands.  This was no organized safari…

Tripping my tits off, off track, lost with a camera around my neck, in an all singing, all dancing, rustling jungle of kaleidoscopic colour and squealing animals.  Alone, with the wildest of the Animal Kingdom, all senses alert for tiger, leopard, and King Cobra. Which for the more brutal, predominantly unchallenged, always dominating Western mind to suddenly, comprehend what it means for the hunter to become the hunted.  Was, and remains an experience that altered something within me, it was profound and yet to be honest, excruciatingly sad at the same time.  It is what LSD does, it makes you look at things differently, seemingly, it opens both the mind and the heart, and with it, as is my personal experience, we see more clearly.

We share this world with the Animal Kingdom, and yet we’ve slaughtered, destroyed, and dominated it – with the same ruthless velocity America and Britain have destroyed the Middle East. Certainly, if getting lost in the jungle on LSD, taught me anything, it showed me, that without respect for the Animal Kingdom, without acknowledging its equal right and place on this planet, or remembering the spiritual law, that demands we learn to live and let live; mankind will never thrive.

Yet, I’m not writing about animals, instead the subject is drugs and LSD. Beginning this on the 17th April 2020, perhaps, the need is to tip my hat to Hofmann in some way, but really, I’ve quite a lot to say about drugs in general. It is as it is, they’ve played a predominant role in my life.

I had my first acid trip when I was twelve.  Completely ignorant to what it was, but hey, we’d been given it by someone’s older brother, what could go wrong?  We’d been on a school outing to London and the Natural History Museum, he’d met us there.  There were three of us, Sarah, Daphne and me, now on the back seat of the bus headed back to school.

We dropped one.  When half an hour later nothing had happened; we took another.  Jesus, by the time we got back to our all girl’s boarding school, an hour and a half later, two micro-dots down, we were fucked.  Alas, as was school procedure, we’d had to go straight into the refectory for supper. There standing waiting for grace to be said, a vast bowl of pink mousse positioned on the table in front of me, decorated with dobs of cream and sugared slices of lemon and orange.  There tripping my tits off, there was just something about those slices, unthinking unable to contain myself, I’d reached out picking one of the orange ones, dancing it straight into my mouth… 

“How dare you!”

A mortal crime, my housemistress like a bionic doughnut, her oversized being suddenly standing right beside me, “For that, you can say Grace.” Jesus Christ, the rush of acid storming through my veins, a moment of crazy, then, I’d opened my mouth, and instead of saying, “For what we are about to receive…” unwittingly, the Lord’s prayer had come out instead.  Causing a ripple of giggles from everyone in the refectory, and with it, like a dragon unleashed, her fiery fury spitting at me, my housemistress snarled “Get out of here, go to the Bulge, I’ll deal with you after supper.”

It is exactly as it was, burnt into my memory ‘my first acid trip.’ Yet being sent to the Bulge, which was the circular hallway outside the headmistress’s office, well… the cornice, moulding around the edge of the ceiling was an elaborate display of ugly gargoyles.  Over an hour spent waiting, and if there is anything, I learnt from my first trip, it is that nothing is real, nothing is solid, everything is energy.  Those gargoyles came alive; morphing into moving, breathing beasts of the gnarled and extraordinary.  Certainly, you’re never going to live a normal life, after you’ve taken two micro-dots and spent an hour with twenty gargoyles; aged twelve.

It is as it was, and how it has been.  I’m one of The Hofmann Generation. Just one of many, who can freely admit that Lysergic Acid Diethylamide has played a massive role in my life, and once I’d learnt to respect it, has proven to be one of my greatest teachers.  These days, unlike past crazy, I take it no more than once, maybe twice a year, but always with an extended break in between.  Like a Native American preparing to go into a Sweat Lodge, I’ve taken to fasting for a couple of days before, never mixing it with alcohol or other substances and always, preferring to take it by myself, in a rural setting. Today, I do, I view it as something deeply sacred, attaching an element of ceremony to it, purposefully, asking the Universe to answer a question, or show me what it is I need to know.

I laugh, because compared to the all-consuming reckless nutter of times past; Jesus, I was so naughty in my youth, even Keith Richards, once told me I should put the brakes on.  Still, taking LSD in India in recent years has been a different kind of experience; whilst all kaleidoscope of colour, can be noted to be more akin with a multitude of dazzling sarees.  While unlike the West, where I always appear to hang out with the Faerie Folk, in the East I know only a sense of being in the arid heat of a desert, and it being more Lawrence of Arabia and all Omar Sharif.

Anyway, I’d been staying on a beach in Goa for a few months, studying yoga and martial arts, taking one on one instruction from a couple of exceptional young Brahmin.  Remarkable men, studying since they were three year’s old, each responsible for gifting me with so much knowledge. Sadly, there are no Westerner’s as equally accomplished.  Yet, I’d been really struggling with a pain in my lower back, stifling much of my progress.  Complaining about it, they’d both said the same thing, ‘’Work through it, get to the root cause of the pain.” I found their response tedious and unhelpful, but perhaps, I hadn’t truly understood them…

Then, I was gifted a tab of LSD from a Californian friend.  It is as it was, I took myself off to a little cove, an empty beach known only by the locals.  Begging the universe to bestow upon me what I needed to learn.  I’d sat myself under a coconut tree, with a bottle of water and off I went.  Then, just as is my respect for LSD, it took me into that pain in my lower back, showing me every time, I’d hurt that same area.  Falling off horses, a skiing accident, falling off a trapeze, doing a drunken backflip into a pool.  Image after image, a montage of mayhem, the list was extensive, no wonder my back hurt.  Yet, it’s what we do isn’t it; endless accidents, probably never fully healing from any of them. 

Yet, more remarkable, is that it took me back to an accident I’d had with my mother, when she’d rolled her Lancia Spider on some ice.  I’d been three or four years old; it was back in the early 70’s, I’d obviously no seat belt on.  Yet so young, I’d forgotten all about it, no longer even conscious of it.  Still, as is the extraordinary healing capacity of acid, it had taken me back, a couple of seconds of rolling in that car again, and it was so obvious, this was where I’d initially hurt myself.  Yet, still more oddly, more amazing, is that from that day to this, I’ve had no further trouble from my lower back.  Just as the lad’s had said, “Get to the root cause of the pain” and with it we heal ourselves.

When you look up the statistics for Acid use, perhaps more prevalent in the US than anywhere else, but of all the illicit drugs on the global market, it remains the least consumed. Whilst it’s not a drug for everyday use, and obviously, this play's a influence on the statistics. Yet unlike coke, or smack, that just fuck you up. Acid truly is as Terence Mckenna always said, “Psychedelics are illegal not because a loving government is concerned that you may jump out of a third story window. Psychedelics are illegal because they dissolve opinion structures and culturally laid down models of behaviour and information processing. They open you up to the possibility that everything you know is wrong.”

He’s right, taking Acid is like spending a day with a healer.  Certainly, anyone still trusting their government or contemplating taking Bill Gates’s Covid-19 vaccine, should sit right down, tune in, drop one and reconsider…

While that’s but a contentious side note, but my respect for acid remains very real, it is a magician. Alas, when it comes to other drugs, I do genuinely view the deluge of drugs on the global population in the last forty years, as being a great part of the plan to both subdue, and distract mankind from both seeing and protesting against the endless moves being made by the New World Order.  I mean who cares about standing up against ever greater laws of restriction, or protesting another Middle East war, wage cuts or animal rights, when you’ve a stash of crack, or the hangover from hell?

Yet really, while we might thank the CIA, Pablo Escoba and the fact that selling drugs is generally preferable to becoming a plumber, but coupled with an epic 80’s 90’s rave scene that truly set the tone.  Drugs are no longer ‘something of a minority’ they are instead like the corner stone of contemporary culture.  

When you consider, that in London during the early 80’s, you’d be well lucky if you could find a bit of Jamaican Sensi, but otherwise, and more generally, it was a bit of African Bush or at worst a piece of Soap Bar.  Whilst I admit, I was busy and rebellious, but still as I understood the drug scene in my early teens, it consisted only of aging hippies, smack heads and the odd glue sniffer, with little in between. 

Hence, I do, I find it astounding, gobsmacking, that while society has always loved its litre of rum, by the mid-eighties when the streets of London were suddenly, lined with high-grade coke. It’s like we all started taking drugs.  Whilst the statistics are difficult to read, because they’re predominantly based on people in treatment.  Yet, here on this island we call the UK, one of the world leaders in getting wasted; a healthy reputation for being the debauched-on-steroids.  However today, we are a nation, where 80% of the adult population drink, where liver disease has increased 400% since the 70’s, and where today, well over a third of the population consume illicit drugs regularly.  Really, it never used to be like this…

Still, as with what happened in the 70’s when high-grade heroin was poured onto the streets, duly hooking the many.  It was the same with coke in the 80’s, every major city just got busy with it.  This was the change. Then, as they started cutting the coke, E’s took over, twenty-five quid for a single tab that would have you raving all night, then the moment the grade and variety of E’s began changing, we started necking MDMA instead. It is as it was, we partied, and the drugs were everywhere.

Whilst it was my own parents, who I can blame for teaching me to party from a very early age.  Oddly, strangely, remarkably of the mind ‘we had to learn to drink.’ Subsequently, I was introduced to small glasses of wine with supper as an eleven-year-old, by the time I was fourteen, drinking red wine, white wine, followed by a Cointreau for dinner on Saturday night was the norm.  Add my creative leanings, passion for music, surrounded by those of similar mind; drugs and alcohol held a kind of common place, that my youthful inexperience never questioned.  It was simply what we did; we consumed them.

And each time I partied, I took greater and greater quantities.  Addiction was always going to be my middle name.  I was wild.  While I can say getting pregnant aged twenty-four probably saved my life and slammed the brakes on.  For all the good times I’d had, for all the funny stories and the privilege of hanging out with some unforgettable individuals and being able to say ‘’I was there…” at some iconic events, the downside remains.

Coke is a beast, and while I never dabbled with heroin, I witnessed so many good people die from it, and while we might think ‘So, what…’ about a night on E’s and MDMA.  There is no get out free token to taking drugs, life is a game of consequences and everything we do has a cause and effect.  For me, as sharp and as generally fit as I remain, always using drugs or alcohol to fundamentally suppress all emotion – is like creating a back catalogue of ‘shit to be dealt with.’  Which fundamentally just leaves you like a pin cushion of unresolved issues, ticking like a time bomb.

It took me three years to ultimately clean up, I’d manage a week, ten days, and then, something would happen that would trigger the kind of feelings I knew no way of handling, so I’d relapse again.  It was a merry-go-round of picking myself up and falling back down, ruthless, agonizing, until eventually I somehow accepted that it was more painful getting fucked up, than staying clean – really, you’d wish addiction on no one. 

Yet, as is the reason Keith Richards is still alive. My generation were lucky too, we had good drugs, in so far as they weren’t cut to fuck with god knows what and terrifying synthetics.  Still, while the Government shouted about their ‘War on Drugs’ with an ounce of knowledge, you can see how it was in truth, the war to get us to take more drugs.  Yet, ffs how the hell did we morph from Escoba’s high-grade coke, to a pandemic of horse and fish tranquilizers and an organic fertilizer? Really, who was it that first said “Awww, let’s see how this fertilizer messes you up?”

Still, when the Dalai Lama, starts asking people to stop taking Ketamine because they’re blocking up the astral plane.  It is a bit like saying “Folk’s we’ve a big fucking problem!” Alas, it is as it is, but perhaps, we need to acknowledge that as much as drugs can expand the mind, get us hooked etc etc.  What about the unforeseen issues, what is it the Dalai Lama is really talking about? Do we really have any idea of what we’re doing or where are addictions are taking us?

While alcohol is no doubt the worst, in so far as when the mind blacks out, where does it go?  Yet, blasting our heads off on copious amounts of drink and drugs, creates holes in our auric fields, that whilst we might not be conscious of such an idea, in doing so, we lay ourselves dangerously open to demonic forces. 

I’ve witnessed it, people changing into someone unrecognisable as some entity turns them into its new home.  Terrifying to observe; becoming more aggressive, twisted in their outlook, nasty, even violent when challenged, completely removed from the person you once knew.  Certainly, as you observe the zombies wondering the streets on Spice, it remains apparent that this is an issue, now dauntingly prevalent.  Alas, once you’ve got some demonic fucker dictating your every move, it requires a seriously well attuned healer to remove it.   Yet, as are the statistics, these are all too often the souls you just can’t help, these are those that have become so addled by their addiction, their only reprieve is death.

While I believe we all experience something in our lives that will bring us to our knees and challenge us to change.  Certainly, we find light through darkness.  Yet, when you consider that here in the West, one in five people is now necking prescribed anti-depressants, an increase in 73.3% in the last ten years.  People, what has happened to us? Why have we no longer the tools and way-with-all to live happy fulfilling lives without drugs? Certainly, there’s nothing like addiction or dependency on prescription drugs to maul your self-worth, and ultimately leave you feeling like a piece of shit…

Spiritually absolutely fucking broken. 

Interestingly, during that same acid trip I had in Goa, all Omar Sharif and Eastern mystic. At some point, in what was a long day of deep insight and swirling sarees. There was a section, a scene in which I was shown a woman wearing a burqa.  Not something, I’ve ever given much thought to or had an opinion about, certainly, I’ve never quite understood a bunch of Westerner’s making assertions as to what’s right or wrong for our Eastern sister’s.  I mean, if you wish to wear a burqa; wear one…

Yet, this bit of my trip wasn’t so much about the burqa, but instead concerned ‘sacredness.’  In its origination, at its purest, the burqa was worn to preserve a woman’s beauty for only the eyes of her husband.  However, it may have been abused, enforced to suppress over the years, this is not what this acid trip was trying to show me. Instead, it was showing me, how much I’d lost, how much dignity I’d forsaken, how my easy attitude to drugs and sex; the whole I want what I want, quick fix and shag of Western culture. Had destroyed not only the beauty of feminine modesty – but annihilated, all consideration of all that once sacred to us women.

Jesus, I lost my virginity aged fifteen, to some bloke called Justin [who lived up to his name] but it is as it was, my virginity was of no value beyond something to rid myself of to keep up with my contemporaries. Yet how sad is that, how removed has the West become from all essence of true value and sanctity? While by comparison in India, where to this day, 60/70% percent of all marriages are still arranged, and every Indian girl I’ve ever met has arrived at the temple with not only her virginity intact, but with it coupled to a 100% commitment to marriage being for life.  None so oddly, India has the lowest divorce rate in the world.

Meanwhile, as is our throw away Western way, I waddled up the aisle, not only pregnant, but fancying someone in the congregation far more than I fancied my husband.  While kneeling to pray, having just taken our marital vowels, there’d been a ripple of laughter, the word ‘Help’ written in black marker pen on the soles of my shoes by my best friend. It was hopeless, my marriage was doomed before it even started.  It lasted thirteen months, and that, was longer than most of my friends had wagered. 

Yet, it is how it’s been since the ‘Free Love of the 60’s’ – this is the West, it’s just sex, drugs and rock n’roll.  However, when you think, that Alan Turing, the mathematics and computer scientist, heralded for wining World War II for cracking the German ciphers. The Enigma code that allowed Britain to access Nazi Naval movements. Anyway, despite his incredible achievement for ‘Queen & Country’ – Turing was gay, and in 1952 charged with ‘gross indecency’ and duly punished with chemical castration. Administered with injections of a synthetic oestrogen ‘to feminise him.’ Merciless and utterly contemptable of the State, yet this was the disparagement with which homosexuality was frowned upon just seventy years ago. 

Then, consider how everything has changed; unquestionably driven by the Music Industry, as the Rock & Roll era’s smart suited and ‘well married’ 1950’s gave way to the braless, tie-dye, mini-skirts and multiple partners of Woodstock n’all. Then, on through the 70’s with disco, funk, soul and ultimately, glam rock, which liberally paved the way for the homosexual acceptance and Gay Pride of the 80’s. Which in turn, through the 90’s emphasized the lesbians. It is as it is, it’s all been a process to bring us here, to the whole trans, LGBT and rainbow of gender identity we’ve reached today. 

And it was, it was all driven by the drugs trade and the Music and Film Industry.  Off our tits, dancing to the greatest of music, the West lost all inhibition.  Today, we are nations of souls living within the understanding ‘that anything goes’ and soon, seemingly paedophilia will be normalized too.  Meanwhile, if anyone should dare to believe differently, you’re likely to be charged with discrimination.

Alas, what is the great liberal oxymoron, which had I known, had I been taught the truth about sex, would have altered my attitude considerably.  Yet, tragically like most of the West, we’ve been denied all real spiritual knowledge, drowned by Religious crap and New Age bollox, we stand completely naïve to our truth.  

Instead, our minds have been manipulated by a satanic Music and Film Industry, that’s packaged us with every fairy-tale but the truth, while selling sex as if it was bread.  Couple this with a farce of an Education System that was all too happy to inform us how to practice safe sex.  Yet, failed to explain the fundamental laws of life, and that it is those we have sex with, that interconnects our souls life after life and perpetuates the reincarnation process.  Jesus, if I’d known this as a fifteen-year-old girl, I’d never have slept with Justin, indulged in the one night stands that I have, or entered into almost every relationship I’ve ever had, with the attitude I was there only until something better came along.

Like the Holy Grail, this is the truth. This is the truth, that has broken our families, ravaged our communities, and turned the West into ‘the free for all’ that has sold our sacred souls to a vast untruth…

We call ’Sex, Drugs and Rock n’Roll.’