Wednesday, October 28, 2009

that elusive...

"My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze forever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within."
-Dejection: An Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

"And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes - a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great Gatsby

"...we stared out the bus window, and there it was, from three miles down the valley -- the green orgiastic fist, lighting up the mountain. Jay Gatsby's green light at the end of the pier had moved west to Hunter S. Thompson Territory. It glowed in the darkness like a long-ago lighthouse on loan from Haight-Ashbury, blinking a sentimental farewell, a bizarre hallucinogenic symbol soon to flicker out forever."

Friday, October 16, 2009

Leer & Frothing on Mt. Peekaboo

" Presumably, [Al] Hubbard was working under the direction of High Priestess [Tuesday] Weld in distributing LSD to the cultural elite in order to change society along Illuminati lines."

Tuesday Weld Is Watching You

" It is possible that some of the "high priestesses" of the Psychedelic Venus Church drifted into the the Mitchell Brothers' sex empire"
- Linda Grant: Sexing the Millenium, 1995

The Psychedelic Venus Church:
"a triple combination of drugs, sex and pagan spirituality... would give the Woodstock Nation a Mother Church".
-Marinacci, M. 1998. Sex, Drugs and Hindu Gods: The Story of the Psychedelic Venus Church.

"It has been known in prostitution rings for decades that prostitution plays a fairly large role in the parties inside the private club. For years it had been rumored that that the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell Theatre in the Tenderloin red-light district of San Francisco was a primary source of strippers and high-class call girls. Several prostitutes have come public with claims they worked in the Grove, and these allegations come with no surprise to those close to the case.

The four Mitchel Brothers dancers Mike Hanson interviewed for his book [Mike Hanson: Bohemian Grove: Cult of Conspiracy , 2004)] confirmed that prostitution was the accepted “unofficial” policy at Bohemian Grove, and that the girls were expected to “perform” sexually for the patrons. One such interview by Hanson uncovered more startling allegations about the club.

and from: Who Killed Hunter S. Thompson?