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Altered States

Fiction

If We’re Lucky

“Prophet?”No one had called me that in a while. Before I turned around, before I looked for his face in the mirror behind the bar, I knew, I felt who it was.

By Donald N. S. Unger October 1993
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Witness Tree: Memoir Of A Ritual

It is a terrible thing when a brave person becomes afraid of you. It wakes you up. You see that, in Hemingway’s great phrase, you have “gone beyond where you can go.” It is unlikely you can save yourself, and unlikely that any one person — lover, therapist, friend — can save you.

By Michael Ventura February 1992
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Seduction Of Consciousness

We don’t have a “drug” problem. We have never had a “drug” problem. We will not have a “virtual reality” problem. Past, present, and future, we have a consciousness problem — today compounded by the fact that it happens to be occurring in a Neanderthal political landscape.

By Travis Charbeneau November 1991
Fiction

Reality Fire

Water will not put out a reality fire. Those little red extinguishers are useless. A reality fire will not be tamed. As the eyes move from object to object each bursts into flames and is consumed, gone forever, and no smoke either — for a reality fire will consume so thoroughly that nothing is wasted. No smoke escapes. Never any smoke. From a reality fire there is no smoke.

By David Kunin October 1991
Readers Write

The Sixties

Investigating conscientious-objector status, attending a rock festival, plucking strychnine tufts from a bag full of peyote buttons

By Our Readers April 1991
Readers Write

Addictions

Tetris, freebase, house plants

By Our Readers February 1991
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

High In The Himalayas

Twenty years ago I had my first and only mescaline trip in a remote part of the Himalayas that borders India and Nepal. I had already traveled and studied Tibetan Buddhism in India for three years.

By Marilyn Stablein January 1991
Fiction

Elmer Slow Bear

In a man of his size and complexion, however, many found the reserve unnerving. Mr. Cody, the history teacher, referred to him in private — with more than slightly nervous humor — as “My Bad Conscience.” Also, as “Doom.” Most people called him Elmer, and stayed out of his way.

By Tim Farrington December 1989