Once the late ’60s boom in acid culture and acid cinema had dissipated, the psychedelic movie became another component of the fringe and the experimental, something to recur and be revived at intervals, a pattern that continues into the present.
Just as the folklore-fueled punk of the Pogues obliterated boundaries of time and distance for me, the D. I. Y. movement tore down the walls I’d assumed stood between pro and amateur, between artist and audience.
My time as an addict gave me the best gift I could have never thought to ask for: it granted me the deepest of compassion and empathy for every living being.
An unprecedented kind of mind has suddenly appeared during the last couple of millennia. Enflamed and encrusted with growths like the insupportable noggin of the
elephant man, this self cannot help but look upon the world to
presuppose a somewhat larger Self: the One and Only CEO and Sole
Manufacturer of Absolutely Everything.
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