Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Hippies didn't die...


Former Obama Czar Launches American ‘Arab Spring’ Revolt – Patriot Update

An Egypt-styled “Arab Spring,” which has put radicals in charge of the government, will be launched in the United States this spring with a war on “corporate power, Wall Street greed and the political corruption of the 1 percent,” according to the group headed by former Obama green aide Van Jones.

“They’re really not going to like the 99 percent Spring,” said Rebuild the Dream in an organizing email Friday.

Comparing the collection of protests last year that are symbolized by the 99 percent campaign and Occupy movement, to those of Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., the group said that “we were all inspired by the protesters of the Arab Spring who stood up to totalitarian governments, and inspired the Occupy movement here in America.”

The plan for now is to hold protest training sessions around the nation next week. Over 900 are scheduled so far.




My Take:


Just great.  I wish these “do-gooder” minded. Base mentality idiots would get out of the way of us that are accurately informed, hard-working, true 99% American citizens.  Hippies didn’t die – they became yuppies.  These little punks need to take a long hard look at their parents instead of their blind advances against the mystical 1%.  Idiots…. 


Saturday, April 7, 2012

Arkansas Shootin

Arkansas. Shooting at the outdoor public range today with my dad and my husband. Watching the men agonize over every shot fired - every tick of the gun - every nuance of the wind. There's a grandfather out here with his two grandsons - the older shooting a shotgun, the younger shooting a 22. When I shot mine I heard one boy say "look! The girl's going to shoot!" then I watched when I was done as he sauntered out to "check" my target. They sure seemed to like me after that. The grandfather told us the younger boy is autistic. Sure can't tell it as he responds well to the constant set of instructions and stimulus his grand father gives him as the beautiful country day draws on. Seeing as these boys are being taught VERY good safety lessons - constantly streaming from their grandfather (and us). Tell me again why guns should be banned. This seems WAY healthier than putting a video game controller in there hands, buying a war shooter like Call of Duty, and walking away as they learn "shooting" lessons from strangers online... Hmmmmm. Yeah. Makes ya think.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Our newest backyard find

Currently trying to identify this lovely rock that Kirk found in the watershed area of our backyard.  Lovely opaqueness.... 

Friday, March 30, 2012

World's End


World’s end. Yet a new begin.

The ocean crashes as my thoughts ascend.

Confusion flutters. Stops and ends.

Emotions take over.  Oh, not again.



Sitting beside my hope and friend

My day slowly darkens as the world sets in.

But all is not dark and all is not bad.

Good friends hold the release of a world gone mad.



                                    Kandice Martin Cox

                                    April 22, 1996

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Nasrin

I wrote this poem back in 1994 after reading an article about a woman standing up for her rights in a Muslim country.  She was under constant threat of death and I wonder sometimes if she has survived.  I think with the current state of affairs, this is a good time to post this poem. I feel for all women living under such immense suppression of basic human rights.


Nasrin 


I heard a story from a dear friend that
Made my heart turn cold.
The events and sufferings that happened that day
Made my soul grow old. 


I heard about the beatings and stones
That she has had to live through.
I fear though that she too has grown cold
And her heart is choking and blue.


My wish is true for you my friend,
I want that your life be gay.
But the world has turned its cold shoulder to you,
And now is your time to be brave.


Just remember, dear friend of mine,
That your words still sit in my mind.
The trials and strife that you have been through
Will never be lost through time. 

Kandice Martin (Cox)
December 13, 1994
For Taslima Nasrin, my friend-unknown.


Monday, March 26, 2012

Take a walk... Seriously

I think the world would be such a better place if everyone would just take a walk once a day... Everyday. Just to "check in" with the world around us. It's amazing what you see when you walk your neighborhood or work or school area.  You see the other people in their true pacing, even if that's the cars whizzing by you frantically...  you see that crazy pace.  And you see others who are in the know who are walking on two legs, watching you watching them.  You see the birds and the bugs.  The clouds, feel the air.  It's a perspective that we need.  We're not super human nor machines.  None of us.

And I struggle with this too. I get busy.  Get detached. There are so many pressing chores, needs and wants. Justifications...

But when we get out and walk at our own physical pace we can feel the rhythm of the world around us.  We've all grown so unnatural and distant from our physical humanity...  Just a thought.

The Melancholian Optimist - May Common Senses Reign





            When reading the fiction of Anton Chekhov, the reader is transported to a world that is bathed in harshness.  The settings are typically bleak and poor and the characters are generally in a sad state of affairs.  Usually, there is little hope for the character's situation and Chekhov seemingly leaves the reader floundering with a pitiful insight on a pitiful life.  That is the end to it, right?  Or is it?  Chekhov stated, "Only fools and charlatans know everything and understand nothing."  So let the reader be not a fool, nor a charlatan.  Let him instead say, ''Maybe there's more, I want to understand."  To do this, it is imperative to take a long hard look at Chekhov the man, Chekhov the writer, and Chekhov the visionary.  Only as a sum of these parts can the whole story of his work truly be revealed.  

            There are the usual things a person investigates in studying a person, his birthplace, his family, his schooling and such.  In the case of Chekhov though, most of these details are either well known or they are simply mute points to the overall picture of the person of Chekhov.  The understanding of Chekhov the man that is needed to interpret his fiction is a comprehensive idea of his passions and aversions.  It is well noted that Chekhov had no tolerance for vulgarity in any form.  It was documented that Chekhov once said to his friend Maxim Gorky, ''Russia is a land of greedy idlers.  People eat and drink enormously, love to sleep in the daytime, and snore in their sleep." (Chekhov, 284)  He then went on to criticize his people, the Russians, as having the mentality of a dog, "Beat them and they squeal meekly and sneak off to their kennels.  Caress them, and they lie on their backs with their paws up, wagging their tails." (Chekhov,284)  But Chekhov was not without heart.  Gorky noted, "A cold, sorrowful contempt underlay these words.  But while despising, he could pity, and when anyone was abused in his presence, Anton Pavlovich was sure to stick up for him." (Gorky,284)  Chekhov also had a great passion and love for teachers.  It was his belief that teachers should be revered instead of reviled.  He complained mightily to his friends that teacher's were kept, "in rags, shiver[ing] in a damp, dilapidated school, be poisoned by fumes from badly ventilated stoves, be always catching cold, and by the age of thirty be a mass of disease." (Gorky, 277)  He wanted social reform in the area of education.  He was noted for saying time and again, "In Russia we have simply got to create exceptional conditions for teachers, and that as soon as possible, since we realize that unless the people get an all-round education the state will collapse like a house built from insufficiently baked bricks." (Gorky, 276)  Another of Chekhov's passions was the environment, or the management of the environment.  His play, Uncle Vanya, is arguably the first ever "green" play.  Chekhov disliked the fact that his Russian countrymen were not managing and preserving the natural resources that was in their control.  He wrote, ''The Russian forests are groaning under the ax, millions of trees are being destroyed, the dwellings of wild beasts and birds are despoiled, rivers are subsiding, drying up, wonderful landscapes vanish never to return… Man is endowed with reason and creative powers so that he may increase what has been given to him, but up to now he has not created but only destroyed." (Uncle Vanya, Act III)  Chekhov seems to show both a love and hate in almost everything he holds dear.  Whether the issues are vulgarity, education, or environment he seems to hold a passion that always equals his aversion.  For example, he only seems to hate a situation because he loves something in that situation that is not being correctly treated.  He seems to crave common sense and wisdom in those around him and he doesn't understand or accept that his fellow countrymen don't understand these issues as well.  

            In trying to understand Chekhov the man, the reader comes face to face with Chekhov the writer.  He is known as one of the most important figures in the area of writing short fiction in the modem world.  There are many reasons for this, but the aspect that is crucial here is the idea that Chekhov lets the reader decide the outcome of the stories.  At first glance, a Chekhov story seems sad and desperate and then it seems to just end.  Usually, it seems Chekhov led the reader right back to where he started and the story seems to have been for nothing, but this only appears that way because the reader is expecting a finale.  It is something the modem reader expects, an ending.  Without it there seems to be no point.  But this was Chekhov's great gift, the ability to conclude it from a personal level.  He could have ended every work of fiction that he wrote, but how would that help the reader attain any kind of appreciable understanding of his own power?  No, Chekhov wants a thinking society.  He introduced a grand idea, let the people write their own endings and in doing so, they write their own story.  Chekhov wanted social reform.  He wanted common sense; and he wanted a better Russia.  He gave the people a vehicle in which to begin to understand their own power and in doing so he changed the rules of short fiction writing.  Chekhov was concerned with the average Russian.  He wrote about Russian issues and Russian life, sometimes even in a brutal fashion, but it was always relevant to the common person.  As one critic put it, "Most of the stories are, broadly speaking, satirical, taking aim at weakness and propensities deemed peculiarly Russian, such as laziness, stubbornness, ignorance, and xenophobia, as well as stereotypes that are the familiar butt of humor everywhere: pompous bureaucrats, drunks, old maids in pursuit, and bachelors in flight.  Chekhov's satire is, however, rarely one-sided, nor is it bitter or moralistic." (O'Connor, 200)  Chekhov knew how to relate and in doing so he turned the world of short fiction on its head!

            ''I bought it.  The cherry orchard is mine.  Mine!  Tell me I'm dreaming. . . If my father and grandfather could see me now -me, their ignorant little Yermolay, almost illiterate, their little Yermolay who was beaten, who went without shoes in winter.  Now that same little Yermolay has just bought the most beautiful estate in the world!" (Chekhov, Act IV)  This scene from Chekhov's "The Cherry Orchard" is the ultimate representation of the unstable economic and social conditions in Russia; and it is the ultimate representation of Chekhov the Visionary.  The moneyed middle class is usurping the landed aristocracy and finally seeing a hope of some equality.  This play, "The Cherry Orchard", is one of Chekhov's most loved works of fiction in that it is openly visionary.  In this play even the slowest mind can understand the implications and hope for the future.  Chekhov started slowly at first in his literary career as a man with visionary capabilities.  But as the years passed by and Chekhov put more and more of himself into his fiction a new persona was born.  Where there was once a man who saw the world too clearly and was crushed by that, there is now a man who rises up and leads the people, albeit in his own quiet way, towards such elusive and wonderful things as equality, fair treatment, and just a good old fashioned chance at life.  But Chekhov helps the average man with a price.  It is said that Chekhov was more cruel and far-sighted than many of his contemporaries.  One critic says this of Chekhov' s help, "He does not pity the little man, he also accuses him.  He poses the question of man's personal responsibility for his own fate."(Kostiukov, 48)  Chekhov knew that even if he could solve the problems of the people it would be pointless unless they knew how to help themselves.  Chekhov lived during a time in Russia's history when the class system was in effect and there was not much a person could do to change their status.  However, there were a few times during his lifetime when the prevailing ruler wavered from liberalism to conservatism and by being prepared, a person could make an advantage of these times.  Chekhov is seen as a link between the old Russia and the new, 1800 versus 1900 Russia, even though he only lived fewer than four years into the 1900's and he wrote very little during those years.  This seems irrelevant until the reader takes a look at the history of Russia.  In January of 1905, Russia had its first of many revolutions.  It took place on January 22, just six short months after Chekhov's death.  The people did not gain the freedoms that Chekhov seemed to want for them but it was a start and thirteen years later they revolted again.  Chekhov never tried to lift the people of Russia out of their gutters.  He tried to show them the stairs to get themselves out.  He was a compassionate writer with a broken heart who was just as let down in the nobility as he was in the lower classes, but the man did have vision.  He just didn't always get the reader to see the same possibilities in the same light.  

            Chekhov is a complex idealist.  If the reader of his work can learn to see the unspoken words, they would learn a whole new story is there.  Their story is there.  Hidden under the history of Russia and hidden under the assumptions of the mind is a writer that was a wonderful oddity of the modern world.  He offered something great to the reader who could understand, and he gave something no other writer had ever given, the ability to let the reader write his own story.  He had great wisdom as a man, he was an outstanding revolutionary of the written word and he had the vision to take Russia to a better place; but through all this he was only a man, and in being only a man he proved what wonders a single person can do if they only take the time to do as he did personally, and finish the story.  As he said, ''We are accustomed to live in hopes of good weather, a good harvest, a nice love affair, hopes of becoming rich or getting the office of Chief of Police, but I've never noticed anyone hoping to get wiser.  We say to ourselves: it'll be better under a new tsar, and in two hundred years it'll be still better, and nobody tries to make this good time come tomorrow. "(Chekhov, 286)  Let the reader understand and may the good times come tomorrow.



Sources:

Chekhov, Anton. "The Cherry Orchard." Translated ITom the Russian by

Paul Schmidt. Russia, 1904

Chekhov, Anton. "Uncle Vanya." Translated by Michael Frayn. Produced

by the Moscow Arts Theater. Russia, 1899

Kostiukov, L. "The Twentieth Century." Russian Social Science Review

Nov/Dec 1999: p48

Matlaw, Ralph. Anton Chekhov . By Maxim Gorky.

Norton Critical. New York. W.W. Norton & Company, 1979

Matlaw, Ralph. Anton Chekhov. By Anton Chekhov.

Norton Critical. New York. W. W. Norton & Company, 1979

O'Connor, Katherine Tieman. The early work of a Russian Master." The

Boston Globe Ian 1999: p F2

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Getting gas

Man. Gas at Shell station in Willow Park just now... $4.04 a gallon! Thanks Obama. Yes - for all that drilling you didn't do on land you don't own.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Perspectives

Walked at lunch yesterday and realized to the full extent... I'm such a city rat!  Here's the backside to Fort Worth...


Colorado Musings



            Alone on a September night in Colorado with the Rocky Mountains at my back, I lay here thinking with the heavy putrid smell of the city's sewage plant chasing my nose.  I cannot escape this stench no matter where I turn.  As a beautiful land that is one of the country's last remaining natural wonders, I wonder, “does this land deserve this stench?”  What foul reality can bring together beauty and decay?  I know that if there were any justice left in this world this reality would not exist.  There would be no excrement to foul God's beauty. No unseen acrid smell clinging to the Aspen leaves turning beauty into its modern reality.  How many people does it take for their shit to reach the heavens?  I wonder what God thinks of us now.  How low can humanity go?  Or does God know us only in our primal decadence?  Are we so raw and so uncouth that our current state is merely the expected and our filth just the end result of rampant propagation showing us as the animals that we are?  Who’s to say that we are as smart as we think we are?  If all that we know to be possible is truly possible, isn't it possible that we have been wrong in our petri dish existence? What happens if we've missed the point? 

            Surrounded by people continuously searching for what they don't have, I stop to ponder the questions of existence.  I recognize the unhappiness inherent in man.  I feel it as if it were a heavy fog settling in for a long dark night, knowing that all are lost within.  As a human, I am lost too, but some creation in me sees with the eyes of an outsider, an alien mind watching the downfall of mankind, like a movie plays across the silver screen.  Why?  What purpose does my witness serve?  Am I a witness merely so that in the end, it can be said that we knew, we were told?  That humans were capable of seeing beyond the veil of our minds?  According to his word, Jesus would never punish humans without making it possible for the truth to be known.  Jesus has never left us ignorant.  God, in all forms, and in the very telling of God, has from the beginning given us fair warning.  Truth has always been there though many choose not to believe.  Am I a version of the Lord's last call?  If so, I know these words will fall on deaf ears.  I will be scorned and abused.  I am already broken.  I know the ultimate truth, I am nothing.  My insignificance is larger than the immeasurable heavens above.  Yet I am here.  It is the weakness in me that makes me great.  This is my acknowledgment of my status in creation.  The greatest story ever told exists only because we are all nothing.  God can easily love something unique and precious, delicate and beautiful.  Jesus can justify dying for a Noble cause.  Can't even we humans do this? It is the reality that God cared for a creation foul and dirty that made us something at all.  It is the sacrifice in stark contrast to the worthlessness of humanity that made humanity worthwhile.  You, my friends are unimportant.  You hold nothing of value to the universe.  But God turned an eye beyond all comprehension to you.  God gave you the opportunity to be worthwhile. God made you great by turning an unconceivable eye your way.  But there is no worth in a mechanical creation that is programmed to only respond in one way.  That is like us finding worth as large as love in one of our robotic creations. That is why you have a choice.  I say these things not because I speak for God.  I don't know if my words are truth, but I know they are real.  My words are beyond this world and even I don't understand the reasons I see this reality. And I know I’m not alone in this understanding.  

I do know though that no matter what you think about God, there is a beginning and no matter how you rationalize it, you will always have to admit you will never know the truth.  There is a problem with scale we humans can never overcome.  No matter what level of understanding you reach, you will only find a larger level of questions beyond.  Why waste this magnificence on trivial pursuits such as money and cars and trying to triumph over your fellow man?  How difficult is it really to overcome nothing, and we all are nothing.  If you really want to prove your validity, your existence and place, try taking on something outside of a base level humanity.  Realize that purpose is found in spite of  your lack of purpose and greatness is found in recognizing your weakness.  Deal with these truths and you will achieve something that satisfies your hungry soul.  Therein lays the peace that defies both life and death.  The answers we all seek are not on this world, and we all know it.  Every one of us, all races and nations, all times in our existence, all of humanity forever, have one thing in common, we all ask why.  Maybe the proof of purpose lies not in our personal missions and our atomic understanding of cause and effect but in the simple question without end...why do we ask why? Dwell on that and you will find what you are looking for.  Know that you know nothing and you will begin to know something of everything. 

Lamentations


Deep within the reaches of my clouded mind and soul I see you. 

Through the muggy haze of life without meaning and the distant hope that moves farther and farther away each time my jostled wounded heart begins to wake.

 I gasp.  What can be the answer to a question without words? 

My soul aches.  My body dies.  I am lost. 

Deep in the interior of my conscious state of being is a vessel.  A vessel filled with love and light and hope.  But that vessel is lost upon the sea of anguish.  I hurt.  I cry.  I bleed. 

God in Heaven, man on Earth, is there any way for the lost to be found?

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Evening thoughts

It's Thursday. Almost to the weekend again. I wish things were like they used to be and we didn't scurry like mad to go to office boxes to work like mad to do endless paperwork to fuel the fires of an endless corporate machine. Don't get me wrong. I am thankful for my job. Thankful more for the conscientious family that built the business that I work for. Thankful even more that I don't have to punch a time clock and stand on a work line of some sort. But how wonderful the idea of working for my own family. Sure the hours are long and sometimes the work difficult. But more fulfilling than not having a boss-someone in the power seat if my life- but to know that every ounce if effort directly relates to me and my beloved people. That the work I do has a family face attached to it. As we drive through the crazy downtown traffic to work this morning, I turned to Kirk and said, "you sure you don't want to be Amish?". Ha!

Love is a Banshee - Part Deux

Song I wrote:

Love is a banshee.
She wails and cries for attention,
Then turns cold and bitter towards man.

Chorus:
How the needles of pain and pleasure rip through me
How the need and rejection both win.
I am at a loss for meaning,
And I just don't give a damn if this is my sin.
Your screams cut right through me
Your screams tear and pull at my skin.

Please love, understand.

Torn, bruised and battered,
This body reflects my soul.
Life leaves me alone and abandoned
No more, no love can I hold.

I am angered with life's indifference.
I grow weary of love's loss of care.
I am bitter to all human's existence.
No more can this cross I bear.

Chorus:
How the needles of pain and pleasure rip through me.
How the need and rejection both win.
I am at a loss for meaning,
And I care not if this is my sin.
Your screams cut right through me.
Your screams tear and pull at my skin.

Please love, I beg you, these tears do not easily mend.

A human heart only holds a measured amount
Whether pain, pleasure or joy.
My heart has reached its bleak zenith
My soul can handle no more.

Life's weary journey is my dark mistress.
She walks with me forever more.
Her talons have dug deep into sadness
And her beak has eaten my soul.

Chorus:
How the needles of pain and pleasure rip through me.
How the need and rejection both win.
I am at a loss for meaning,
And I care not if this is my sin.
Your screams cut right through me.
Your screams tear and pull at my skin.

I'm sorry love that I have no more substance. I'm sorry, love, that I've failed you again.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Happiness


Precious



Once upon a time

 I thought I knew everything.

Then life knocked me on the head

 and showed me I knew nothing.



I traveled very far

before I saw results of decisions past.

I loved and lost more people

as if nothing ever lasts.



I saw new beginnings

as well as many ends.

I broke more lovely pieces

than I could ever mend.



I think I’ve learned a lot

and yet still I feel regret.

For there’s so much more to learn

than I can ever forget.


                        ~ Kandice

In the course of our lives we are all faced with decisions and choices.  “Who will I be?”  “What are my standards?”  These are two of the most important decisions the young and old alike should make.  But as it is, the people of our world let society make these decisions for them with no individual attention to our personal states.
                                                                                                                                                ~ Kandice

Scenes of thinking and discussing.

My wonderful husband and me.

All the pretty people... She's such a b*tch!


Listening to a portion of a speech by Mitt Romney  from last night in which he pointed out that the Wright brothers would’ve been shut down for air pollution and Thomas Edison’s light bulb would have been/has been banned, I realized that when I can’t see Romney but can only listen…  I hear a presidential person speaking in the quality of his statements, words and intentions.  I have not been a Romney fan - but is it possible that I was turned away from him as a candidate in large part because he looks too smooth, too put together?  Have I fallen victim to a reverse type of negative judging of a person with too many positive features?  Have we moved to a place in society where we now have to strive not for perfection in aesthetics, as previously pushed, but to some new, largely unattainable, middle ground balancing act of perfectly mediocre?  Is this life in HD where by seeing everyone’s flaws clearly we’re only comfortable with that by seeing EVERYONE’S flaws, real or imagined? Do we all have to have just the right amount of tarnish to be labeled acceptable?  Are the common thoughts running through all our brains now-a-days about random strangers that we have no inkling of their past  something along the lines of: “look at her, blonde perfect hair, size 2 dress, TCU sticker on her BMW – she is such a bitch…  Bet she only hob nobs with the elites.  Screw her, I hope her and all her sorority sisters get fat.” “Look at him, cocky mother-f***er.  Perfect abs, perfect hair. Perfect Audi. I could NEVER relate to his ‘perfect’ world.”  

We all are painfully aware of the negative stereotyping of our poorer fellows, fatter fellows, etc. and for the most part our democratic, totally P.C. populace, have strived to quit pigeon-holing people in this way.  Heck, we even have McDonald’s commercials celebrating, as is fair and appropriate, the rise of many a burger flipper to a college graduate.  So why are we so vehemently trying to tear down those that are succeeding?  So many of these people who have striven for perfection are now finding themselves constantly being hated.  I’m not excusing those upper elites that we’ve always had with us who act as if the rest of humanity are here to serve them but I am saying that there are many, many of us out there who, in large part due to our past successes as a nation and also due to our individual personal and remarkable achievements, have finally arrived at the goal of success, whether financial or even physical, only to find chastisement and disbelief in our goodness.  We are left in a quasi-middle class, upper class level that actually doesn’t exist – so alone.  And it doesn’t seem so much to me to actually have to do with what’s in our bank accounts as much as what’s in our work ethics that have led to our achievements.  Is any of this making sense?  Does anyone else get what I’m saying?  Maybe Mitt Romney is only an upper echelon yuppie pretty boy. Maybe he just isn’t gritty enough to be president of the United States.  Maybe he has too much money to relate to any of us.  But maybe he deserves a second glance, or let me say, a second hearing.  I don’t know how hard he’s worked for his integrity.  Do you?  Or maybe his voice is just too perfect and I’m a fool.  I don’t really know if he’s my candidate and I’m not really talking about the presidential election here.  I’m just amazed at how wide-spread this American problem of judgment has gone.   Top to bottom and back again.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Growing Up...

I wrote this paper years ago while tryingto get a handle on how the Hippy movement went astray.  What I mean is - why did their grand experiment fail?  How did the idealistic hippies become the cold and greedy yuppie.  I know this needs fleshed out a little but all in all you get the gist.  It is also partly why I love Hunter S. Thompson and Gonzo journalism so very much...  We don't have all the answers to all the questions about anything in life.  Theories and philosophies are great but I hunger to live in the incomplete realities of true life or at least that's where I spend most of my thinking.  I want to have the conversations of the whys...  anywho.... this is posted mainly just for me to wet my tongue and get it going again.




The Other Side of the Wave:

How a euphoric journey turned savage

by

Kandice Nicole Cox



            What is a "savage journey to the heart of the American Dream?"  More important still, why is the journey savage to a destination that was before sought on a euphoric high?  To answer these questions raised by Hunter S. Thompson in the journalistic novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas one has to look at and understand the history of the Hippy movement of the West Coast of the United States during the 1960s, the people involved and the drugs that were in use, principally LSD, and compare it to the novel’s setting of the post-hippy early seventies of the West Coast drug scene and the two main characters and their use of these same drugs.  The changes that occurred from one era to another are substantial and turned a hopeful search for the Great American Dream into a savage road that led to the empty desert of a destroyed wasteland.

            LSD, or technically Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, was invented in 1938 by a Swedish chemist working for Sandoz Chemical Works named Dr. Albert Hoffman.  Many scientists around the world had been trying to isolate the active ingredients in Ergot, a compound that was used to induce childbirth by producing uterine contractions.  This compound, when isolated, was named lysergic acid.  Hoffman began experimenting with this core compound in an attempt to create a respiratory and circulatory stimulant. In his experimentations he created LSD in 1938 but the drug went untouched for the next five years.

            In 1943, Hoffman began experimenting again with LSD and an entry in his journal shows the first ever written LSD experience.  "Last Friday on the 16th of April I had to leave my work in the laboratory and go home because I felt strangely restless and dizzy.  I got home, lay down and sank into a not unpleasant delirium which was characterized by an extreme degree of fantasy (a kind of trance).  I kept my eyes closed because I found the daylight very unpleasant.  Fantastic visions of extraordinary vividness accompanied by a kaleidoscopic-like play of intense coloration continuously swirled around my head.  The condition lasted for about two hours" (Leary, 279).

            Shortly after this experience, Hoffman began distributing the drug to psychiatrists around the world to experiment on with their patients; animal studies were also being conducted at this time.  By the early fifties, LSD was being used to treat depression in America.  However, after much study and use the drug was said to be too unstable and prescriptions of LSD for depression came to an end.

            The LSD of the sixties, and which is so often associated with the hippy movement, began when a Harvard professor and researcher, Timothy Leary, began psychological experiments with Psilocybin mushrooms and LSD.  Leary believed that these two hallucinogenic drugs were consciousness-expanding drugs and he had a quite positive view of their use.  Because of his personal views on LSD, Harvard believed that he was no longer objective in his research and dismissed him as a professor.  Up to this point, Leary had used students and jail inmates as subjects for his studies and the drug was becoming known among those seeking drug use for pleasure.

            Leary's dismissal from Harvard did not stop him from proclaiming his belief that LSD and other hallucinogens were a positive element.  Leary began preaching across the country the benefits of LSD.  He told as many people as possible his beliefs that LSD could provides a means to journey into your soul, and that with proper use in a controlled environment, LSD could open clearer channels of communication between people.  To Leary, LSD was a wonder drug.  What Leary professed to the people was that LSD could open the mind to a fuller potential.  He pointed to the facts that the human only uses a small fraction of its brain and he argued that LSD opened up the other parts of the brain for use, that LSD was a mind-expanding drug that could lead to greater human understanding and developments and possibly bring about societal change.

            It was this rhetoric that so many young people of the sixties latched onto.  As a general rule, the mainstream masses of the sixties and early seventies believed that drug use and LSD in particular was a negative thing.  But the youth that were rapidly experiencing change from what their parents of the fifties knew began to think: about social change and LSD, with its proclaimed ability to open doors to new parts of the mind, was very complimentary to these desires for newer better social conduct and standards that the would-be hippies were wanting to create.

            Leading this wave of the future was Ken Kesey. Kesey had been a graduate student in 1959 that participated in a government drug research that included LSD.  In a few weeks, Kesey ingested constant and large doses of LSD as well as other hallucinogens and out of this experience he produced his greatest novel, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  This book and his experience with these drugs were his first attempt to break the conformity of American society and change the society in drastic measures.  An open critic of the American society, Kesey created the Merry Pranksters, a group of friends and associates who experimented heavily with LSD and many other drugs and who began the hippy movement of America as they loaded themselves on a bus and set out across America to find the American Dream.  This group of Pranksters included many important figures of the sixties and seventies, but important to note is that Hunter S. Thompson was known among the Pranksters, and in fact, introduced Kesey to the Hell's Angels in 1965.  While Thompson may not have ridden the bus with the Merry Pranksters, he was certainly an apt witness as they crossed the country in search of what they wouldn't find.

            The Pranksters journey ended when they finally visited the founding father of the LSD movement Timothy Leary.  As the bus rolled up the drive to the Castalia foundation, the institute founded by Leary to support and promote LSD and other hallucinogens, they did not receive the greeting they had expected.  Instead of communal companionship they hoped would be offered, Leary was polite and talked with them on the bus for a few minutes, but he showed no desire to extend the invitation or greetings any further than that.  The Merry Pranksters turned and headed home with a let down in the pursuit of the American Dream.

            In Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, subtitled, "A savage journey to the heart of the American Dream," Thompson picks up where the hippies left off.  His two main characters, the reporter Raoul Duke and his attorney Dr. Gonzo, are left over members of the great sixties LSD trip of Kesey and the Merry Pranksters and their ideas that there was a place and a reason to search for the American Dream.  In this journalistic novel, Duke and Gonzo are striving to find that American Dream that the Pranksters set out to find.  In a very similar manner, they literally take to the road on a drive across states to find the dream.  But unlike the Pranksters, there is no bus full of eager people to travel with them and share the experience.  Gone are the idealistic young people around them with high hopes and the excitement that follows large groups of like minded people with a mission.  In stark contrast are the two men, older than the Pranksters, with potbellies and receding hairlines.  Their destination is not "across America" but to Las Vegas, which in itself is widely recognized as the city of lost fortunes and dreams.  And their drug use is not to find enlightenment or even for "good times."  It is instead harsh and ugly.  The drugs they take, including LSD, seem to make them veer back and forth between violence and paranoia.  These men are not like the Merry Pranksters but in fact stand on an opposite shore than those of the idealistic hippies.

            In Fear and Loathing, Duke sets up this contrast immediately when in chapter two he states the reason for his trip to Las Vegas with the accompaniment of the drugs was a journalistic business trip for a news story covering the Mint 400 Race but also, "There was a socio-psychic factor.  Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only real cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas.  To relax, as it were, in the womb of the desert sun (Thompson, 12)."  This is clearly not the idealistic road trip of the Pranksters and the drugs are not defined as mind expanding but as heinous.  Instead, Duke seems to be on the other side of the spectrum than the ideas of the Pranksters.  While they were trying to find a new way for society and a sort of Utopia, Duke is saying that his trip with drugs was a necessary reprieve from societal demands.  He is trying to escape society, but not to change it.  He merely is trying to survive society.

            One of the most important points in the novel is Duke's reminiscing about the late sixties, the hippy movement and San Francisco.  He chronicles the change that was in the era and the momentum that was behind the hippy movement, but he also questions the lasting ability of the mindset of this movement.  He says, "San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of.  Maybe it meant something.  Maybe not, in the long run.. .. (Thompson, 66)."  He then relates the hippy movement with a wave of change that was great and important but in the end not successful as he stands on the other side of the end of an era.  There is a paragraph in chapter eight that is the heart of the dilemma and placement of Duke and drugs in the novel.  He says of the sixties, "There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. ...  and that, I think was the handle - that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil.  Not in any mean in military sense; we didn't need that.  Our energy would simply prevail.  There was no point in fighting - on our side or theirs.  We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave (Thompson, 68)."  But the crucial change that occurred that placed Duke on the other side of that wave is proved when he follows this with, "So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark - that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back (Thompson, 68)."

            This paragraph clearly defines two sides of a movement.  In Fear and Loathing, Duke is on the receding line of that wave.  The side he is on is that one that when the positive movement he experienced broke and "rolled back" all it left in its path for those involved was blank desolation of a lost dream.  This is why the drug use, relationships, and ''journey to the heart of the American Dream' is now savage.  What once was a euphoric trip full of hope and promise of a utopian version of the American Dream has become a vicious journey full of monsters and dust and fear and loathing as two men try to continue life on the other side of the hippy movement.

Welcome

Welcome to The Good Ship.  I have no idea what I will say nor what is to come.  All I know is that most of my loved ones are beat to death with my constant ramblings so here it is.  Plunked randomly down in this journal to be picked up and read or left and forgotten but all in all - out of me.

Yours,

Kandice Nicole Cox