“An artist is somebody who enters into competition with God.” – Patti Smith
I would like to dedicate this edition to all the wonderful Women in the Entheogen Movement….
Here is to our brave sisters who have harrowed both heaven and hell, survived 2000 years or persecution, and still carry on.
Here is to those that went before, and those who are with us now: Laura Huxley, Ro Woodruff Leary, Ann Shulgin, Sacha Delia , Diane Darling, Kat Harrison, Maria of Oaxaca, and all the other Women who have been in the forefront for all these years and have held onto the High Ideal…
This Entry is for you….
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
On The Menu
The Links
Danielle Dax: Tomorrow Never Knows
Scottish Legends and Traditions: The Pechs
Danielle Dax – Cathouse
Poetry: Patti Smith
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The Links:
Research Links ‘Ecstasy’ to Survival of Key Movement-Related Cells in Brain –
Designer Drug Studies In Japan
New York City Is Hell for Pot Smokers
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Danielle was flying the Psychedelic Flag when nobody else was stepping up to the plate. Her music had a wonderful footing in Surrealism. She now makes her living as a gardener in London….
Danielle Dax – Tomorrow Never Knows…
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Scottish Legends and Traditions: The Pechs
“Long ago there were people in this country called the Pechs; short wee men they were, wi red hair, and long arms, and feet sae braid, that when it rained they could turn them up owre their heads, and then they served for umbrellas. The Pechs were great builders; they built a the auld castles in the kintry; and do ye ken the way they built them?Ill tell ye. They stood all in a row from the quarry to the place where they were building, and ilk ane handed forward the stanes to his neebor, till the hale was biggit. The Pechs were also a great people for ale, which they brewed frae heather; sae, ye ken, it bood (was bound) to be an extraornar cheap kind of drink; for heather, Ise warrant, was as plenty then as its now. This art o theirs was muckle sought after by the other folk that lived in the kintry; but they never would let out the secret, but handed it down frae father to son among themselves, wi strict injunctions frae ane to another never to let onybody ken about it.
“At last the Pechs had great wars, and mony o them were killed, and indeed they soon came to be a mere handfu o people, and were like to perish aft the face o the earth. Still they held fast by their secret of the heather yill, determined that their enemies should never wring it frae them. Weel, it came at last to a great battle between them and the Scots, in which they clean lost the day, and were killed a to tway, a father and a son. And sae the king o the Scots had these men brought before him, that he might try to frighten them into telling him the secret. He plainly told them that, if they would not disclose it peaceably, he must torture them till they should confess, and therefore it would be better for them to yield in time. Weel, says the auld man to the king, I see it is of no use to resist. But there is ae condition ye maun agree to before ye learn the secret. And what is that? said the king. Will ye promise to fulfil it, if it be na anything against your ain interests? said the man. Yes, said the king, I will and do promise so. Then said the Pech You must know that I wish for my sons death, though I dinna like to take his life myself.
My son ye maun kill,
Before I will you tell
How we brew the yill
Frae the heather bell!
The king was dootless greatly astonished at sic a request; but, as he had promised, he caused the lad to be immediately put to death. When the auld man saw his son was dead, he started up wi a great stend, and cried, Now, do wi me as you like. My son ye might have forced, for he was but a weak youth; but me you never can force.
And though you may me kill,
I will not you tell
How we brew the yill
Frae the heather bell!
“The king was now mair astonished than before, but it was at his being sae far outwitted by a mere wild man. Hooever, he saw it was needless to kill the Pech, and that his greatest punishment might now be his being allowed to live. So he was taken away as a prisoner, and he lived for mony a year after that, till he became a very, very auld man, baith bedrid and blind. Maist folk had forgotten there was sic a man in life; but ae night, some young men being in the house where he was, and making great boasts about their feats o strength, he leaned owre the bed and said he would like to feel ane o their wrists, that he might compare it wi the arms of men wha had lived in former times. And they, for sport, held out a thick gaud o em to him to feel. He just snappit it in tway wi his fingers as ye wad do a pipe stapple. Its a bit gey gristle, he said; but naething to the shackle-banes o my days. That was the last o the Pechs.”
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One more from Danielle. Wonderful Stuff!
Danielle Dax – Cathouse
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Poetry: Patti Smith
“I don’t consider writing a quiet, closet act.
I consider it a real physical act.
When I’m home writing on the typewriter, I go crazy.
I move like a monkey.
I’ve wet myself, I’ve come in my pants writing.”
–Patti Smith
Poem for Jim Morrison & Bumblebee
Dream of life
Na na na na na
Na na na na na
I’m with you always
You’re ever on my mind
In a light to last a whole life through
Each way I turn
the sense of you surrounds
in every step I take
In all I do
Your thoughts your schemes
captivate my dreams
Everlasting, ever new
Sea returns to sea
And sky to sky
In a life of dream am I
When I’m with you
Deep in my heart
How the presence of you shines
In a light to last a whole life through
I recall the wonder of it all
Each dream of life I’ll share with you
Sea returns to sea
And sky to sky
In a life of dream am I
When I’m with you
I’m with you always
You’re ever on my mind
In a light to last a whole life through
The hand above
turns those leaves of love
All and all a timeless view
Each dream of life
Flung from paradise
Everlasting, ever new
Dream of Life
Dream Of Life
Na na na na na
—
autobiography
(1971)
great human wild animal
amoral
an outlaw
keep watch over her
I was born in Illinois…mainline of America…
beat to shit…Chicago tenement
big red eyed rats in the night…dead rats to tease at night
Morning…I waited for the organ grinder
with my nickel for the monkeys tin cup
gingerbread man…cotton candy man
bad girl setting fire to the oil cans
run like hell escape on the icemans truck
I was a limping ugly duck
but I had good luck
Mama filled me with fantasy…my bears danced at midnight
even my toybox had a soul
Mama called me her goat girl…little black sheep
I loved my brother and sister: Todd and Linda
we drank each others blood…we were double blood brothers
we rolled in fields…three white wolves…we practised telepathy
no one could separate us…our minds were one
One, little one eye…I had an eyepatch…I walked like a duck
In the years the nursery children cried Quack Quack
I didn’t care and didn’t fight back
I floated off…fantasy gave me fire…I was made of water
the moon caused tidal waves and I’d cry like a coyote
I learned to drift…magik…tarot pack
I paraded in thirty disguises
and when people laughed at my carnival family
We didn’t care…We had armor:
Daddy was a tap dancer…acrobat…wild horse
tracing pornography through the bible.
Mama was the dream of every sailor…bootlegged whiskey
called spirits from evenings half moon…dream weaver
We braved hurricanes…a new baby came…I named her Kim
the neighbors were suspicious…they called us witches
we didn’t care…we were laughing and dancing and damned
and there was always music
Hank Williams crying off the lonesomes
funny valentine…Patty Waters
beat of the drum…bartok
song of the swamp rat
rock and roll music
rock and roll music
Rythum
On my own…my own rythums:
rythum of the railroad
steamheat of the factory
Alabama blues on a migrant bus
but as a blueberry picker I failed…I dreamed too much
the berry crop died…my mother smiled.
I ran off…I traveled…I broke down
kept running…TB trapped in the lung…spitting on the railroad track
I shook…I drank…rythum of one too many rhums
Drunk and broke down I slinked home…grabbed my sisters hand
and away we run…We took a freighter to Iceland
railway to Paris…Pigalle and wine in a black dress
I joined the fire eaters and sang in the streets…using all I learned
from Lotte Lenya…Bob Dylan…and motorcycle rock n’ roll
We lived near a wishing well…milked goats…capture snails
and crawled back to New York.
New York my greatest love:
Rise of the building
flash of 42nd street…the pool halls…the hustlers
the trucks along tenth avenue
the helicopter yards
ghost of Jackson Pollock
human shit and dead dog floating on the Hudson River
moving…I kept moving
dreaming:
Panama…heart of adventure
the hot life of Mexico
the drunkard…the dock worker
Rythum…flash of white hair…winter
the Jesters…the Paragons
rise of the blue heron
breathe through the great rythum
scream through the Shepard
sing through that rock n’ roll music
rock n’ roll music
rock n’ roll music
rock n’ roll
—
Where duty calls
In a room in Lebanon
they silently slept
They were dreaming crazy dreams
in foreign alphabet
Lucky young boys
cross on the main
The driver was approaching
the American zone
The waving of hands
The tiniest train
They never dreamed
they’d never wake again
Voice of the Swarm
We follow we fall
Some kneel for priests
Some wail at walls
Flag on a match head
God or the law
And they’ll all go together
Where duty calls
United children
Child of Iran
Parallel prayers
Baseball Koran
I’ll protect Mama
I’ll lie awake
I’ll die for Allah
In a holy war
I’ll be a ranger
I’ll guard the streams
I’ll be a soldier
A sleeping Marine
In the heart of the ancient
Ali smiles
In the soul of the desert
the sun blooms
Awake
into the glare of all out little wars
Who pray to return to salute
the coming and dying of the moon
Oh sleeping sun
Assassin in prayer
laid a compass deep
Exploding dawn
and himself as well
Their eyes for his eyes
Their breath for his breath
All to his end
And a room in Lebanon
Dust of scenes
Erase and blend
May the blanket of Kings
Cover them and him
Forgive them Father
They know not what they do
From the vast portals
of their consciousness
they’re calling to you
—
star fever
[from a copy of Todd Rundgren’s 1973 album A Wizard, A True Star, which includes a Patti “Band-Aid” poem. It’s 3-1/4″ by 12-1/2″, the background is a pinkish bandaid, and the poem is printed in green ink, in her handwriting.]
They can not harm me
They can not harm me
They can only
burn out my eyes
beat my limbs
black and blue
legs cant run
hands cant play
face cant sing
cant sing cant say
They can not harm me
They can only
turn in my eyes
rip out my teeth
spit pure ivory
carve my face like a clock
alarm me clock clock me
bleed me scape goat me
chain me to a rock me
rock me rock me
clever as a fox me
brand a star on/my left shoulder
a star on my left
clever as a fox
my spirit lights
behind the boulder
holding to my name forever
Knowing I’ll go on forever
Spirit laughing free as water
in a ring of fire
with its hair aflame
