acidheads

We all have this self image of ourselves. We think that this person who is us doesn’t care or is very nice and selfless. Or that they’re the shit and deserve things or that they’re awful and deserve nothing. Whether or not you have a positive one or a negative one I believe this person is who you truly want to be. But this person changes over time. When you were little you dreamed yourself as a superhero or a princess in later Yeats you may dream of fame and wealth. But at someone point you have this imaginative person that you truly want to be. I’m wondering what happens when you are able to this image of what you want to be. Do you archive true happiness is this what we humans use as a purpose of life? But a real question is how many are actually able to archive this person as themselves.

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 It’s all about timing: if Vince Collins had made his trippy animation Malice in Wonderland in the sixties or seventies then it would have probably been a success, especially with freaks and acidheads. That it was made in the 1980s, when your friendly neighborhood independent cinemas were closing and a new puritanism had sneaked into political discourse perhaps explain why Collins’ short animation was booed off the screen by audiences for offensively “exploiting women.”Malice in Wonderland (1982) is an imaginative and richly Freudian retelling of Lewis Carroll’s famous tale in which Alice repeatedly disappears up (or down) various orifices. At the time Collins was a struggling animator who had relocated from Fort Lauderdale to California to make short animations. He was best known for his award-winning animation Euphoria, which many had thought was about (or had been inspired by) LSD but was mainly the animator experimenting with visuals. Though Collins has admitted he made his psychedelic drug films in the 1970s and his blue movies in the 1980s. Malice in Wonderland is Collins’ blue movie. More people have watched this startling animation on the Internet than all the people who saw it on its first release. Where…

When I feel bad, I just turn to my friends the Beats and the hippie acidheads who followed them, and I feel less lonely. And usually less sad.

I love Kerouac and Burroughs and Thompson and Kesey but with all of them there exists some irreconcilable something (or somethings) that I latch onto and can say “aha, but at least I am not THIS” and feel better for having one mark in my favor in some category where one of my icons, my people, is lacking. Is that it? And that makes me feel like I could get somewhere someday too, I guess. That’s what it is. It’s not about having one up as much as it is about that one representing a reason to believe that I could have the same influence, same affluence perhaps, one day.

Maybe it’s not even that. Maybe it’s just the raw hope generated there. Some argue hope is like religion, just another opiate of the masses. But if the masses need sedation, I can think of few things so harmless as a little hope. Unjustifiably optimistic sometimes? Perhaps. I’m sure. But hardly a vice I consider dangerous.