Drive Offensively! Car Wars is a game featuring freeways of the future in which the right of way goes to those with the biggest guns. Players choose their vehicle — complete with weapons, armor, power plants, suspension, and even body style — then they take them out on the road, either to come home as “aces” or to crash and burn. If a driver survives, his abilities improve and he can earn money to buy bigger and better cars. Advanced rules let players design their own customized cars, trucks, and cycles.
Playing time 30 minutes and up, for players 10 and older. Any number can play . . . games with 2 to 8 are best.
Game components include:
103 full-color die-cut game counters, storage bag, and Turning Key.
64-page rulebook, plus extra tables and record sheets.
2-sided game map, with autoduel arena and raceway.
Four 6-sided dice.
1981 Charles S. Roberts Best Science-Fiction Board Game Winner
1981 Charles S. Roberts Best Science-Fiction Board Game Nominee
The study and practice of hidden and coded language.
There are many codes that, as of yet, remain undecoded. Examples are Kryptos, a sculpture by Jim Sanborn located at CIA headquarters; some of the letters from the Zodiac killer; and the Beale Papers, nineteenth century coded messages that supposedly lead to a buried treasure worth $40 million.
Drug use is the contentious issue that lurks in any discussion of contemporary counterculture. What surprises here, perhaps, is the extent to which drug use prior to the twentieth century is not central to this exploration. Still, mind-affecting plants and chemicals do pop up across countercultural history.
In counterculture since the beats, so-called hard drugs—stimulants and narcotics like speed, heroin, and cocaine—have occasionally fostered fruitful creative frenzy or provided a context for narratives of hilarious morbidity and artful gloom. These drugs have been used with enjoyment and apparent impunity by some. But because of the syndromes of dissolution so often connected with their long-term use, such substances have generally undermined the project of embodying the countercultural impulse in effective action and sustainable modes of living. Counterculture by definition strives toward freedom, while drug addiction is a kind of slavery. In this sense, addictive drug use can ultimately be assessed as anathema to counterculture despite its widespread presence in recent countercultural episodes.
There is a vast history regarding the use of psychedelic (mind-manifesting) plants like psilocybin, peyote, and marijuana to obtain spiritual and religious visions and shamanic healing powers, allowing individuals and groups access to the numinous realm without the intercession of any religious authority.
Altered states of consciousness can sometimes help people conceive alternative truths or open them up to multiple perspectives. In High Frontiers magazine, Bruce Eisner and Peter Stafford described the use of various mind-altering drugs as being “like changing the perceptual filters on your camera to give you a variety of pictures of reality.” Psychedelics like LSD, mescaline, and later Ecstasy, while certainly presenting some hazards, have fueled the countercultural drive by illuminating utopian visions, inspiring artistic departures, and exposing consensus reality. Even the dark side of the psychedelic experience has made its contribution, infusing the desire for radical change with electric urgency by rendering the horrors of modern life in the vivid, pulsing close-up images of a trip focused on harsh negative realities.
Within these contexts, the use of certain psychedelics, is presumed to be understood as an indicator of a particularly unrestrained example of counterculturalness. At the same time, this is not always the case for all individuals and cultures, historically or currently. Even the relatively drug-saturated countercultures of recent decades have given place to counterculturalists who had nothing to do with drugs.
At its best—again mostly, but not exclusively, with the psychedelics— counterculture drug exploration goes beyond the usual chemical quest for recreation, relief, or oblivion. Instead, it becomes a manifestation of counterculture’s great perennial embrace of new ideas, technologies, experiences, and modes of being. It is from this context that works like Aldous Huxley’s The Doors of Perception, Daniel Pinchbeck’s Breaking Open the Head.
Benzodiazepines are a class of drugs that are commonly prescribed as a short-term treatment for anxiety disorders, panic attacks, and insomnia.
Although safe and effective when taken as prescribed, benzodiazepine drugs like Xanax or Ativan can be misused for their effects.
Over time, benzodiazepine abuse can lead to severe physical dependendence, addiction, withdrawal symptoms, and other negative health consequences without treatment.
Benzodiazepines are what’s known as central nervous system depressants (CNS). When taken, they depress central nervous system activity, which can affect breathing and physical movement.
Benzodiazepines are known to enhance the effects of the brain chemical GABA. When taken, this can cause calmness, sedation, and reduce anxiety.
Benzodiazepines, also known as “benzos,” can be abused in several ways. What benzo abuse looks like can vary from person to person, and some signs may be less obvious than others.
What benzodiazepine abuse might look like:
taking higher doses than prescribed
taking doses more often
crushing and snorting benzodiazepines
drinking alcohol to enhance drug effects
mixing benzos with other drugs to get high
taking someone else’s prescription
Chronic benzodiazepine abuse, characterized as a pattern of frequent benzodiazepine misuse, can be dangerous and may harm both physical and mental health.
Misusing benzodiazepines can be dangerous. Both acute and long-term dangers can occur by taking this type of drug in any way other than prescribed by a doctor.
Primary dangers of benzo abuse include:
increased risk of polysubstance abuse
worsened mental health conditions
potential brain damage
Benzodiazepines are rarely dangerous when taken as prescribed. But misusing benzodiazepines carries a risk of serious dangers, including drug overdose.
Benzodiazepine overdose can occur by taking excessively high doses of a benzodiazepine, or by combining the use of benzodiazepines with other drugs, such as opioids, alcohol, or heroin.
People who overdose on benzodiazepines may experience difficulty breathing, breathe very slowly, become unresponsive, or collapse. If this happens, call 911 right away.
Mixing benzodiazepines with other substances such as cocaine, heroin, methadone and alcohol can have serious effects on both short-term and long-term health, with the potential to affect vital organ function and increase the risk of drug overdose.
Drugs and alcohol are called mood-altering substances for a reason: They alter a person’s mood, and the person has no control over how his mood is altered. People commonly report that they use alcohol to help them relax, but the disinhibiting effects of alcohol often turn into physical aggression, yelling and screaming, tears, and so on. If a person already has difficulties managing his emotions, is it wise to add the unpredictable effects of drugs or alcohol?
Some people use alcohol to help them sleep. It’s important to understand that alcohol actually has a negative effect on sleep due to a rebound effect. Four to five hours after consuming alcohol, the rebound effect kicks in and people usually find themselves awake. In addition, researchers have found that consuming alcohol within an hour of bedtime seems to disrupt the second half of the sleep period, so people don’t get the same deep sleep they otherwise would.
Then there are people who use drugs or alcohol to help numb their emotions so they don’t have to deal with them. This makes sense, and we therefore need to validate it, indicating that we understand it, and at the same time encourage them to see this as a goal to work on, as it’s unhealthy and possibly even self-destructive.
Your first challenge may be to just get a person to see that drugs and alcohol are a problem. But even when people can see that a behavior is problematic, they still might not want to change it. In this case, the next challenge is getting them to set small goals around reducing their use—keeping in mind that if a person isn’t willing to set something as a goal yet, you need to accept this and gently continue to push for change over time.
Cults whether fictional or real are having a cultural moment. The recent success of Hulu’s “The Path” and “American Horror Story: Cult” in which we see versions of cult leaders like David Koresh and Jim Jones – all portrayed by Evan Peters. Our fascination with cults – real or fictional – may stem from the fine line between being drawn to what appears to be a utopian community and a dangerous, free-will-stripping group.
The Peoples Temple (1955 – 1978)
When Jim Jones founded the Peoples Temple in Indiana in 1955, it appealed to many as a progressive organization advocating for civil rights, and operating homes for the elderly and those with mental health issues. Like previous progressive groups, Jones’s goal was to create an egalitarian utopian community. In 1965, Jones moved his family and the Peoples Temple to the Redwood Valley in California, based on recommendations from an article in Esquire suggesting places to survive a nuclear war. In 1974, the Peoples Temple leased land in Guyana, where the group would flee media scrutiny in the United States and set up an agricultural commune. By 1978, the population of “Jonestown” in Guyana had grown to around 900, but a few disillusioned members tipped off the American media of the armed compound in South America and rehearsals of mass suicide. In November 1978 Congressman Leo Ryan traveled to Jonestown where he, three journalists and one defector were shot and killed, before Jones ordered his followers to drink a cyanide-laced drink, resulting the loss of 909 lives.
The Branch Davidians (1955 – 1993)
Although this extremist sect of the Seventh Day Adventists has been active since the 1950s, the Branch Davidians are best known for the 1993 standoff in Waco, Texas. David Koresh, the leader at the time, believed he was the Messiah and declared all women – including those underage or already married – his “spiritual wives.”The group believed the apocalypse was imminent and, fearing its arrival, locked themselves into a sprawling compound. On February 28th, 1993, agents from the Department of Alcohol, Firearms and Tobacco raided the Waco compound on the suspicion that Koresh was stockpiling weapons. What started as a shootout soon turned into a standoff between the Branch Davidians and the FBI. Itlasted 51 days, and eventually ended when tanks were brought in: the compound was filled with tear gas and caught on fire, leaving more than 80 people dead.
Sullivanians (1957 – 1991)
Saul B. Newton founded The Sullivan Institute in 1957 with his wife, Dr. Jane Pearce, in an attempt to create a viable alternative to the traditional nuclear family, which he viewed as the root of all social anxiety. Located in three buildings on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, the Sullivan Institute operated as both a therapy center and a polyamorous commune, despite the fact that Newton, the leader, had no formal training as a therapist. Unlike other practicing therapists who worked under a strict code of ethics, there were no such boundaries for the Sullivanians, as the members of the Institute were known, with therapists and other members of the community sleeping with each other regularly. In fact, they were forbidden from engaging in exclusive relationships. Any children born to Sullivanians were sent away to boarding school or caretakers with very little visitation from their parents. All members were encouraged to cut ties with their former friends and family members. In the 1970s, the group – which had around 500 members – merged with a progressive theater collective call the Fourth Wall and relocated to Orlando in 1979 following the nuclear meltdown at Three Mile Island. After seeing a decline in membership in the 1980s, the Sullivan Institute ended with the death of Newton in 1991.
Children of God – Family International (1968 – Present)
David “Moses” Berg founded this communist Christian offshoot in California in 1968. For someone so concerned with moral decay and evolution, Berg had a very sex-centric perspective on how to spread the views of Jesus, including reported recruitment through “flirty fishing” (i.e. using young women to lure in new members by having sex with them) and apparently opposing anti-pedophilia laws – according to some former members, having sex with children was not only permitted, but also a divine right. Berg was a master of propaganda, writing, publishing and distributing pamphlets discussing his teachings. The group changed its name several times – most recently to “Family International” in 2004 – and still exists today, operating in 80 countries, although no longer permits sex between adults and children. Actors Joaquin Phoenix and Rose McGowan were born into the cult and have since left and spoken out against the group.
Heaven’s Gate (1972 – 1997)
Heaven’s Gate – founded in San Diego in 1972 by Marshall Applewhite and Bonnie Nettles – was based on the premise that aliens would escort members of the group to the “Kingdom of Heaven” via extraterrestrial spacecraft. They first made headlines in 1975, when they convinced 20 new followers to give up their earthly possessions, leave their families and disappear. On the CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite reporting that “it’s a mystery whether they’ve been taken on a so-called trip to eternity – or simply taken.” (They turned out to be living underground, camping everywhere from Rhode Island to Oklahoma.) But Heaven’s Gate is best known for a much more tragic event two decades later. In March 1997, the group carefully planned and then executed a mass suicide, timed to coincide with the arrival of the Hale-Bopp comet, which members thought would conceal the alien spacecraft on its way to earth. Clad in black tunics and Nikes, 39 Heaven’s Gate members ate applesauce mixed chased a sedative with vodka, covered their heads in plastic bags and died. Nine of the 18 men – including Applewhite – had been surgically castrated, as the group mandated celibacy. An upbeat videotaped message made the members prior to the suicide indicated that they were willing – even happy – to die and move to the “next level.”
Dianne Lake was just 14 years old when she first met Charles Manson. Her parents were hippies who moved in the same circles as the charismatic cult leader, who would go on to orchestrate the murders of at least seven people, including actress Sharon Tate. In 1967, Lake was going to love-ins and communes, having been given a note from her parents granting her permission to live on her own. While she never participated in any of the cult’s gruesome crimes, she would spend two years living with the Manson Family, becoming its youngest member. Lake, opened up about the man whose spell she fell under in her book, “Member of the Family: My Story of Charles Manson, Life Inside His Cult, and the Darkness That Ended the Sixties”
[It all started with meeting him at a party in LA’s Topanga Canyon at a place called the Spiral Staircase House.]
When we arrived, we climbed the stairs that led into the living room, and a red-haired girl got up to greet us. She stared at me for a minute and ran back to her friends yelling, “Dianne is here! Dianne is here!”
I was incredibly confused. As far as I knew we weren’t planning to go to the party until the last minute, so I couldn’t imagine they were expecting me. The girl returned with three other girls, who all took turns hugging me. The red-haired girl, who called herself Lynette, said, “You are even prettier than your picture. Charlie is going to be so happy to meet you.”
She took my hand and led me to where a bunch of people were sitting in a circle, and in the middle of the floor sat a small man playing the guitar. There were girls surrounding him, singing along to his soulful music of songs I’d never heard before. The girls sat me down, and Lynette kept her arms around my shoulder. As soon as the music stopped, she jumped up and pulled me by the hand.
“Charlie, we found Dianne. She’s here!” They weren’t just excited, they were overjoyed. It had been ages since I felt truly wanted, and all the attention made me feel like royalty.
They were beaming with love and I felt it. Without hesitation, they sat me in their circle as if I belonged and, strange as it may seem, I felt like I belonged there, too.
Lynette must have sensed my confusion, because she began to explain how they recognized me. While I’d been off in the Haight, they’d met my mother at the [hippie commune] Hog Farm. Apparently, my mother had given them my photo and told them to keep an eye out for me if they made it to San Francisco.
What I didn’t understand then and only learned much later was that my parents and siblings had done more than just run into the Family at the Hog Farm and given them my photo. They’d actually taken a trip into the desert with them, traveling in the black school bus that Charlie drove around in and outfitted for his followers.
Many people during this period were painting buses, bread trucks and VW vans with psychedelic Day-Glo colors. Charlie and the girls chose to make a different statement with their monochrome home on wheels, tricking out a surplus school bus by painting it all black, including the windows, which made him easy to spot. To the residents of Tujunga and the Hog Farm, Charlie was known as Black Bus Charlie.
Charlie stood up and looked into my eyes so deeply and intimately that I almost turned away on instinct. Instead I held his gaze and felt like he was looking into me.
“So, this is our Dianne,” he said and pulled me to his chest in a hug so close I could feel his heartbeat. He held on for several seconds and I felt my resistance fade. I was used to the hippie hugs at the Hog Farm, but this felt warm and real. Tears welled up into my eyes as I took in his embrace.
Charlie held me at arm’s length, looked at me and said, “Oh, you’re beautiful. I want to talk to you. I’ve been looking for you.” I sat next to him and listened as he sang and told funny stories. My first impression of him was that he was charming, witty and most of all intriguing.
“Have some root beer, little darling. I give you the last sip in honor of your arrival.”
Lynette and a girl named Patty stroked my hair and passed me a joint while Charlie strummed out more tunes on the guitar. At first I thought Patty was homely. She had a prominent, bulbous nose and thin lips. But when she smiled, her face became beautiful to me. She exuded a motherly warmth and was obviously completely smitten with Charlie. His presence was disarming. He continued to sing and seemed to make up the words as he went along.
“Dianne is home,” he sang out, and the girls joined in with the chorus: “Home is where you are happy.”
Everything felt like a dream. I had been around groups of people grooving on music, but they were often into their own trip. These girls seemed to love one another. They were affectionate like best friends or sisters, but it didn’t seem fake. They weren’t trying to outdo each other in their outrageousness, as was true of those at the Hog Farm, where everything seemed like one big joke. There was something different about this group of girls and about Charlie and while I wasn’t sure what it was, I immediately knew I wanted to be a part of it. Like a raindrop joining a puddle, I blended in easily, my loneliness disappearing. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was in the right place at the right time.
There was a lot of unspoken communication between Charlie and the girls. His expression changed slightly, and as if the scene had been rehearsed, Patty took his guitar from him. He stood, took my hand and led me outside. We walked hand in hand to the black bus. He went in first and motioned for me to follow. It reminded me of a raja’s palace, with mattresses on the floor and Indian-print bedspreads and carpets hanging from the walls. Pillows were strewn about and colorful swirls were painted on any surface not already covered with fabric. This explosion of color was the last thing I’d expected from the blackness of the exterior.
We sat facing each other and the anticipation swelled up inside me. I expected a kiss, but instead Charlie had me put my hands up against his. He moved his hands in different directions until I caught on that I was to follow his every move. It was a game, and I was more than eager to play. It was like he was syncing up our energy. He sped up until I could no longer follow and he started to laugh. Then he guided me onto the mattress and again looked into my eyes so that I felt there was no one else but the two of us in the entire world. “You are so beautiful, my little one.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but I heard it reverberate through my consciousness.
We had only smoked pot, but I felt as if I were on a trip, his trip, and he was guiding my every move. Charlie was older than the other men I had slept with, but his body seemed younger. He had tattoos on his arms and a small tuft of hair on his chest. There was something magnetic about him, even though I wasn’t sure I even found him attractive. He was small and nice-looking but not as classically handsome as some of the men I had pursued. The attraction was more chemical and inevitable without any thought about whether I would or wouldn’t.
He took his time to explore my body. He avoided the places that made me purr until I could barely stand it. After a few minutes, he put himself inside me while staring into my eyes. He was tender as he held me up to meet his deep thrusts. When he finished, he sighed; I exhaled and realized I was hooked.
I watched as Charlie put on his jeans. He was clearly a man but also seemed like a boy. He was playful, and that made me feel even more comfortable with him. Sometimes after I would sleep with a man, I would be left feeling empty. My experience with Charlie was the beginning of something. I felt appreciated by him, not just like some pretty young thing. Charlie was offering me more than sex. He told me I should forget my parents and give up my inhibitions. He made it clear he wanted me to be a part of the group; his group. It felt as if there was no turning back. When I’d been with other older men, I’d been playing the role of a woman — Charlie made me feel like I’d actually become one. He said everything I needed to hear.
That night I went home with [friends] Richard and Allegra, but I knew I would return. The decision seemed so natural; a date with destiny. Charlie and the girls were now living at the Spiral Staircase House. It was only a matter of time before I joined them.
Things with Richard and Allegra continued much as they had been, with them taking me back and forth to the Hog Farm. Whatever threads bound me to that place were finally severed as it became clear there was nothing left for me there. I was an outsider, and my parents and brother and sister were having a life without me. Each time I took a trip there, my presence seemed to make less and less sense.
When I eventually made it back to visit Charlie and the girls at the Spiral Staircase House, Lynette and Patty told me I should stay with them. Creating a sense of urgency, they told me they were planning to take a trip soon, and I had to make up my mind.
I wasn’t sure yet about leaving my parents for good; in living with Richard and Allegra, I still had a connection to the Hog Farm as well as the possibility that my parents would tell me they wanted me to stay. It was a childish fantasy, but it helped ground me. As long as I was near them, I wasn’t truly alone. Still, I was concerned that I would lose my new friends if I hesitated for too long.
When I got back from the Spiral Staircase House, I told Richard and Allegra about the possibility of going with Charlie and the girls. “I don’t know about that, Chicken Little,” Richard said. For some reason, he had changed his mind about Charlie. “It may not be such a cool scene. Maybe you should stick around here for a little while.”
That was the one warning I got about Charles Manson. It was not from my parents or from people at the Hog Farm. It was from my speed-addict friend who somehow understood something that the rest of us did not. Richard never gave me any specifics about why he felt the way he did, so I don’t know where his hesitation came from, and thus there was nothing to dampen my growing crush on Charlie and his girls. But honestly, I’m not sure anyone could have kept me away. The pull of belonging had become too great.
I thought about the note my parents had given me. Even though it was for a specific purpose, it had given me my freedom to be on my own. I didn’t see any reason not to use it as my passport to Charlie’s world.
I visited the Hog Farm one last time, stuffing what few belongings I had in the bread truck into my knapsack and saying goodbyes to my father, mother, brother and sister. As we parted, I was surprised how little I felt toward them. The rift that had been growing for months was finally complete.
When Richard and Allegra took me to the Spiral Staircase House, all the girls ran out to greet me. It turned out they were packing the bus for a drive and told me I was just in time. Charlie reached out his hand to me. And I took it.
Remembering his face in the December light, I find it hard to reconcile the man I followed onto that bus with the monster the world now knows him to be. Over the years, I’ve wished that I could go back and show my younger self what he was to become, changing the story from the start. Clearly that’s not something anyone can do, so I’m left trying to defend the indefensible: Why did I get on that bus?
In the decades since I first met him, I’ve turned the question over in my mind countless times. The obvious answer was that I felt an attraction to him, and as a 14-year-old girl, I reacted to that hormonally. But that’s not really the answer, or at least the full answer. More than just attraction, I felt a deep connection. It seemed as if he understood me completely and wouldn’t let me down or betray me as all the other important people in my life had. Ever since we’d “dropped out,” I’d been an afterthought, at various points a mouth to feed, jailbait and a reminder of a previous life in the straight world.
With Charlie and the Family, from the beginning, there was none of that baggage. I had a place with them from that first night. I belonged in a way that I hadn’t anywhere in months. Charlie and the girls also made it OK for me to want and have sex. It seems so simple, yet this freed me from some of the deepest confusion and shame I’d been experiencing since I was 9.
There is no doubt that Charlie took advantage of me. This small man oozed self-confidence and sex appeal, and as he would demonstrate time and time again in the months and years ahead, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was a master manipulator, while I was 14 and essentially on my own. I was a naive, lonely, love-starved little girl looking for a parental figure to tell me, “No, don’t do that.”
As I discovered that first day in his magic bus, when he focused his attention on you, he made you believe there was no one else in the world. He also had the uncanny sensibility bestowed upon mystics, yet misused by sociopaths and con men, to know exactly what you needed.
Charlie knew what you were afraid of and could paint a scenario that would use all those insights to his advantage — traits that I would see in equal parts over time. Of course, in this moment, as I walked up the bus steps, I saw none of these things. Instead, all I saw was acceptance.
But perhaps the most impressive trick of all was how he made this seem as if it was my idea. Ever since my father first left home, I’d cultivated a sense of independence. I’d taken care of my siblings, I’d cooked, I’d become a free thinker, I’d taken drugs. I might have been 14, but I thought I understood who I was and what was missing from my life.
What I needed was a family. And now it seemed I’d found one.
The stoners among you will recognize that, being 4/20 in American date notation, it’s also a day to celebrate smoking weed, since “420” is American argot for marijuana. Why? Here’s why:
In 1971, five high school students in San Rafael, California, used the term “4:20” in connection with a plan to search for an abandoned cannabis crop, based on a treasure map made by the grower. Calling themselves the Waldos, because their typical hang-out spot “was a wall outside the school”, the five students — Steve Capper, Dave Reddix, Jeffrey Noel, Larry Schwartz, and Mark Gravich —designated the Louis Pasteur statue on the grounds of San Rafael High School as their meeting place, and 4:20 pm as their meeting time. The Waldos referred to this plan with the phrase “4:20 Louis”. After several failed attempts to find the crop, the group eventually shortened their phrase to “4:20”, which ultimately evolved into a code-word the teens used to refer to consuming cannabis.
Happy Bicycle Day, which doesn’t celebrate bicycles but the effects of LSD:
On April 19, 1943, Albert Hofmann, a researcher at Sandoz Laboratories in Basel, Switzerland, purposely ingested .25 milligrams (250 micrograms) of LSD at his lab. He thought this would be the threshold dose—the lowest amount taken where there are still effects—when in reality the threshold dose for LSD is only 20 micrograms. But what does a bicycle have to do with the day?
Within an hour, Hofmann began to notice changes in his perception and senses. He decided that he should go home, so he hopped on his bicycle and began riding. Because the drug was already greatly affecting him, he had his laboratory assistant help guide him to his house. At times during his bicycle ride, he thought he was going insane, thought his neighbor was a witch and thought the LSD had poisoned him.
He later wrote in LSD: My Problem Child, “On the way home, my condition began to assume threatening forms. Everything in my field of vision wavered and was distorted as if seen in a curved mirror. I also had the sensation of being unable to move from the spot. Nevertheless, my assistant later told me that we had traveled very rapidly.”
Needless to say, his bicycle ride was quite a trip.
Timothy Leary was an American psychologist who became an iconic figure of the 1960s counterculture, coining possibly the most widely used catchphrase linked with that era: “Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out.”
However, the order in which Leary wished us to do these three things is slightly different. He felt that society was polluted by politics, and made up of sterile, generic communities that do not allow the depth of meaning needed by true individuals. The first thing he thought we should do is “Drop Out,” by which he meant that we should detach ourselves from artificial attachments and become self-reliant in thought and deed. Unfortunately, “Drop Out” has been misinterpreted as urging people to halt productivity, which was never his intention.
Next, Leary tells us to “Turn On,” or delve into our unconscious, and “find a sacrament which returns you to the temple of God, your own body.” This is a command to explore deeper layers of reality, as well as the many levels of experience and consciousness. Drugs were one way to do this, and Leary, a Harvard professor, began experimenting with the hallucinogenic drug LSD.
To “Tune In,” Leary asks us to return to society with a new vision, seeking fresh patterns of behavior that reflect our transformation, and to teach others our newfound ways.”