I Am Arisen.

My absence may not have been entirely noticeable, as I see that the boss has been on something of a hiring spree of late. If I’m not the first, then let me be at least one more to offer a hearty welcome to the new arrivals.

Though prolonged periods of inactivity are hallmarks of my association with The Contrarian Media, I do have a good reason for my recent disappearing act.

Like my old friend Klaus Kinski, I sometimes find myself despairing of the madness that is our modern world. Particularly that portion of the world known as America, where the national politics has seemingly descended into an abyss of fear and ignorance. Do residents of the U. S. of A. not comprehend that the rest of the civilized world can see them? One would think that shame alone might curtail their most egregious behaviors, but sadly, this is not the case.

So, there’s one reason that I checked out for a while.

Another is that I desperately needed to meditate on a few deeply personal matters. Life has a way of forcibly demonstrating that inner change is imminent, and I’ve always found it best not to resist. I am happy to say that a few weeks in the South American rainforest has largely accomplished my transcendent goals. That I managed to be accepted into a potent Kayapo ritual was an added bonus. A deeply world-shattering bonus.

I wouldn’t say that those visions are now behind me, as they are very much a permanent part of the aggregates of consciousness I conveniently assume to constitute Self. But I have returned, mentally, physically and otherwise. I have ideas to generate and plans to execute; words to relate and affection to express.

May your days be courageous and enlightening as you prefer them to be.

Greetings. Dr. Cox here. Apologies for my absence; there were sundry concerns to attend to on the astral plane which conspired to pull me away from our cherished correspondence. Alas, I am back — at least temporarily (and aren’t all phenomena temporary?) — and have at my disposal a few moments to spend with you.

I’ve taken pains to read the plentiful missives authored by my associates here at The Contrarian, and I must confess to being particularly moved by a recent entry by Alec W. Bauer, who waxed brilliantly (and lengthily) about nootropics — those neural stimulants reputed to boost cognition and sensory perception without negatively affecting core physiological function.

Mr. Bauer referenced one compound, Piracetam, which I had previously heard about, but never had occasion to ingest. That unfortunate gap in my pharmacopeiac experience has since been closed. In fact, I type this under the punctilious yet voluble influence of this amino-based admixture.

And like it, I do.

Far be it for the Doctor to advocate for the usage of legal dietary supplements, but if you are so inclined, I highly recommend Piracetam.

In other news, I have solved a particularly vexing esoteric riddle involving the unification of Opposites and the kabbalistic domain of the Child-King Tipareth. The flaming sword is held aloft! And not a moment too soon, it seems. You see, the Doctor has of late been besieged by Strange Opposers. Which reminds me of a truism uttered by my late friend and exquisite man of letters, H.L. Mencken: “Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats.”

Yet one must indulge in such violence righteously, like an enlightened Samurai who cuts with a full understanding of karma — which is to say cleanly, and without attachment.

That is all for now, my friends. Trust me when I say that we shall converse sooner rather than later.

The days are getting longer now. Light returns to the Hemisphere, softening the hard edges of evening and soothing fragile psyches such as my own.

There is another name for Light, a sobriquet for the One by whom dawn is cleaved from dim.

Why is the name Lucifer so abhorred? Certainly the Light-bringer — Venusian eminence or Byzantine king — is not the same character as that cruel villain of Christiandom. Was not Jesus himself once heralded as Morning Star?

May the Morning Star which never sets
find this flame still burning:
Christ, that Morning Star,
who came back from the dead,
and shed his peaceful light on all mankind,
your Son, who lives and reigns for ever and ever.

I blame Milton.

Let it be said that this humble physician does not traffic in Darkness. Rather, I embrace Light in all its manifestations, for it is truly the disinfectant of Soul. Spontaneous compassion are its hallmarks, forgiveness its augury.

Kenneth Anger’s oft-cited film Lucifer Rising aims to present the Morning Star as the symbol of lust, awakening and the harnessing of True Will. I’m not certain it succeeds. I am fond of the movie’s soundtrack(s), however — both Bobby Beausoleil’s prison-composed opus and Jimmy Page’s abandoned dronescape.

A website I frequent called Peromyscus recently published a thorough examination of Page’s involvement with Anger’s film. Peromyscus is something of a Page aficionado; another entry concerns an unfinished satin stage suit commissioned by the guitarist. Peromyscus astutely concludes that one of the suit’s half-finished embroideries is that of the Stele of Revealing — an ancient Egyptian funerary artifact reappropriated by one Aleister Crowley for his Church of Thelema. Not something your average rock ‘n’ roll fan would deduce.

Now, I knew this Crowley character in my youth, and let me say, the less we dwell on him the better.

So let us return to Page and Anger. Peromyscus offers details about their curious (and brief) collaboration, which came to an end with Page being booted from the project after having completed but 20 minutes of music in nearly half a decade. Anger’s stated reason for dismissing Page was that the guitarist had, by then, become well-ensorcelled by heroin. Page no doubt sees things differently, but is reticent on the subject (and that of his rumored occult involvement).

Recently, a torrent appeared online purporting to be an early cut of Lucifer Rising with Page’s original soundtrack. As it turns out, the file — extracted from decaying VHS tape of dubious origin — is legitimate. Curious parties may find it here.

I am no expert on either Anger or Page, so I again refer you to Peromyscus for what surely approaches the full story. However, I am acquainted with the rumor that Anger put “the Curse of Midas” on Page, rendering him a stultified millionaire, possessed of great material wealth but creatively bankrupt.

One supposes the Horse also aided Page’s general dissipation.

I bring this up as an example of how Ego, even when put to service in one’s creative work, is a faulty vehicle. The greater Agency is service, wherein one eliminates one’s selfish tendencies through the dual application of mindfulness and magnanimous dispensation.

At least that’s what I have heard.

Salvia divinorum, Diviner’s Sage, is all the rage these days in the world of vaguely-legal hallucinogenic drugs (trust me it’s a larger scene than you think), inspiring feats of family-friendly leisure, political activism and artistic expression.

If there is one thing I have learned during my years of medical training it’s when there’s a trend in the psychotropic underground it’s usually worth sniffing — or in this case smoking — out.

My packet of salvia was purchased, conveniently enough, at a convenience store. The drug resembles dry, dark-colored marijuana “shake.” It doesn’t smell too pretty and looks rather unassuming—nothing like the luscious, glazed green of prime weed. But then again, most of the grass I grew up toking looked little like the pin-up buds in High Times.

Packing a pinch into a small glass pipe I put a record on the hi-fi and prepared myself for. . . who knows what.

Tales from acquaintances who had tried the drug didn’t paint an overwhelmingly precious picture. Most clinical observations passed my way stuck close to a simple logic This shit will fuck you up. When asked to elaborate many didn’t want to go there.

Yet how bad could a drug be that only lasts for a few minutes? Would this strange plant massage my mind or tear it to smoking shreds?

There was only one way to find out.

With my colleague watching I lit the pipe, inhaled a large draft and sat back to wait. Within seconds the room came alive with a vibrant glow. I began giggling — at what exactly I’m not sure — then melted into maniacal laughter.

I lay back on the chaise longue and closed my eyes.

Behind my eyelids shapes crowded my vision; razor-edged diamonds coated in rings of color interlocked, twisting and shaking with electric energy. The experience was acid-like in its intensity and pure lysergic spin, kaleidoscopic and strange. The sound of the record loomed large over my quavering mind.  A quite literal force, gravity-like in its intensity, tugged me towards the sweet sound of the music.

The pull was quite remarkable. You physically feel yourself being drawn in certain directions — towards or away from music, a window, deeper down into the abyss of your mind.

Time having vanished I was stunned when I opened my eyes again to find myself in my study with only a few minutes having ticked by on the clock. What are you doing here!?! I shouted at my friend, who was by that time slumped across a couch deep in his own trip.

The afterglow of the hit was divine: a long, slow return from wherever it was I had been. I managed, with some effort, to change the record and my friend and I danced through the apartment, swaying like vampires navigating a path through rays of sun.

How can it be that a drug like this is legal? Sadder still that it is being used mainly by teens seeking simply to get smashed.

Maybe it will take the drug’s blacklisting and subsequent thrust to the underground for it to attain the respect it deserves as a remarkable psychedelic, made even better by its brevity.

Be safe and enjoy — doctor’s orders.