Originally published at: Rosemary Leary describes her life as a psychedelic pioneer and her decades as a fugitive | Boing Boing
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crashed amidst the antiques, drew crazy patterns on the prayer rug, dripped candle wax across the sheets, played Dylan slowed down, more mournful than he was at normal speed.
Yep, that’s about the size of it, what I still have in brain cells tells me so.
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Interesting excerpt. I suspect reading the whole book would make me want to claw my eyes out though.
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Is this the G-rated version of Fifty Shades of Grey?
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Between this excerpt and seeing Leary speak with G. Gordon Liddy in college in the 80’s, that’s enough proof that psychedelics are, what’s Cookie Monster say these days? “A Sometimes Food.”
I’ve dropped acid twice. Once was AMAZING. Once was TERRIBLE. That was enough. One can be a ‘functional’ alcoholic, or a stoner. But if tripping on the regular makes your deliberate prose sound like this? Yeah, I’ll stick to weed, thanks. At least I don’t sound like 19 year old college student who’s sleeping with her Eastern Philosophy prof.
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This post made me curious about what had happened to Leary, so I looked him up and learned this fun fact:
On his arrival in prison, he was given psychological tests used to assign inmates to appropriate work details. Having designed some of these tests himself (including the “Leary Interpersonal Behavior Inventory”), Leary answered them in such a way that he seemed to be a very conforming, conventional person with a great interest in forestry and gardening. As a result, he was assigned to work as a gardener in a lower-security prison from which he escaped in September 1970…
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