bennett thinks about // Why Are Psychedelics Illegal? | VICE

The better part of this article overviews history before the presence the existing dominator model within our society, then delves into how the attacking of earlier existing partnership societies, where sex held no hierarchical bearing, by nomatic peoples with a core belief that placed higher value on power that takes, rather than gives (Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade), birthing that whole patriarchy thing everyone on the tumblrs is so hard up on discussing.

It later, of course, goes on to explain that psychedelics are illegal because they dissolve opinion structures and culturally laid down models of behavior and information processing (McKenna), but reading about the first part made me wonder.

Yesterday I sorted through some thoughts on transgenderism, transexualism, the difference between the two, and if either applied to myself. This primed me to draw a possible connection between these two bits of information. Second to my personal opinion on the rise of transgendered identified individuals within my age bracket and the implications I see it having is the possibility, the idealistic hope, that regardless of whether or not the flood of genderhoppers remain fixed in their post transition identity indefinitely, the experience alone of living as the opposite gender they undergo, and the impact they have on those around them, could make a profound impact on the most prominent divide between our species, our sex, further blurring those lines towards a future where complete eradication of any hierarchy based on sex alone might be possible.

Now this ignores plenty potential problems I fearfully anticipate, but it is a fun thing to chew on.

nofearpioneer:

bennett made a gif of me stealing my asshole father’s facial hair while i was drunk as shit the other night.
note: i wasn’t on the floor yelling about america
but damn, do i usually end up shitfaced and being captured on film in ways that could compromise my national security

nofearpioneer:

bennett made a gif of me stealing my asshole father’s facial hair while i was drunk as shit the other night.

note: i wasn’t on the floor yelling about america

but damn, do i usually end up shitfaced and being captured on film in ways that could compromise my national security

theunknownmary:

Especially poking dead things with a stick.

theunknownmary:

Especially poking dead things with a stick.

  • nearlya:

Cris Brodhal. Young Jesus |  Helmet | The Virus, oil on linen
  • nearlya:

Cris Brodhal. Young Jesus |  Helmet | The Virus, oil on linen
  • nearlya:

Cris Brodhal. Young Jesus |  Helmet | The Virus, oil on linen

nearlya:

Cris Brodhal. Young Jesus |  Helmet | The Virus, oil on linen

  • 2headedsnake:

Ricardo Martinez
  • 2headedsnake:

Ricardo Martinez
  • 2headedsnake:

Ricardo Martinez

2headedsnake:

Ricardo Martinez

keep those eyes closed at night
can’t see in the dark anyway
forgotten all about
the veil of moss across your face
as fingertips grip and retrace deep
scars left in the bark
marked a familiar path back to the sea
where salt burns your throat and
dry air cracks thirsty lips
barefoot, kick the sand
into the storm so strong each grain
like needles slice through skin
wont to cripple your step, you say
wont trip over quartz and fall flat
the same way
these old ghost waves echo through bones
that can never ignore the cries of the coast
caught somewhere between
orange and lemon, pocketing
monsters to keep close these demons, these
sadistic reminders that
although fire and water may temper steel
you cant wield ideals
against rock
but if you make it to that shore,
and you get your chance to face down the dark abyss
I hope your eyes open to meet their own
long enough to recount the journey
of the reflection that faught its way
through the forest,
on the back of a buffalo
just to face the depths once again
with the strength to finally walk away

Origami

arms, back, neck
top heavy
camel hump
swollen
slouchy shoulders
blobbing out the
meaty chicken wing slump, just

re-adjust
sit up, ‘cepts back
fidget arms, compress
it’s all in the technique, years of
suck in, sit back
folded up to
shrink down, these

origami’d fragments
- just parts of a hole
abstract nebulous I am until
the third layer band is an
inch too low to restrict
the bump that pokes the shirt, so I
adjust the girt, inhale and

exhale the anxiety,
fuck the chronic sorrow, see
i’ve got this ticking in my stomach,
sending sonic power through my veins
filling the hollow with a warmth that glows
reverberations to serve as a reminder
that I can hold off another hour

Or two, or three,
until I cave and forget to remind
that I’m trying to forget to remind myself
that this strategy is not the best way
to go about addressing the fact that
I have never wanted to admit

any of this.