The Amphetamine Manifesto

Table of Contents

The Amphetamine Manifesto

Harvey Cohen

Introductory Note

The Amphetamine Manifesto

Poem

Epilogue

The Amphetamine Manifesto

Harvey Cohen

This page copyright © 2006 Olympia Press.

http://www.olympiapress.com

Introductory Note

The Amphetamine Manifesto

Poem

Epilogue

47. K'un I Oppression (Exhaustion)

above TUI THE JOYOUS, LAKE

below K'AN THE ABYSMAL, WATER

The lake is above, water below; the lake is empty, dried up, exhausted. Thus everywhere superior men are oppressed and held in restraint by inferior men. When one has something to say, it is not believed. One sits oppressed under a bare tree and strays into a gloomy valley. For three years one sees nothing.

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to Marney and the unhooked generation

ILLUSTRATIONS

Front cover Design by Roy Kuhlman

photo of Marney Brown by Geza Fekete

Title page photogram by Harvey Cohen and Geza Fekete

Pages 19,46.... photos of Lionel Goldbart by Marty Topp

Page 20 photo of Mark Duffy by Harvey Cohen

Page 26 photo of Marney Brown and H.C. by Geza Fekete

Page 38 Astral Lady by Harvey Cohen

Pages 52, 53 photos of Lionel Goldbart by Kenny Schneider

Page 60 Twelve Worlds

Page 63 Eagle Scroll (segment) by Harvey Cohen

Page 74, 155.... photos of the author by Geza Fekete

Page 96 photo of Joel Markman by Harvey Cohen

Page 109 photo of H.C. by Marty Topp and Ira Cohen

Page 114 Kali Dolly by Harvey Cohen/photo by Ira Cohen

Page 120 photo of the author by Ira Cohen

Page 132 Methamorphosis by Stanley Alboum

Page 138 Midnight Injection by Marney Brown

Page 145 Marney Brown/film Cosmic Flesh by Harvey Cohen

Page 152 photo of Fritz Mooney by Marty Topp

Page 161 calligraphy by Angus MacLise

Page 162..... Sentential Metaphrastic/photo by Don Snyder

I sincerely thank Carl Burrows, Peter Finnerty, Danny List, Joel Markman, Richard Stein and other lovely individuals whose magnificent madness was the invisible lines that I wrote on.

Introductory Note

(from conversations with a prominent and wealthy physician)

"Amphetamine stimulates the central nervous system. It was first introduced into clinical practice in the mid-thirties to treat narcolepsy. Its short-range success, and the euphoria it induced, led to its being used experimentally in treating a variety of other depressive illnesses. However, hospital tests comparing dextroamphetamine with placebo, show that the amphetamines are no more effective than placebos.

"Soon after ingestion, the patient's mood of depression is quickly alleviated, but these effects only last a few hours, often to be succeeded by an even more severe depression or nervous agitation than before. Furthermore, tolerance to the drug builds rapidly and despite increasing dosages, the drug ceases to have much therapeutic effect after ten to twelve days. However, the mildly and chronically depressed patient who constantly complains of lethargy and apathy, responds well to amphetamine (or to its optical isomer, dextroamphetamine), particularly when this is combined with a sedative or tranquilizer. The same combination is very effective in treating pre-menstrual tension: five milligrams (plus a diuretic or mild analgesic) can be administered once or twice per day for a week to ten days before menstruation. Not infrequently, a patient receiving amphetamine will become dependent upon a relatively small daily dosage (5-25 mgs.).

"Children seem to tolerate amphetamine well, and the drug can be utilized in cases where a child exhibits the behavior problems which are associated with abnormal brain waves. The child who is likely to benefit from this treatment is usually hyperkinetic and prone to temper tantrums. Treatment with dextroamphetamine may result in improved behavior which is immediately measured in terms of the more normal patterns which appear on the electroencephalograph.

"Amphetamines may be safely combined with other drugs, although caution is required if the patient is currently receiving any of the monoamine oxidase inhibitors (such as Iproniazid and Mebanazine).

"A clinical state resembling paranoid schizophrenia may occur following the ingestion of a dose in excess of fifty milligrams. The patient will exhibit restlessness, anxiety and may develop intense visual and auditory hallucinations (unless proportional amounts of barbiturates, tranquilizers or alcohol have also been consumed). However, no disorder of thought occurs, although the patient's excited talk and euphoric flood of ideas may give an impression of confusion. Generally, the symptoms of amphetamine psychosis are completely resolved within some ten days after administration of the drug has ceased.

"Methylamphetamine (Methedrine) is similar to dextroamphetamine when given parenterally, but it is milder in both therapeutic nature and side effects. Its chief value lies in the fact that it is water soluble and can be injected intravenously. When injected, it lessens the patient's inhibitions, relieving him of pent-up emotions often associated with some previously suppressed trauma. It is thus an aid in treatment by reconditioning: it not only increases the patient's awareness of his conditioned responses, but also makes him more receptive to treatment.

"Methylamphetamine may also be combined with lysergic acid to heighten and prolong the effects of that drug. It may be given intravenously when the lysergic acid has been ingested, or any time thereafter in the treatment session to exploit some particular emotion or reaction of the patient.

"The therapist must be cautious with intravenous administrations of this drug. Patients with endogenous depression should not receive it, as it may increase their agitation and enlarge the risk of suicide.

"The ideal patient for this treatment has an obsessional, tense personality, is between twenty and forty years of age, and has difficulty in openly expressing his real feelings, particularly if these are aggressive. Patients with obsessional personalities become relaxed, but are wide awake and alert after injection. In contrast, hysterical personalities sometimes react by falling asleep.

Very little is known about the effects of long-term usage. The abuse of stimulants and sedatives is becoming more widespread. Tighter legislation has not proven effective in controlling the problem of addiction. Public education, the erection of more facilities for treatment, and the organization of neighborhood centers seem to present the more realistic solutions. After all, the problem is human, that is to say, personal, and the law is rather abstract.

There is no way to preserve life—Drugs of immortality are instruments of folly. I would gladly wander in Paradise, But it is far away and there is no road.

-T'AO CH'IEN

The Amphetamine Manifesto

In the beginning was pure meth crystal, rarely benzedrine or other sulfates. There were those who despaired: shy, retarded, unhappy creatures who needed love and who had been rejected and had their natural instincts rejected and almost atrophied.

That's how it began. I was covered with filaments, salacious material, a plethora of miracles consonant with a plethora of angels. A needle to thrill, a pill to kill; you are more than a mirror.

The calendar had devoured three days. The celestial snow was an adversity. The caduceus had two heads and two countenances. My partner and I don't change. The uncleanliness is a disproportion. It is a depletion, an enslavement. The esoteric process of birth and gestation, a synthesis. Inertia in exile.

I dreamt there was an alien race on an alien planet far away. At the moment of creation they sent an experimental expedition to the planet Earth, where they saw that conditions were right for life to begin. They were developed to a much higher degree. They injected the waters of the Earth with microscopic organisms—one-celled creatures with a built-in evolutionary process. They did this as an experiment to see what these creatures would develop into, and the result was man.

My dreams are growing hair. Night is a giant moth on wheels. I forge a sword to do combat but my fingers are shrinking and my rings are falling off. A bird flies by the window crying: dear, dear, undress desire. Operate on the patient to remove the only healthy part of him, his ass. Not yet ashen as the rest, it turns pink when pinched. The ass must be cut away. The patient willingly submits to the operation, knowing it's the only way to save himself. What is the maximum sustainable electric impulse that can stimulate a heart that has stopped? What voltage? Where to attach it to the body? What tenacity to survive!

Frozen grey autumn in Tompkins Square Park, a grey that I see nowhere but in New York. Birds in branches, haunted faces of old people sitting on benches waiting to be taken by the angel of death, waiting to die; the dying ghats of Benares, derelicts listening to the death rattle of America.

Peter is just getting up. He unrolls his works from a newspaper, soaks his hypodermic needle in a glass of water, cooks heroin in a bottlecap, ties off, draws the junk up the needle, finds a vein and shoots up. Immediate head. Junk is like a shot of Irish whiskey, warms you up. Peter is painting Persian scimitars on his fingernails: I still feel the need to fill a bathtub with plastic and put Laurie inside and make a manikin. I tried to swing with both of them: my wife in a flamenco gown and Laurie in boots and tight pants. They'd do a flamenco number together—nice, but it was impossible.

Feeling the soft rush of heroin, Peter sits down on an Indian rug and digs into a cigarbox full of screws, nuts and bolts. "It needs a bearing in there, a base to put all the shit together, the dinosaur egg, the tiles leading to the city.... This is a big piece of hash to be on the floor...."

Peter is working on his city. The city is growing up the egg, long strips of mirror raying out like space avenues. "The only thing I have left from my marriage is a globe bank. Le monde est fou, ou c'est moi? When it's time to go, you grow wings. I've always been a migratory bird. Some half-ass homing instinct brings me back to this shithole. The winter comes again and I feel I fucked up; I didn't migrate like I was supposed to."

The Kabbala Gang cops the sunrise.

Ira Cohen proposes a Hippie Museum: Allen Ginsberg in wax. Ed Sanders could fill a whole wing with pubic hairs. There are three white mice living under the glass tabletop. Angus MacLise is drumming on a valise. Marney in her necklaces, a Byzantine Janis Joplin in a newly copped black velvet dress with a tear where the Mogols pierced her breast.

Sudanese Sam is shoveling landscapes with a silver coke spoon: In between the status, jugglin' funny money, I'm runnin' around with doctors and the big crowd to afford the lady, the coke habit—have a blow.

Marney merges her nostrils over the wavy paper like a missile going in for a landing; on target, she blows up white threads of cocaine: It's like doors of divine light... doors open and doors close and time is in between. I saw faces in the powder.

I stick my finger into the basic voltage charge of the universe. From the basement I steal electricity to create light. My involuted mind is flourishing, giant cabbage leaves crackling through the kitchen floor. I fill the bathtub with plastic and make a manikin in self-defense. She passionately attacks me, dripping acetate jewels. Reptiles run through my jism'd fingers. My house is a sex museum. I've given up a normal life to safeguard my treasures. Objects are sacred. Even the most humble car fender is precious to me.

Fritz swings in a Colombian hammock. Time is exploiting time, being enacted on those frontiers. The ancient of ancients gestures at his paintings: They're all the past, the Aquarian eclipse. Tonight marks the anniversary of the Festival Aquarianus. Time will be measured by it. At Woodstock I saw Chiefs of Chaos, the See See Riders, earthquakes rituals. O merry mutant mother of change! Maintain them in the constant state, mutability without end, winds of change blowing odes through mutant temples.

A dope fiend, a train robber ran down the wrong drainpipe. Can you love me left-handed? Outlaw, inlaw, sidewalks are holy. Get off on the twilight side. If you've got a make-believe ballroom, let's dance. I have too much grace to stay in this place. If you believe in the hereafter, give me what I'm here after. Blackmail! I've been having coffee breaks all over town playing with your New York mind. I'm brainwashed. Oh, my gosh! I must have been handcuffed to ignorance. I had a crush anyway. I live in the East but meet the West with strange outcries.

There were many times in my life when I was on a pivot, a pinnacle of choice. I was playing dangerous games, dependent upon elemental chemistrations—not to be found in nature—to get the last laugh. An ineffectual surprise attack on the universe.

Up to then, I had been snorting coke or dropping a little powder or a couple of tablets into my Carnation Instant Breakfast. I always had some kind of preordained structure, but drugs will get you, no matter how hard you try to outsmart them. A dope habit has a life of its own. As soon as I was physically within the city, I realized I would start using. There was never any conflict; it was a life choice. The very day I got back to New York I copped immediately.

Amphetamine is very much an over-achiever's type of chemical. I started shooting it when I was working so I could cope with work. I felt there was a kind of line drawn; on that side was all the crap that I worked with, and on this side was me. I'd wake up in the morning, I'd get off, fire myself out of bed and out of the apartment, into the subway and into work. I'd go home for lunch hour, shoot up, and come back in spaced.

I consciously stepped out of the structure, the programmed life, although terrified at the prospect of getting up each day with no means and no solutions.

I phased myself out of jobs. Felt weird standing there in a suit, too many telephone numbers in my head. It was a double face I presented to the world. I spaced out, disintegrated as energy. After I died my memory lived on, disunited with my body so I had no capacity to be creative. I was a memory bank, the memory bringing units of information into consciousness, the phantasms of experience.

Shooting speed was something