Are You Sure I’m The Crazy One?

The late sixties and seventies toughened some of us up for severe psychic distortion, but on the internal dimension. Hallucinations here, inside the head. Reality over there, where we share it with most others. Our psychotropic mental rock climbing was matched somewhat by externals: adventurers like us made music and art that reflected their perhaps temporarily disarranged reasoning capacity. We had a different and deeply amusing perspective on the world, thanks to medicine and creativity. Much laughter! Today, I wonder if things have reversed, inverted, flipped and totally freaked out, man. The George Floyd protests. A new saint! As we know now, a rather felonious monk he proved to be, robbing a pregnant woman at gunpoint as he did. Yet he has our prime minister kneeling in the dirt to honour his name? Or something. The crazy people want to defund the police! In a way, of course, given my deep hatred of government and authority, I see the attraction. (You and I, my friends, could operate and thrive in such an environment, of course, but I doubt the many would survive the first weekend.) Green. Greta. George. If we have replaced our induced insanity with an outside and objective mass psychosis, fine. Bring it on!


I find this a truly original insight: the acid trips of the sixties and seventies have become public hallucinations. It makes as much sense as anything else I have read. Indeed, it is a better explanation. I cannot but feel that such very large mistakes as we are making ( I shall not list them here) require very large social corrections, that will only com with riot, slaughter, mayhem and civil war.