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Old 09-24-2006, 07:16 PM
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Default Re: "My Name Is TB And I Am A Recovering Zionist Denier"

Psychedelic Spirituality, the Manchurian Candidate and Electromagnetic Terror: An Interview with Todd Brendan Fahey

Todd Brendan Fahey, a strategic writer stationed in South Korea, has served as aide to Central Intelligence Agency agent Theodore L. "Ted" Humes, Division of Slavic Languages, and to the late-Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) chief Lt. General Daniel O. Graham; to former Arizona Governor Evan Mecham (R-AZ), former Congressman John Conlan (R-AZ) and others. He is author of Wisdom's Maw: The Acid Novel (Far Gone Books, 1996) and "Al Hubbard: The Original Captain Trips" (High Times magazine, 1991), exposes the CIA's MK-Ultra program and its influence on the Sixties' psychedelic counterculture. He is the architect of

New World Disorder: Do you think LSD and psychedelics in general have changed you in any way? Was the pre-trip Todd any different than the post-trip Todd? For better or for worse? Some people trip and they don't change at all. Did it awaken an interest in mysticism, philosophy etc.?

Todd Brendan Fahey: Psychedelics and, to a lesser extent, the dissociative anaesthetics (dextromethorphan, Ketamine) have altered me (that disparate thing called "me," which is now more than simply the id/ego/superego, of Freudian paradigm) radically. Whereas once I was a stone-atheist--a good, old-fashioned American materialist, a believer in baseball, boxing, booty, & such--, I feel now to be a meaningful part of God's plan, which is still mysterious to me, but of which I am being shown ever-more frequent glimpses (--a sort of risky exercise in traveling through one of Stephen Hawking's theoretical wormholes to the Source).

It all began one day in high school, with a bag of magic mushrooms. Old friends from those days still tell me about "the time Todd Fahey took mushrooms for three-days straight," and came out a different chap. Psychedelics turned on a Satirical component of my being that I didn't know I had, previously. I became a connoisseur of Black Humor after those trips: a voracious reader of Hunter Thompson, Burroughs, Swift, J.P. Donleavy (The Ginger Man), etc.; and also of the Greeks (Heraclitus, Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus), who are very much seeking after answers as to the composition of the Soul and the duties of man in his lifetime.

At first, I would go on an acid- or 'shroom-trip and be terribly confused upon coming down, because it (the experience, all I was "shown") was so intense and incomprehensible to my immature psychology and vocabulary. I would be frustrated that I was unable to put It (which was, precisely, "me" changing, growing, as God hath directed me to do, tho it's taken a long fucking time) into words. I was always a chronic book-worm; my mom read to me & my sister, of all the classic children's stories (Charlotte's Web, James & the Giant Peach, A Wrinkle in Time), all the fantastic, psychedelic stuff, which was obviously (to me, now) a precursor to that which my life has become. But in actually ingesting psychedelics (E.B. White and Ronald Dahl were known-users of LSD, btw), I was forced to begin, crudely at first, putting it down on paper, and thus became a writer.

I have written of one particularly savage drug-epiphany, which was more like a Religious Event than anything I've experienced before or since, and also a speculative guide to what I believe shall be man's future (or, what -should- be man's future, if man doesn't muck it up), which may be interesting to you:

"Room 55, the Hotel von Onna, Amsterdam"

"Where to"

NWD: It �obvious some sort of global culture is forming. Do you think psychedelics etc. could become the religion of a future global culture, with its own psychedelic priesthood, a powerful religion fit for a cybernetic super-future?

TBF: For the past decade, I have written of and thought that psychedelics could and should become the basis for a new religion. As a Believer in God (that aggregate force which is, essentially, inexplicable, & for whom every sect has its own definition), I don't find myself shying away from the name "religion" anymore. For the world, my life, what is, to be devoid of a creator who is supernatural, a "first-cause," as it were, is more frightening to me than admitting the obverse.

I've experienced things--physical manifestations, access to information, dream-sequences that parallel the next days' events--that are inexplicable by Modern Science, and, therefore, I chose years ago to break with epistemology (the science of observable "facts") and, instead, align myself with what is more on the order of Faith. For a man who, in Jimi Hendrix's words, is Experienced, after all these years of observing the chasm between random "observable fact" and the Plan which God hath for us, who really Listen to the Music, I can find no shame in admitting that I am a God-fearing sort, and even given to enjoying religious ceremonies--be it Christmas Eve Mass at St. Paul's Cathedral or the wind off the wings of a stone-crazy, dancing mudang (a Korean melding of ecstatic-worship of nature and clairvoyant trance).

But do I think psychedelics will ever become the basis for a world-wide religion? As Leary liked to say, "It all depends on you." That is, if there are a sizeable populace with the balls/chutzpah for to grok from inside Huxley's Door, and if those people will form alliances with loony-Left and conspiratorial-Right and non-aligned anarchist orgs., and who will seek to gain legitimacy in the halls of politics, similar to that which has been gained by homosexual and ethnic groups, I think the tide toward abolition of "unauthorized use of Drugs" could be stemmed.

But consider this: Great change has never been effected by the Masses; it is always the prophet and his disciples who move the Word to the world. Most humans are not unlike sheep or bees. We are a herd mentality. When things get really exciting, to me, is, when someone like Thoreau or Frederick Douglass or Leary or Stephen Hawking comes along and deliberately punches a hole in the socio-structure. This, to me, is as close to magick as can be performed by humans.

Some folks claim to be "in the zone," sufficiently that they have no need for any chemical adjustment of the brain but, as Huxley said, it is the very rare Mystic who can claim this sort of knowledge and/or wisdom. Most need to "get their mind around it," in the form of dropping acid, eating mushrooms, smoking pot. I've never had a problem with this concept--anymore than I would for the person who is blind to wear glasses or the person who is weak or ill to ingest vitamins or physician-prescribed medicaments.

& for Bill-who-didn't-inhale (even if it were true), I say: "Why not?"

I've said, in Philadelphia's Carbon 14 'zine, that, "I'm either bored of the `sober life,' or else it scares the shit out of me. I don't think I've been straight for more than a week in 17 years."

My experimentation with psychedelics, which began with a baggie of mushrooms while as a junior in high school, escalated to taking a hit (or three) of LSD between my pinch'n'gum every day, for, mebbe, 40-days-in-a-row, for most of my late-20s and early-30s.

There is no teacher by whom to learn to navigate the psychedelic experience (or, as Aldous Huxley called it, "the mystic vision.") Just like no one can really teach you how to hang-glide; a sense of What Is Possible is given to one by God. (For you atheists out there, let me substitute, "is implanted by genetics," just like having a fear of heights or having none.) & as I am not in the business of advocating drug use, let me just say, as Hunter Thompson has said, "It's always worked for me."

Under the aid of Drugs, some folks jump off tall buildings in a single splat. Some go on to write great philosophical treatises (Leary, Robert Anton Wilson, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, de Quincey, yaddayadda). "Who can tell?" HST.

In the end, though, as I've figured out, one must need to confront his/her own emotional and psychological vortices, more or less sans Drugs, for to really be keen on what makes one tic. The whole notion of fasting, asceticism, meditation, prayer, is older than psychedelics, and, probably, more binding. I'm just guessing ('cos I'm a struggling addict at the moment--having kicked a Ketamine jones, but aching in every way for the Release), but I think there's a basis for the enduration of the Buddha and of Jesus Christ, whom did not (or, that evidence suggests) imbibe in a lot of extraneous substances.

Huxley understood this in The Doors of Perception, when he said (paraphrasing), that "Religious experiences can be had by all; but by most, it requires Drugs).

NWD: In the "Hot News" section of the Far Gone Books page there used to be a letter (which has been removed, so forgive me if I'm fucking up the details) alerting various "authorities" about some kind of strange vibration or pulse that you experienced in Korea. Have you figured out or have any theories about the cause?

TBF: Good catch. There was, indeed, a report on my Far Gone Books Web site, which detailed the night in which I phoned the U.S. Department of State (speaking to one "field agent Douglas Connor"), from my apartment in Korea, wherein, being beset by an absolute helplessness to some magnetic tracking-pulse, I felt that, if I were gonna be dying in the next three or seven minutes, I figured I'd better "go public" with the weirdness.

This is the first time I've ever written at-length of the episode (the first of them, there were several), and so New World Disorder is getting something of a world-exclusive herein.

First, I will admit to having been that night and on several other occasions under the influence of Ketamine. However, the same circumstances have occured in states of utter sobriety, jerking me out of bed from a sound sleep. So, who can tell?

During the period of November 1990-March 2000, I had been a fixture on a Web site called, which is Rightist/libertarian in nature, and which counts amongst its participants and lurkers, such media gurus as Sam Donaldson, Rush Limbaugh, Britt Hume, Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity and others. draws 450,000 verified hits daily, and is THE site for news relevant to keeping one's soul clean of the disinfo that is foisted upon us all by mainstream media.

During the aforementioned period, I was hammering away at John McCain (who I knew in my three years as an ultra-Right political operative in Arizona), and whom I view as "the politician most-likely-to-be-the-Manchurian Candidate"). Some of the dirt on McCain to which I am privy--detailed ad nauseum in my "straight-to-Web" autobiography, Hell Bottled Up!: Chronicles of a Late Propaganda Minister-- was aired in live interviews by ABC's Sam Donaldson and in a New York Times article (Michael Frantz, journalist).

For my public service, I was drawing major heat from the McCain's campaign, including drawing all kinds of moles from out of the woodwork, who were working 24/7 on, just to combat the information I was posting daily. I was finally banned in FreeRepublic, sans explanation (a "lifetime ban," issued by Webmaster Jim Robinson).

Just when I thought things could get no worse, for my profile, I was informed by Hotmail/Microsoft officials that my account was terminated, all 750 backlogged posts--two years' correspondence, irreplaceable essays, contact info w/ all kinds of politicians & magazines--vanquished, also sans explanation.

It was about that time that, while listening to John Coltrane's Giant Steps, with a headfull of Ketamine, laying on my bed, earjacks firmly implanted into the skull, and really grooving to Coltrane's genius, I was literally JERKED RIGHT OUT OF MY BED by a force. I found myself being dragged first through my bedroom, then into the livingroom, my legs and spine stiff and seizing to a feeling that I was not in control of mine own movements. I've been whacked before, on many chemicals, but nothing came close to this. Then I started to perform some ritualistic dance that included savage kicking motions and very orchestrated finger movements. It all seemed quite logical, for a few moments, and for a little while I "understood" why I was doing what I was doing, but my capacity to explain it now is no longer.

But after a few minutes, some part of my brain recognized that this was not the "Todd Brendan Fahey known unto Todd Brendan Fahey," and I began to experience The Fear. I had no control whatsoever over that which it was I was doing. I was like a marionette puppet. And it was apparent to me then (this has happened on at least four other occasions that I can remember; the weirdest thing was, I remember doing this same thing, or having this same thing done unto me while as a child) that an electromagnetic pulse were being utilized from space (or from a spook-van in the parking lot of my apartment, who knows) to lead me to jump out my livingroom window.

This sounds insane, it is insane, but it happened. I "came to," with some measure of recognition of who I was (in consensus reality), and I resisted whatever it was was possessing me; when I finally regained control of my musculature, I immediately collapsed on the floor, grabbed the phone, and dialed the U.S. Embassy in Seoul, who forwarded me to the State Department, where I inquired of any NSA (National Security Agency) operations over (name of town deleted for security reasons) Korea. I was coherent, composed, and the officer seemed to take me seriously. (He could "neither confirm nor deny," and took down my statement, cordially.)

While still on the subject of Ketamine, a month earlier, while attending the Convention (Robert Anton Wilson presiding) at the Hammerstein Ballroom, downtown Manhattan, I was privy to another, less-terrifying but equally bizarre, happening, this one involving a long mirror in my room at the Rev. Sun-Myung Moon/CIA-controlled (y'all can check this out if you want to) New Yorker Hotel, on 5th Street, in which the mirror into which I was viewing myself brush my hair, came alive, and I was able to alter my appearance, even to the point of seeing my hair grow dramatically, change the length of my chin, reshape my ears, and almost utterly transform my appearance, as I wished, as often as I wished, and, for as long as I was able to stand it, for as long as I wished.

The New Yorker hotel is a spook-haven, and R.U. Sirius and his girlfriend that night commented on "feeling really freaky vibes, electrical in nature", inducing a general, all-around paranoid vibe. 591&page=&view=&sb=&o=&vc=1&t=-1#Post294588591
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