ederal agents say that they found evidence of marijuana and cocaine, as well as clippers and scissors during a raid on the compound of the Amish beard-cutting suspects, now charged with hate crimes.

In a bail hearing on Wednesday, prosecutors reportedly introduced video evidence that included evidence of drug use, sex and the information related to the attacks.

Last week, federal officials conducted a raid on a compound of leader Sam Mullet’s breakaway Bergholz Clan in Ohio, arresting Mullet and six others. All seven were charged with violating the Hate Crimes Prevention Act, and are accused of breaking into the homes of mainstream Amish, and cutting off their hair and beards. In the Amish community, the beard is a symbol of faith.

In the hearing, officials accused Sam Mullet of orchestrating the attacks. ONN TV and WTOV9 report that in the hearing, the lead FBI agent on the case told the court that during the raid, they found Mullet in a bedroom with the wife of one of his fellow defendants doing ‘sexual counseling.” Agents also reportedly found scissors and clippers, and marijuana seeds and cocaine in a barn on the compound.

Another one of the defendants, Emanuel Schrock, barricaded himself in a room with a child when agents attempted to arrest him, according to the agent.

Sam Mullet, his two sons and Schrock were all denied bail in the hearing. ”I consider these violent acts,” said Magistrate Judge George Limbert. ”They are a danger to the Amish community. I don’t consider them a threat outside the Amish community.”

”It appears to me that Sam Mullet has absolute control of the community,” Limbert added, the Warren Tribune Chronicle reports.

The other three arrested in the raid will appear before a judge on Friday.

hehehe. check out those fucking beards. I think I got acid off these dudes once…

All local news networks stop coverage of #occupyLA at the same to show informercials for wrinkle cream #collusion@MYFOXLA

All of the news channels stopped their coverage on #OccupyLA wtf am I gonna watch now –__–

Uh, oh. Watch out #OccupyLA folks! Last of local TV cvrge just signed off. Unpaid citizen journos still streaming:

Anyway, there are several reports from twitter & the live stream that said that cops in biohazard gear have started swabbing protesters…what the fuck for? And is what they’re doing illegal?

Beginning on January 1, 2009, all adults arrested for any felony offense must provide a buccal swab (inner cheek scraping) DNA sample, and thumb and palm print impressions for the State of California’s DNA (CAL-DNA) Data Bank Program (Penal Code section 296(a)(2)©). This expands 2008 CAL-DNA Data Bank law provisions governing collection of DNA samples from arrestees. The 2008 law requires adults arrested for a felony Penal Code section 290 registerable sex offense, murder, or voluntary manslaughter (including attempts of these crimes) to provide samples for the CAL-DNA Data Bank (Penal Code section 296(a)(2)(A) and (B)).
The following sets forth information pertinent to the January 1, 2009, expansion of CAL-DNA Data Bank Program providing for DNA identification sample collection from all adult felony arrestees:

This is a gross violation of rights. We will not be silenced nor will our movement(s) be squelched. You gave us our petty illusions that we are a free and democratic country and now you have to deal with us realizing these values.

I’ll update this as I find anything out, if at all.

Oops. Too late...

A well-known Washington lobbying firm with links to the financial industry has proposed an $850,000 plan to take on Occupy Wall Street and politicians who might express sympathy for the protests, according to a memo obtained by the MSNBC program “Up w/ Chris Hayes.”

The proposal was written on the letterhead of the lobbying firm Clark Lytle Geduldig & Cranford and addressed to one of CLGC’s clients, the American Bankers Association.

CLGC’s memo proposes that the ABA pay CLGC $850,000 to conduct “opposition research” on Occupy Wall Street in order to construct “negative narratives” about the protests and allied politicians. The memo also asserts that Democratic victories in 2012 would be detrimental for Wall Street and targets specific races in which it says Wall Street would benefit by electing Republicans instead.

According to the memo, if Democrats embrace OWS, “This would mean more than just short-term political discomfort for Wall Street. … It has the potential to have very long-lasting political, policy and financial impacts on the companies in the center of the bullseye.”

The memo also suggests that Democratic victories in 2012 should not be the ABA’s biggest concern. “… (T)he bigger concern,” the memo says, “should be that Republicans will no longer defend Wall Street companies.”

Two of the memo’s authors, partners Sam Geduldig and Jay Cranford, previously worked for House Speaker John Boehner, R-Ohio. Geduldig joined CLGC before Boehner became speaker; Cranford joined CLGC this year after serving as the speaker’s assistant for policy. A third partner, Steve Clark, is reportedly “tight” with Boehner, according to a story by Roll Call that CLGC features on its website.

Jeff Sigmund, an ABA spokesperson, confirmed that the association got the memo. “Our Government Relations staff did receive the proposal – it was unsolicited and we chose not to act on it in any way,” he said in a statement to “Up.”

CLGC did not return calls seeking comment.

Boehner spokesman Michael Steel declined to comment on the memo. But he responded to its characterization of Republicans as defenders of Wall Street by saying, “My understanding is that President Obama is the single largest recipient of donations from Wall Street.”

On “Up” Saturday, Obama campaign adviser Anita Dunn responded by saying that the majority of the president’s re-election campaign is fueled by small donors. She rejected the suggestion that the president himself is too close to Wall Street, saying “If that’s the case, why were tough financial reforms passed over party line Republican opposition?”

The CLGC memo raises another issue that it says should be of concern to the financial industry — that OWS might find common cause with the Tea Party. “Well-known Wall Street companies stand at the nexus of where OWS protestors and the Tea Party overlap on angered populism,” the memo says. “…This combination has the potential to be explosive later in the year when media reports cover the next round of bonuses and contrast it with stories of millions of Americans making do with less this holiday season.”

The memo outlines a 60-day plan to conduct surveys and research on OWS and its supporters so that Wall Street companies will be prepared to conduct a media campaign in response to OWS. Wall Street companies “likely will not be the best spokespeople for their own cause,” according to the memo. “A big challenge is to demonstrate that these companies still have political strength and that making them a political target will carry a severe political cost.”

Part of the plan CLGC proposes is to do “statewide surveys in at least eight states that are shaping up to be the most important of the 2012 cycle.”

Specific races listed in the memo are U.S. Senate races in Florida, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Wisconsin, Ohio, New Mexico and Nevada as well as the gubernatorial race in North Carolina.

The memo indicates that CLGC would research who has contributed financial backing to OWS, noting that, “Media reports have speculated about associations with George Soros and others.”

“It will be vital,” the memo says, “to understand who is funding it and what their backgrounds and motives are. If we can show that they have the same cynical motivation as a political opponent it will undermine their credibility in a profound way.”

In older, and unrelated news, Colbert is  member of the Illuminati, thanks to a few beautiful Discordians. This bodes well for the Illuminati.

Also, sick beatz, d00d. No really, check it out. Immortal Technique has also come out with some OWS related stuff. but I’ll let you find that yourself.

It’s quite unusual for big artists to even mention BitTorrent, but Lady Gaga doesn’t mind requesting a torrent.

Earlier today she asked her fans to send a torrent (or YouTube) link of the Top Chef Just Desserts finale.

Apparently Lady Gaga knows a thing or two about BitTorrent. But does this also means she’s okay with fans pirating her music?

One thing’s for sure, the RIAA disagrees.

Linkage.

(Reuters) — A Tibetan Buddhist monk doused himself in fuel and set himself ablaze in far western China on Tuesday, the tenth ethnic Tibetan this year to resort to the extreme form of protest, an overseas advocacy group said.

The Free Tibet group said the latest self-immolation happened outside a monastery in Ganzi in Sichuan province, about 150 km (95 miles) south of Aba, the site of eight of the last nine self-immolations since March to protest against religious controls imposed by the Chinese government.

In a statement emailed late on Tuesday, Free Tibet said it had no information about the monk’s name, whereabouts, or whether he survived the incident.

Nor did it specify its sources.

Government officials, police and workers at several hotels in Ganzi, called Kandze by Tibetans, told Reuters they did not know about the reported self-immolation.

“I don’t know about this, and even if I did, I couldn’t be loose-lipped,” said an official in the Ganzi county office.

Most people in Ganzi and neighboring Aba are ethnic Tibetan herders and farmers, and many see themselves as members of a wider Tibetan region encompassing the official Tibetan Autonomous Region and other areas across the vast highlands of China’s west.

The string of self-immolations, at least five of them fatal, “represents a wider rejection of China’s occupation of Tibet,” said Stephanie Brigden, the director of Free Tibet, which campaigns for self-rule for the region.

The group reported “significantly increased numbers of security personnel including in Tibet’s capital, Lhasa, hundreds of kilometers away from where the self-immolations have taken place.”

For the Chinese government, the protests are a small but destabilizing challenge to its regional policies, which it says have lifted Tibetans out of poverty and servitude.

China has ruled what it calls the Tibet Autonomous Region since Communist troops marched in 1950. It rejects criticisms of rights groups and exiled Tibetans and has condemned the self-immolations as destructive and immoral.

“Encouraging some people to use this kind of extreme and cruel means to injure themselves is a type of violent terrorist act,” China’s Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Jiang Yu told a regular news briefing.

Jiang did not confirm the latest incident but said the protests were out of sync with the wishes of people in the region.

“I think a few individuals inciting a few ignorant people to violate the law and damage local social stability cannot represent the broader desires of the local people,” she said.

In March 2008, protests and deadly riots against the Chinese presence spread across Tibetan regions, triggering sometimes deadly confrontations with troops and police.

Tibet’s exiled spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, who China condemns as a supporter of violent separatism for his homeland, last week led hundreds of maroon-robed monks, nuns and lay Tibetans in prayer to mourn those who have burned themselves to death or been imprisoned.

The Dalai Lama denies advocating violence and insists he wants only real autonomy for his homeland, from which he fled in 1959 after a failed uprising against Chinese rule.

But the Chinese Foreign Ministry has said the Dalai Lama should take the blame for the burnings, and repeated Beijing’s line that Tibetans are free to practice their Buddhist faith.

(Reporting by Chris Buckley, Sabrina Mao and Michael Martina; Editing by Yoko Nishikawa)

Here are a couple of more recent subjects from r00t3rz on the same subject:

http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/10/20/us-china-tibetans-burnings-idUSTRE79J1IT20111020

http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/10/18/us-china-tibetans-protest-idUSTRE79H0H020111018

And here’s a fun little article about the history of Tibet’s occupation from Free Tibet.

                                                              FR33 T1B37

OR I WILL HUG YOU
 

~*TTFN~*

both ears open
you can’t make me hate myself
strive
sign language — glossolalia
I’m not crazy
I created the universe.

I’m still trying to muster my thoughts, as the overall experience was fairly overwhelming… But at the long and short of it, the night before I sat down to write this article, I ate LSD for the first time in about eight months, and I may or may not be the creator of all reality. And we may be fighting a cosmic, timeless battle against a mindless hive of swarming insectoid evil. But, ah, more on that later.

First I suppose you need to know that this is not the first time I’ve been contacted by god, or gods. The first time I was much too young, and foolish in my preparations (or lack therof). I pushed a hole into the fabric of the things-which-were, and started out into the expanse. To my ever lasting surprise… Something stared back. Something out there suddenly realised that I was awake, that I had switched on that little bit. Of course, that wasn’t where I was supposed to be at that point. I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t know it — Which is a most dangerous state to be in, blundering blindly into events of great cosmic significance… And I paid for it. I had to be restrained by seven or eight guys and force-fed antipsychotics at a festival out in the bush while I frothed and fought. it was ugly, it was traumtic…

But it was real. Everything I’d been dreaming, wondering, experimenting with… it was real. This was fucking confirmation man, that shit was not what it seemed on the surface.

I was told a lot of things that day, many of which made no sense at the time, but as life progressed, the meanings unfolded… There’s a lot of things which still don’t, but everything will be explained in time, I’m sure.

Fast forwards back to last night, I ate a couple of tabs in the company of my best mate of a few years or so, now. He’s been doing this nearly as long as I have, we went to highschool together, we’re both psytrance DJs, we love music and we’ve been through some pretty unbelievable shit. He hadn’t tripped in a very long time either, so this was to be a special night for the both of us.

We were out the back of my place, sitting on garden chairs when the drugs began to take hold. Chain smoking and just talking, laughing and mostly just sitting there in long pauses of comfortable silence. Once it began to get cold we moved inside to listen to some music.

Boom!

“Wow, holy shit. It’s bright in here. jesus, this is some strong board. I am barely see…”

He suggested a couple of tracks I wasn’t familiar with, so I downloaded an album or two and audiogasmed for a little while. The albums went in the play queue, and we went back outside for another cigarette.

Sexuality is something which has never really troubled me. I always thought I was straight, and over the years I’d experimented a little (usually while under the influence of some fairly serious doses of MDMA) with guys, and enjoyed it, but never really found myself troubled by the thought that I might be gay. Now, don’t stress. This isn’t going to turn into a “How I got super high last night and fucked my best mate” story.

Anyway, he said he had a headache and wanted to go and lie down. So we both went back inside, and I went to my computer, logged onto tumblr and put some music on again.

Now, God has always seemed to have a special hard-on for my computer. The second time I encountered Him, it was when I was living with my now ex-girlfriend, almost a year ago. I spent the night then, laying in bed while God created music and patterns to explain things as he spoke through the person I loved — This was not what you would call new behaviour for her, as she had more then once in her life (before we were together) considered herself possessed by various demons or to be otherwise a mechanism for divine intervention.

I thought she was crazy. Until that night, I mean. She who had often chanted glossolalia and spoken of her unflinching connection with God… That was the first night I discovered I had faith. I believed. There was a higher power out there, and he a had a plan, and I was important to it. That was the important message there. But the little messages — The small, important things that went with that — I was too proud to really pat attention to. Still not ready.

Between then and now, A lot of bad shit went down. I got heavily into meth, I turned on a lot of my friends, I turned my back on my family… Don’t worry, this isn’t an addiction sob story either. The short version of that is, I nearly got myself killed trying to play psychedelic-vendor in the amphet world. They didn’t play by my rules, they didn’t play by anyone’s rules. So that world took me, and skinned me, and ate my fear.

It was only because of the love my family and friends had for me that I survived that time of my life.

So the past six months has been healing from those wounds, and remembering how to care, and to be a good guy, and all that. I went back outside for a cigarette, and got lost in thought again. Both times prior that I had met god, it was when I was with my previous girlfriend, A. I thought I loved her, she thought she loved me. it was beautiful, it was intense, and it eventually got very ugly as meth got between us both and under our skin — Love became distrust and I used the shard as a crutch to isolate myself from her.

If I’d only been brave enough to admit the truth to myself back then, I could have saved us both a lot of heartache, I’m sure. Both of the times I met god before, I spent hours trying to convince him — and myself — That I was straight, and that I loved her. I was conflicted. I was uncertain. I was afraid.

Not this time, though. I’d had enough time to really think about it, and come to terms with what it would mean. So, again outside for a cigarette, I admitted it aloud for the first time.

“I think I’m gay.”

The sky smiled, and my mind began to run in circles, loops, back and forth, trying to come to terms with the acceptance. After a few minutes of that self indulgent panic, I got a grip of the trip and sat down again. I realised how that as much as I loved A, I also loved B, the friend who was tripping with me. He’d always been there, we always got on perfectly, he knew me better than almost anyone. So I sat there for about twenty minutes chain smoking, thinking about how I loved him, and what that meant. He came outside then, and joined me for a cigarette.

We didn’t say anything at first, but my mind was still racing. Do I tell him? How do I tell him What will this mean?

Part of my brain was screaming to just tell him, to get it out in the open. The other half, though, was just apologising, over and over again; “I’m sorry, I can’t tell him that, I don’t want to change things, I just want him to be comfortable…”

The second that thought creased my brow, the music changed. There was a complicated little fanfare, the track changed for a moment — a sample, processed and filtered but still clearly legible, “Hallelujah!” — BOOM BOOM BOOM.

That neat little breakdown in the track pinned what I was thinking and made me realise what I was saying. I Just wanted him to be comfortable. I loved him, sure — The same way I’d loved A. But that wasn’t romantic love, that wasn’t sexual love. She and I had failed because we loved each other as people, not as boyfriend and girlfriend. In the spirit of the word; ‘namaste’ — The divine in me recognises the divine in you. I loved them both as my best friends, who had been through things with me that nobody could ever understand. And nothing more — Trying to make something out of that was what had driven A away from me, I wasn’t going to push away the other person in the world who really got me because I was confused and grasping at straws to explain things. I wasn’t gay. I just loved my best friend like a brother.

Whether I was gay or not was suddenly irrelevant. Being gay didn’t mean that I had to make a move on my best friend, or be torn by indecision. Get ahold of yourself, man! gay, straight… It doesn’t change who you are. I am me, and you can’t make me hate myself. It doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy sleeping with girls, beause I do. It doesn’t mean that I only want to sleep with guys, because I don’t. Anything else is just semantics — Life is about living, enjoy sex wherever you want to. It’s not perfect, but it is beautiful.

Another breakdown. Like that little riff in zelda when you discover the important tool, the music stepped up a notch, the beat took on a more complicated time signature. Ben had gone to lay down on the couch in the loungeroom with a cold compress on his forehead, I was now alone in my room with the music.

I thought about what I’d said to myself again. You can’t make me hate myself.

The music. The music kicked again, and I realize :

It’s you again, isn’t it? I smiled, and God smiled back from the speakers.

Settling into a more comfortable position on the bed, I felt myself calming, relaxing — I was in control here, everything was on track. This was important. Tonight was important.

It’s not… Easy to describe what happened next. A lot of the events tend to blur into one another, and I don’t clearly remember how they started and how they flowed from one to the next. But I lay there, thinking about what I’d realised already, and how it changed things. What it changed, if anything. I was gay, or I wasn’t, and I was okay with that, but it wasn’t what tonight was about. My hands were moving — I felt like I was shaking hands with myself, locking fingers, watching shapes forming from the trails they left wherever I reached. The music, relentless. Inspiring, complicated. And then I fet thoughts welling up in my head that were mine, but weren’t. That were not spoken in any voice or heard in any real language, but just known. I looked down again, and realised that I had been echoing these thoughts in my hands. I was silent, not speaking, but signing. I have never known sign language, but I’ve often wanted to learn. And yet, as I lay there in bed, my hands moved like they had a life of their own. Without having a conscious grasp on the language, I couldn’t tell you now if I “recognised” it as as the words the patterns and gestures represented. But I knew it was right. Logically I had no idea, but I knew.

And that’s faith — The confidence and strength in your beliefs without logic to back it up. I am a scientific person — I believe in the scientific method, and peer review, and logic almost above all else.

Almost.

And then, once more, blinding realisation. All that matters is that I’m happy. Relationships come and go, sexuality waxes and wanes. Life is about living, don’t worry — be happy, and have great sex. I’m not gay. I’m not straight. I’m just me. And nobody can ever change that.

Language… Began the thought. It might even have been a phrase spoken in the music? It began in my head, or in the speakers

Language is universal. Language is a way of moving feelings across human distances. Music is a form of language, a way for you to condense all that joy you feel and synchronise it into a packet that you can broadcast into a room full of people, so everyone can experience that joy. Without spoken language, how do we communicate? With thoughts, pictures, signs, music. And electronic music — The beat, the bass, the driving rhythms and complicated, fast synths… Anybody can understand that. japanese, french, australian, young, old… Everybody knows what it feels like to want to DANCE.

And as the thoughts unspooled in my head, I watched my hands explain the universality of language as music, and how all forms of music had the potential to speak and to unite and to sing and to create, to bring together people of all backgrounds.

The music was like black polished chrome, and it came over the summer like liquid night

Music was the plan. Music was the language for all of humanity, and in all its genres, subgenres, tastes and variations — Each of them like a language unto themselves, but still a language without borders…

And now, as I listened to the music, I could hear things differrently. I could hear what was, and what wasn’t. Was could be, and what should have been. I could hear the harsh tones, that didn’t fit, and the warm, resounding kicks that swelled to fill the void.

I’m not sure how it started. But there was a sudden moment of realisation that the music was suddenly about so much more then something to listen to. The music was reality itself, and each many-layered multifaceted moment was an expanse of time and space laid bare for me to investigate and to work my head around. And I could see… darkness. There was an ugly repetition to some of the sounds, it was hollow, lifeless. Cold and gleaming. I didn’t like those sounds. They had their own language, and it was the language of fear.

I looked down at my hands again, and my skin was suddenly blackest night sky, awash with stars. The darkness of my room was replaced with white and I watched my hands become the sky, each star of light that flecked my skin infinitely connected to the other, and with the music. I watched as the light bled out, and arced around my fingers, forming tiny arcs and knots of colour in the darkness. And I could isolate the sounds that I didn’t like, the ugly tones, the harsh fuzz and the nasty frequencies. And as my hands writhed and danced, the music screamed and I finally caught one of those stars between my fingers. I could feel it. It was cold, and it was buzzing. It writhed, trying to escape by grasp. The music bucked and spasmed, because it knew I had found it.

“Who are you?” I demanded, stretching the star between my fingers. I twisted the cold black energy, trying to look closer. It spun around my filgers like spider’s silk, trying to knot them closed, trying to clench my hands together, to freeze them in place. It was like a great and terrifying paralysis, two huge clamps pinning my hands together and forcing me into muteness. Then, in the blackness, I saw, just for a moment — the buzzing of wings. An insect. At the core of the darkness, an insect. The root of all my fear, the root of the distrust in the world, the root of the poison which had turned so much music into a mechanism to subjugate others. Insects.

My voice, I found it again.

“I am god… You are insects.”

Only it wasn’t my voice. My hands spoke it, and the sentence had a kind of power to it, and the music knew it too. My fingers struggled like digging themselves out of half-set concrete, and I felt the power surge behind my eyes.

You are the forces of darkness, uncertainty and doubt. You are everything I loathe, you are everytyhing that fights for selfishness and cowardice. You have cowed me in the past, but no more. You are insects, I am god. And I am not afraid of you.

WHAM. The paralysis, redoubled. Pressing down on my chest, squashing my hands into the mattress. This was it. The time to fight. The time to show them what fear and fury really mean. I could feel a million cold points trying to push me harder down, and even as they did so, two million hot voices in my ears spurring me to resist. The darkness threatened to engulf my vision, everything sweeping to blackness as every terrible terrified memory in my past began to reappear, all the moments I tried to block out swelled at the seams, trying to bend me to the will of fear.

And then, when the darkness seemed all-covering, like a web that covered me from head to toe, a blinding spray of diamond mist burned into life for a second, like a million tiny aluminium fibres igniting all at once — And in the intensity of each tiny point of warmth, I saw the face of someone that loved me, and of the people I loved. And their voices, swelled in my head.

I AM NEVER ALONE. I WILL NEVER BE ALONE.

The weight on my chest was suffocating, my fingers ached like they were in boiling water. But I struggled, and I fought, and my fingers found the air again, and in that freedom, I found my voice. My fingers danced…

No matter how dark things will ever get, or how many forces of evil bring their nasty selfishness to bear on me, to try and squash my will. I will never be alone. And that is why I will always triumph. Because I am loved, and I can love, and you can never understand that. Love is the binding armour, the strength of light and the god kick, love is the subwoofer, love is everything that empowers. I am god. I am love. You are insects, you are fear.

And I am not afraid of you.

In that instant, my muscles turned to liquid gold. My every nerve crackled with power, and I watched my hands ignite with multicoloured fire, every millimetre of my skin a moving, kaliedoscopic jewel-like fragment. I sat bolt upright, dragging the darkness off my chest, and held it in both hands.

I am not afraid of you!

And as the darkness turned in my grasp, like a fish out of water, struggling in the hands of its captor, I began to see more and more of its shape. The music expanded, every point and note and tone visible simultaneously. And the darkness expanded, like a dissection, or when a computer program is decompiled — and I could see the layers of deception and fear, and lies, and shadow that was in my grasp, and what it was made from. As I peeled away the layers of chitin and gleaming exoskeleton, I began to realise just why the darkness was so afraid of me.

The darkness was a mask — And who wears masks?

People who have something to hide!

And as the mask dissolved, I felt a great tug, like one does in the bath when the plug has been unexpectedly pulled. Something was withdrawing, something was afraid, because suddenly — I had the fucker right in my grasp. Something was hiding from me. Something that didn’t want me to find it.

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO HIDE?

And now, my voice filled my lungs as well as my hands, my human voice, and it followed the darkness down the rabbithole it was trying to escape through. I could feel it, this palpable hole in reality again, I had seen this before! But I wasn’t ready last time.

But this time… I was so much more then ready. I was born for this. This was why I was here. I had found the FEAR, the source of all misery in the unvierse, and I had tricked the sneaky little shit into showing itself

And now that I had seen it? I could follow it. I forced open the rabbit hole , reaching through and grasping at anything my fingers could reach. I was seeing in nine dimensions — The traditional three, my human body, my arms snaking into the air above my bed. And then, six, or maybe even more — overlaid, expanding, depth beyond depth, a vision of things that could not exist, that did not exist! I could see it all, an incredible tapestry of meshing gears, jewels and time. And I realised, this was beyond human existence. This was beyond the universe. What I had found here was the space OUTSIDE of existence, where all things came from. The howling void, where fear lived. I was reaching back to the cold emptyness of the universe before the big bang, and I found the ancient, uncomprehensible evil that dwelled there.

But I could feel my grip slipping. I was god still, but in the body of a man not built for this kind of pandimensional combat. I now had the brunt of an infinite cold suns picking at my fingers, trying to loosen my grip. I could feel it slipping. But suddenly, I knew what had to be done. Smiling, I looked fear in the eye. With my last ounce of strength, I reached into myself, and found the love that had given me the power to make it this far. Extending my hands, I turned my mind to project, and everything just… stopped.

Frozen in time for a moment, nothing happened. Then my fingers began to vibrate. My arms shook, my body writhed as I poured out my heart, my soul and my love through this hole in time and space, and into the void I created light.

The power, so full in my eyes, now streamed into the nothing. And from nothing, there came creation. The darkness spread, and the seed of love took root. The darkness spoke in tongues, sowing fear and hate and cowardice. And I answered, in the only language I knew. Music. Drawing on all of my tastes, my love, my music, I planted the seed that would one day defeat the fear. I gave the darkness jazz, and rock & roll, and Bach. I gave the darkness trance, and drum and bass. I gave the darkness everything I had.

I am god, you are insects. And now you’re going to listen. Pay attention, cos I’m only going to say this once.

And from my fingers streamed the fire again, between each fingertip an invisible, but blinding strand of music. Everything I knew, everything that had been. Came from my fingers. Weaving them together, the strands egn to knot, splintering and thickening, sending new roots out from where they touched. Have you ever played cat’s cradle? with the pieces of string in your hand? it was like that. Every piece of string intermeshed and knotted and wove and then expanded, creating every possible incarnation of music, every subgenres, every style, very tiny resurgent movement that ever flourished in a backalley beat club, or in every island nation’s drums. All music, infinite. Creation.

And then, my grip waned. I flexed, and smiled. I blew the darkness a kiss — The final touch, love, to enter the music and give it life. Then I let go, and collapsed, shaking, sweating, back onto the mattress.

The trip continued for several hours beyond that, but that’s a story for another day…

S. 605:

Dangerous Synthetic Drug Control Act of 2011

Mar 17, 2011 — Introduced in Senate. This is the original text of the bill as it was written by its sponsor and submitted to the Senate for consideration. This is the latest version of the bill currently available on GovTrack.

S 605 IS

112th CONGRESS

1st Session

S. 605

To amend the Controlled Substances Act to place synthetic drugs in Schedule I.

IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES

March 17, 2011

Mr. GRASSLEY (for himself, Mrs. FEINSTEIN, Mr. HATCH, Ms. KLOBUCHAR, Mr. MANCHIN, Mrs. HAGAN, and Mr. WHITEHOUSE) introduced the following bill; which was read twice and referred to the Committee on the Judiciary

A BILL

To amend the Controlled Substances Act to place synthetic drugs in Schedule I.

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled,

SECTION 1. SHORT TITLE.

This Act may be cited as the ‘Dangerous Synthetic Drug Control Act of 2011’ or the ‘David Mitchell Rozga Act’.

SEC. 2. ADDITION OF CANNABIMIMETIC AGENTS TO SCHEDULE I OF THE CONTROLLED SUBSTANCES ACT.

Schedule I, as set forth in section 202© of the Controlled Substances Act (21 U.S.C. 812©) is amended by adding at the end the following:

‘(d)(1) Unless specifically exempted or unless listed in another schedule, any material, compound, mixture, or preparation which contains any quantity of cannabimimetic agents, their salts, isomers, and salts of isomers whenever the existence of such salts, isomers, and salts of isomers is possible within the specific chemical designation.

‘(2) In paragraph (1), the term ‘cannabimimetic agents’–

‘(A) means any substance that is a cannabinoid receptor type 1 (CB1 receptor) agonist as demonstrated by binding studies and functional assays within the following structural classes:

‘(i) 2-(3-hydroxycyclohexyl)phenol with substitution at the 5-position of the phenolic ring by alkyl or alkenyl, whether or not substituted on the cyclohexyl ring to any extent.

‘(ii) 3-(1-naphthoyl)indole or 3-(1-naphthyl)indole by substitution at the nitrogen atom of the indole ring, whether or not further substituted on the indole ring to any extent, whether or not substituted on the naphthoyl or naphthyl ring to any extent.

‘(iii) 3-(1-naphthoyl)pyrrole by substitution at the nitrogen atom of the pyrrole ring, whether or not further substituted in the indole ring to any extent, whether or not substituted on the naphthoyl ring to any extent.

‘(iv) 1-(1-naphthylmethyl)indene by substitution of the 3-position of the indene ring, whether or not further substituted in the indene ring to any extent, whether or not substituted on the naphthyl ring to any extent.

‘(v) 3-phenylacetylindole or 3-benzoylindole by substitution at the nitrogen atom of the indole ring, whether or not further substituted in the indole ring to any extent, whether or not substituted on the phenyl ring to any extent.; and

‘(B) includes–

‘(i) 5-(1,1-dimethylheptyl)-2-[(1R,3S)-3-hydroxycyclohexyl]-phenol (CP-47,497);

‘(ii) 5-(1,1-dimethyloctyl)-2-[(1R,3S)-3-hydroxycyclohexyl]-phenol (cannabicyclohexanol or CP-47,497 C8-homolog);

‘(iii) 1-pentyl-3-(1-naphthoyl)indole (JWH-018 and AM678);

‘(iv) 1-butyl-3-(1-naphthoyl)indole (JWH-073);

‘(v) 1-hexyl-3-(1-naphthoyl)indole (JWH-019);

‘(vi) 1-[2-(4-morpholinyl)ethyl]-3-(1-naphthoyl)indole (JWH-200);

‘(vii) 1-pentyl-3-(2-methoxyphenylacetyl)indole (JWH-250);

‘(viii) 1-pentyl-3-[1-(4-methoxynaphthoyl)]indole (JWH-081);

‘(ix) 1-pentyl-3-(4-methyl-1-naphthoyl)indole (JWH-122);

‘(x) 1-pentyl-3-(4-chloro-1-naphthoyl)indole (JWH-398);

‘(xi) 1-(5-fluoropentyl)-3-(1-naphthoyl)indole (AM2201);

‘(xii) 1-(5-fluoropentyl)-3-(2-iodobenzoyl)indole (AM694);

‘(xiii) 1-pentyl-3-[(4-methoxy-benzoyl]indole (SR-19 and RCS-4);

‘(xiv) 1-cyclohexylethyl-3-(2-methoxyphenylacetyl)indole (SR-18 and RCS-8); and

‘(xv) 1-pentyl-3-(2-chlorophenylacetyl)indole (JWH-203).’.

SEC. 3. TEMPORARY SCHEDULING TO AVOID IMMINENT HAZARDS TO PUBLIC SAFETY EXPANSION.

Section 201(h)(2) of the Controlled Substances Act (21 U.S.C. 811(h)(2)) is amended–

(1) by striking ‘one year’ and inserting ‘2 years’; and

(2) by striking ‘six months’ and inserting ‘1 year’.

.…

Horrible stuff. I blame you.

Railroaded by the pettiness of selfish men

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Whose eyes lied? And what is in the money?

I stare with childlike wonder as people shout and scream,

Bay for blood and throw their credit cards at the television.

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It’s electric, this feeling of submissive superiority -

A warm voiced, ambergris answer to the quiet murmurs

Of dissent at petrol prices and how late the pizza guy was.

“I can be better than you because I don’t care…”

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Where does it all go? cashflow, into the crook of your elbow -
Hundred dollars buys an armful, cheaper then a girlfriend…

…and more reliable.

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I guess what i’m really trying to say is that if you’re finding society hard to deal with then heroin is a pretty good alternative to consider.

Tonight was absolutely no different, only I hadn’t yet dosed up. Anyway, some guys I knew from way back saw me, said hello, and we chatted for a while. One of them asked if I knew where to get any pills. I shook my head, sadly apologized, but offered them some of this darling LSD. They said it wasn’t for them, but some chicks had just asked them so they were trying to help out. Normally I wouldn’t have anything to do with people I didn’t know personally, but fuck it, I was feeling loose. So they introduced me, and these two chicks and I slicked over to this alleyway, where I asked them if they’d had anything else already. They said they were pretty drunk, but other than that, no. I explained that the alcohol might make it take a little while to kick in. They said that was fine, cash was exchanged and they got the magic drop. Immediately, one bitch started to complain. “Uh, wtf? This tastes like mouthwash!”. The retard-alarm had now begun to ring in my head. “Have, uh, have you ever tried liquid acid before?” I asked, heart tensing. This stuff was pretty hectic, the girl could be in for a hell of a night. “No, only in pills!” She responded. “Let me see the bottle!”

Oh, dear.

So I held it up for her to see, and she made to snatch at it. Taking a step back, I put it back in my pocket, telling her to back the fuck off and calm down, to try to enjoy the ride. I asked her if they were here with anyone else. The other girl chimed in. “Yeah, our boyfriends! They’re gonna kick your ass for trying to rip us off! Give us our money back!” I rolled my eyes. “You paid, now you play. This shit is good, it ill kick your skull open in about thirty to forty five minutes. Come back at nine, and if you’re feeling nothing, I will refund you your money or dose you up more.” They didn’t seem to pay much attention, storming off. “Whatever, faggot.” She sneered, heading back towards the club.

The night was officially about to get interesting. Amongst the regulars of that club, over half were good friends of mine, and they all knew I had quality wares. So I found somebody I trusted and told him what had just happened. He laughed, concluding that she was indeed, a dumb bitch. But he said he’d watch my back in case anyone tried to sucker punch me. Ten minutes or so passed and the girls were back, demanding their money back. I was smoking outside with a few mates, and they tried in vain to help convince them. Moments later, the boyfriends appeared — With about five guys behind them.

Hmm. This was more interesting than I really was hoping for tonight. “Give them back their money cunt and we won’t beat the shit out of you!” Under normal circumstances, to avoid a scene like this, I would have just paid them to shut them up — It was only a couple of drops after all, not worth the hassle. But the night had been good and I had a grand or so in my wallet, did NOT want to open it up in front of these guys. So I politely declined, again trying to explain. “Let me it, I know acid when I see it.” The guy insisted, so he and I and his friends, and a half dozen or so of mine, walked round into the alley. I could see where this was going, but I was confident that my spun-out acid-jibbed tweaker street fighter buddies could handle this posse of drunk jersey shore types. So I hold up the bottle for him to see

WHAM

sucker punched. Vision goes white, just for a moment. Not enough to slow me down, I respond with a fast right to the guy’s solar plexus, the bottle in my left hand. He goes backwards into the wall, grabbing at my hands. His fingers find my adam’s apple, and he starts trying to choke me. I feel two pairs of arms grabbing at both of mine, I was torn between going for the knife in my pocket or spinning around and trying to take them, but I didn’t want my back to anyone, and the delicate bottle of magic was still in my left fist. So I relax, and they pluck it out of my hand, the choker eying it suspiciously. My mates are ready to kick heads at any moment, hanging on my words, but I’m hoping we can still resolve this mostly peacefully.

Even as I’m deciding to try and talk him out of it, though, I can see the thought process ticking over in his mind. It’s as if time slowed down, and I could head his mental process, see it blossoming into a decision that will undoubtedly haunt him for the rest of his life.

“This isn’t fucking acid, I’ve had acid! I bet it doesn’t even taste like fucking acid!”

“NO! DON’T!” I cry, but it is too late. His mind is made up. he pops the cap off the bottle, not realizing it was a measured dropped cap — And tips the contents of the entire vial into his mouth. Everyone there goes very quiet for a moment. He has just ingested probably around thirty thousand micrograms of strong, clean acid. “Spit it out! Quick! Wash out your mouth!” I am PLEADING with this guy, trying to save his fucking mind, maybe his life. All of my friends are laughing, but also, pleading with him to spit it out. You can see the look in his eyes as he realizes he might have just done something very, very silly.

In the dumb, still moment, I snatch the bottle back. There’s something of a little splash left in the bottom, where it was before almost completely. I screw the cap back on, and proceed to fucking power-walk it out of there as fast as possible. This guy will be going nuclear in ten minutes, maybe less. I hail the first taxi I see, dialing a friend on my cell, telling him needed to get the fuck uptown pronto. He’s at a nearby gay club and he meets me out front with a couple of girlfriends of ours. We take the taxi back to his, and I explain what just happened. Nobody really knew what to say, or do. The taxi driver though, this big African bloke, is just laughing madly though. “Ah, the devil gon come for ‘im tonight!” He cackles, slapping the steering wheel.

The rest of the evening passes remarkably peacefully. We get to his place, chain smoke and smoke a little green till dawn, where we share a joint laced with DMT and say a little prayer for that poor dumb fuck.

About a year later, I was selling trips to some guy at a big hip-hop and drum and bass festival a couple of towns over. Turns out he was one of the friends who was the that night, backing up the guy. He didn’t know the whole story and he shook his head sadly when I told him what had led up to the events. “He spent the next eight months in a mental facility.” He told me. “The first few hours he said he was being chased and raped and murdered by demons. Ambulance took him to the emergency ward, he never really left.”

As for the girls who originally bought their dose? Yeah, it eventually kicked in. One of them walked about forty miles across town just because she was trying to catch up with the patterns god was showing her. The other, I never heard from.

The cultural landscape of Australia faced a major turning point in 1885 when giant humpback whales were deemed illegal for use in V8 Supercar competitions. The economy, largely built on the export of high-octane nitroblubber, crashed hard. The resulting depression shaped Australia permanently, instilling in them the spirit of mateship, of the hard go, and the eating of rats. It is for this reason that the Australian coat of arms includes the Humpback whale, and at Albany in Western Australia, you can visit a museum built from the last racing whale garage to operate on Australian soil (the notorious offshore whale yards ran illegally for the next decade or so until finally being stamped out).

Settlers in Australia lived a tough life. The primary interests at the time were gold, wool and wheat, so when Doctor Kellogs opened the first wheat mine in Iowa, Australia compensated for the loss in business by developing the gold farm. By careful husbandry of the steel wool-giving ‘Ferrino” ram, they were able to breed a sheep with golden fleece. This ushered in a new age of peace and prosperity, until some wog bastards in a little wooden ship came over and nicked it. That simple event sparked a fuse which eventually ignited the famous Cronulla Riots — Remembered by all, and immortalised by the phrase. “We shall fight them on the beaches… With trolley poles and a broken stubbie!”

The flora of Australia consists of wild blackboys, spinifex grass and dirt. Australian fauna comprises over four hundred species of venomous snakes, sixteen hundred venomous arthropods, two venomous mammals, twenty dangerous eagles, two deadly flightless birds, the rare Tasmanian Flying Knife, and several dozen very, very angry species of assorted mammals with axes to grind. After the rabbit-proof fence was enacted in 1901 to commemorate two hundred years of federation, indigenous ‘natives’ evolved into the common Australian icon of Kangaroos, in order to bound the fence and the dole-line, and also to better fight with police. Every animal native to Australia can and will kill you if you give it a moment’s notice. There are many imported species, and luckily, most of them settle for stealing your job and waylaying Norwegian cargo ships.

Suffice to say, only the strong survive in Australia. With spiders the size of a small suckling pig, strange mutant beaver-ducks with venomous spines and an ostrich that can disembowel you with velociraptor-like precision, Australian men have adapted to a hitherto-unseen standard of manliness. The path to an Australian primary school is sown with barbed wire, broken glass and old syringes, and unless the children can kill a crocodile with their bare hands, skin it with their teeth and craft a rudimentary pair of boots, they go unschooled, and quickly die. Australian cowboys grew tired of chasing cows on big flat plains, so they let wild stallions loose on mountains and ran their horses up and down eighty degree inclines until the horse caught fire or exploded, as was common with the cheap Chinese imported horses they used — This was the origin of the modern ‘burn-out’, and for some time it was a common sight to see a crowd of young men in leather coats, crowded around a young brumby, hooves and knee joints billowing clouds of smoke as it’s rider drove it in tight circles around the Woolworth’s carpark.

Common pastimes of the Australian public are ‘Aussie Rules Football’, which is a variant on the French game Rochembeau. Aspiring champions take turns kicking each other in the nuts with scorpions taped to their feet until somebody passes out. A death is considered highly unsporting, and very rude, as it ruins the game for the next guy in line. Rugby is gaining popularity, though it is harder to keep the scorpions on the try line. Australian cultural tourism attractions can be classified into one of three categories: Big rocks (Example: Uluru, Wave Rock), Big holes (great Australian Bight, Limestone Caves of W.A) or ridiculously oversized fruits (E.g The big bannana, Shannon Noll, etc…)

Australian wines are widely respected as some of the best in the world, the recent export vintage 2005 ‘Cabernet Sauvingoon’ of the Barossa valley was highly sought after in the professional racing circuit overseas as an effective antifreeze for reactor coolant in nuclear icebreakers, AND as a topical cure for athlete’s foot.

Surely, with such a rich and varied heritage of bad-assery and fighting for your life on a daily basis, one would expect Australia to soar in future years! Godspeed, Australia! And good luck!