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About cookie queen

English/American

Strange Tales from the Cookie Kitchen

“A drug is a substance which, if injected into a rabbit, produces a paper.”  Otto Loewi

HOW?  

After my LSD post several people asked me how I had got into that world.  I have psychoanalysed myself on many occasions; there is no single answer.

Not everyone who gets into the drug scene has suffered a trauma, but in my case I do think a part of my childhood may have put me onto the road to the sphere of mind altering substances.

Everyone has the potential for addiction, but some people are more predisposed to addiction than others.

CHILDHOOD TRAUMAS

I was living in the Azores, 1969.  My father was in the USAF and we were stationed on the island of Terceira.

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I think I was nine or ten years old.  I was out biking around with a girlfriend, we were sharing her bike.  It was one of those chopper bicycles. It was my turn and I jumped onto it and went down a steep hill.  I have no memory of it.  I came to in the hospital, with someone putting a needle through my lip.  Funnily enough I can remember that, and one of my parents telling me to stay still, the doctor was going to sew my lip up.

I had fallen off of my bike, and as I lay unconscious,  the pedals kept turning and hitting me in my mouth.  They found a complete tooth, with root, in the street, one of six upper teeth that were badly damaged.  I had a hole in my lip you could put three fingers through.  I was so incredibly lucky though.  On the day that this happened, a plastic surgeon had flown onto the island, to visit with his family.  He came to the hospital and repaired my lip for me.

When I think of that now I cry, and wish I could thank him for fixing my face.  I still have a small lump and scarring on the inside of my lower lip.  I did not look in a mirror for many weeks. I would go on my hands and knees into the bathroom to avoid even passing one. It took eight years until my mouth had matured enough to finally have my teeth permanently fixed.  By then I was already smoking weed.

 

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My parents’ marriage had been in difficulty for a while but as a kid I did not know that. Perhaps subconsciously.  One day, three or four month after my accident, Mum packed us up, my two siblings and myself, and we boarded an Iranian C130 to London Heathrow.   My Dad waving us off at the airport.  I did not know I would never see him again.  I remember the flight really well, I shared my Enid Blyton book with one of the military men on board, and he showed me his book, which I had to look at back to front, and with letters I did not recognise.

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We went to live with my grandmother over the next few months, might have been nearly a year. I cannot remember clearly.   My father left the island and went back to California, where I do believe he hoped to take steps to repair the marriage. Daddy suffered from alcoholism, maybe partly due to his days when he was stationed in Korea.

 

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We eventually moved into our own flat with Mum.  One morning, December 10, 1971 as we got up to go to school, Mum told us that Daddy had died suddenly, the day before.  Diabetic complications; but I now know that you can add a broken heart to that.  She then sent us off to school.  That was it.   Honestly, as I write this I have no idea how we ever began to process this.  I wonder if we ever did.  I did not recognize how desperately sad this was until many years later.

I neither accuse nor judge my parents.

AN AVERAGE FAMILY

I do feel that these two traumas in my formative years might have played a role in my going down the drugs and rock’n’roll path. And the death of my father affected all three of us kids.  No one talked about stuff like that in the seventies, you just didn’t.

My brother got into extreme sports before they were called extreme sports.  Bungee jumping using cave harnesses and elastic, cave diving and cliff jumping.  We talk daily.

My sister climbed out of her bedroom window and ran away and became a polygamist, a plural wife.  Passed away at 43 with breast cancer.

Just an average family.

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I still love music of all kinds, and am at my happiest in the gym with the tunes up loud in my ears.  Perfume is my drug now.  Which is how I ended up here. And we have a bike shop.   A strange tale indeed.

I regret nothing.

CQ of APJ.

 

 

 

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Strange Tales from the Cookie Kitchen

COME TRIP WITH ME

“Gather your wits and hold on fast, your mind must learn to roam, just as the gypsy queen must do, you’re gonna hit the road.”  – The Acid Queen by The Who 1968/69

Lysergic acid diethylamide, more commonly known as LSD, was first synthesized November 16, 1938 by Albert Hoffman, the Swiss chemist.  However it was not until five years later that the psychedelic properties were found.

Just in time to celebrate its eightieth birthday, we find ourselves bang in the middle of a complete resurgence of interest in psychedelics.

LSD was distributed by the Swiss company Sandoz in the 1950s, given free to researchers.  The neurologists at the time were totally excited, testing the drug out for treating depression, anxiety and alcoholism.

And then the counter culture got hold of it and along with it came the bad trips, psychotic episodes, suicides and other scary stuff, killing all the excitement.  The scientific establishment proceeded to turn against psychedelics, pushing them underground.  But lately there has been a renaissance.  A new generation of scientists are returning to them, once again looking into what they can teach us, their effects on consciousness, addiction, depression and so much more.

CHANGING YOUR MIND

Psychedelics do change your consciousness and we all dabble in one way or another.

Every culture uses some kind of fungus or plant to change consciousness: coffee, tea, chocolate, tobacco, marijuana.  In fact we can read in Michael Pollan’s ‘How to Change Your Mind’, that the only culture that does not traditionally use anything are the Inuits and that is because nothing psychoactive grows where they live.

TRIPPING

We have dreams, and we forget them.

However hard we try to nag onto them, they fade. Psychedelics are different.  They open a door in your mind and it stays open, even if just ajar; it never shuts totally.  It is not possible to write about a psychedelic trip unless you have had one.  It is an internal experience and not one that can be participated in from the outside.  I can only try and recall a few seconds …

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THE GIRL WITH KALEIDOSCOPE EYES

A first-time user really needs to have adequate supervision from someone experienced with the hallucinogenic/psychedelic of choice.  Leaving what you know as reality behind, for a number of hours, is best done with someone who knows the way.

I was accompanied by three amazing people on my first trip, one of them being the guy who would be my partner for the next ten crazy years, of some amazing highs and terrible lows.  We dropped the acid in the apartment and as it started to work, they took me outside into the city, over the bridges and into the parks.

Every colour magnified a thousand times, colours with no names, every movement, followed by its own shadow trail of the same movement; an eternal stroboscopic effect, forever being replaced by the next.  You could follow the flight of a bumblebee in slow motion forever. I did not know where to look.

The most fascinating thing to me was finding that time as I knew it, no longer applied. There is no time.  Five minutes may take five seconds, or five hours.  As we returned to the apartment several hours later, there is a particular hallucination that remains with me.

We sat down at the table to have tea and as I peered, because you do peer at the seemingly never-ending kaleidoscope of movement and colours, everything melted across the table, and slowly dripped down onto the floor.  The cups, the teapot, the sugar bowl…exactly like a Salvador Dali painting.  You know it is not real, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.  wild stuff.

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Val trying to focus on a never-ending kaleidoscope

“Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know. When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead. And the white knight is talking backwards and the Red Queen’s off with her head. Remember what the dormouse said. Feed your head. – White Rabbit by The Jefferson Airplane  1965/66

NATURE TRIP

One of the most exquisite trips I took was in The New Forest. A camping weekend.
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Psychedelics taken out in nature are really quite beautiful.  It bears mentioning that you are of course, quite exhausted after about twelve hours of your brain being in overdrive, allowing you to see and take part in these intense experiences.  Like with any mind-altering substance, what goes up must come down.  It is not just hallucinations, the thoughts you have are affected too.  Things are most vivid at the highest point of the trip.

As four of us lay in our tent, we began talking to each other.  But we were all so high, we could not hear each others’ voices. The words instead were coming out of our mouths in sheets of vibrating colours.  We understood everything, including the secret of the universe – which we promptly forgot.  You come so close to grasping the meaning of everything and just when you have it, it goes.

“The golden void speaks to me, denying my reality, I lose my body, lose my mind, I blow like wind, I flow like wine, down that corridor of flame, will I fly so high again?”  – The Golden Void Pt 2 by Hawkwind

Tripping at the Stonehenge Free Festival,  sitting on the stones as the solstice sun came up, Hawkwind playing on the far-off stage, the music drifting across the fields.  The days before there no were wires around the stones and you could touch them.  Everyone so high, Druids standing amongst the stones.  It felt as though everyone was having the same thoughts and the same time, and maybe we were. Looking up into the blue sky, the white clouds, the rays of sunshine, a spinning psychedelic prism.  An uninterrupted stream of shapes and colours.

 

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“Some call it heavenly in its brilliance …….. Out here on the perimeter there are no stars, out here we is stoned – immaculate.  – The W.A.S.P Radio Texas by The Doors 1971

BEACH TRIP

We were tripping on a hidden beach in the Dominican Republic.  People say you need to be careful with psychedelics because you can lose control. Although that can be true, it was never my experience. When necessary you can bring yourself down in an instant.

We were in the woods, made up mostly of coconut palms, intently studying the beautiful, almost chiselled, trunks.  You can feel the life and the breath in the vegetation, when in this state of mind.  It was very early in the morning.

Suddenly there was what seemed like a tremendous crashing sound as someone came running through the grove.  A Dominican farmer appeared before our very eyes, waving a machete around.  Trust me, we straightened up in a nano-second.  I don’t know who was more shocked, us, or him finding a bunch of white tourists hugging his trees.  He introduced himself, in Spanish, as Jesus, and promptly shot up a tree and cut down some coconuts for us.  We were saved.

LSD MICRODOSING 2018

Meanwhile here we are today.  Microdosing LSD is the current thing to do; taking a “sub perceptual” amount, as a mental pick-me-up. Imperceptible, but making you more creative and clearer in your work. Very fashionable amongst the tech communities, including of course, Silicon Valley.

Eighty years.  What a long, strange trip it’s been.

“It gave me an inner joy, an open kindness, a gratefulness, open eyes and an internal sensitivity for the miracles of creation ….. I think that in human evolution it has never been as necessary to have this substance LSD.  It is just a tool to turn us into what we are supposed to be.  – Albert Hoffman.  Part of his 100th birthday speech.

 

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Of course this could all be a figment of my crazy imagination.  Who knows?

–  By Val the Acid Queen of APJ

 

 

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STRANGE TALES FROM THE COOKIE KITCHEN

Editor’s note: Many of you will already know Val the Cookie Queen from her perfume posts here and on APJ. She’s now going to be doing something a bit different for ABR on the last Friday of each month. She’s going to be telling us stories from her colourful past that are vivid, humorous and often moving.
So get ready to take a walk on the wild side…
PSILOCYBIN TEQUILA AND A MYNA BIRD
I’m up and down the Westway, in and out the lights,
What a great traffic system, it’s so bright
I can’t think of better way to spend the night
Than speeding around beneath the yellow lights.“  
 – London’s Burning by The Clash.

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April 2 1980 saw violent clashes with police after they had raided the infamous Black and White Café on Grosvenor Road in St. Paul’sBristol.
Police officers – including several members of the drug squad – had stormed the café, suspecting drug dealing might have been going there. It ended in bloody riots and twenty-one arrests, but no one was ever convicted of any crime. It took until midnight to get it under control.  The police had to be called in from surrounding areas. Although I later lived in St Paul’s, at this point I was on the boundary and not involvedbut the atmosphere was beyond tense and I could hear the noise, smell the burning cars. 
However, this post is not about the St. Paul’s Riots, but something that happened I guess because of themTensions remained high for months.
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Two weeks after the riots, I was alone in my flat expecting my boyfriend and some friends to turn up at any momentThere was a knock at the door and stupidly, I opened it without checking who was there. should have known better. Five drug squad cops came hurtling in through the door yelling, “We’re coming in.“ Clearly. I have no memory of asking them if they had a warrant or not, but it was too late by then anyway. They were never the friendliest of people. I was just twenty years old.
stood there holding my breath. They marched around the threebedroomed apartment, looking under chairs, lifting pillows and throwing bedcovers all over the place in a haphazard and disorganised search.  In doing so they completely buried from view a plastic bag with a few hundred blues (uhm ….diet pills) with the duvets.  I breathed out.
They regrouped in the living room after having thoroughly’ searched the rest of the apartment. There was a couple of grams of weed lying on the table, which they happily took.  On the mantelpiece was a bottle of tequila, with about two thousand liberty caps, magic mushrooms, psilocybe semilanceata, call them what you will, merrily brewing in it. It was about nine-tenths sludge and one-tenth clear tequila. On the front of the bottle we had a large sticker of a cartoon fly agaric mushroom. No one had tried it yet. The drug squad nabbed it immediately, commenting that it was the first time they had seen anything like that. They told me they couldn’t bust me with it but would take it away to be analysed and for my own safety. Right
I was charged with possession of a controlled substance and eventually fined eighty pounds. Whilst I was down the nick, the cops informed me that our Psilocybin Tequila would go on display in their little room of paraphernalia along with other stuff that had been stolen from people to help keep them safe. I wonder to this day if they still have it.  Had I been older and more secure in myself, I would have fought to get it back.  bet it’s well macerated by now….
My parents knew nothing of my double life.  Several weeks later the bust went into the newspaper, just a paragraph on one of the inside pages. 
My folks kept a myna bird in the Esso station they ran as their business.  Amongst other things that bird could mimic air brakes and trick us every time into running out to the pumps to serve truck drivers that weren’t there. When we cleaned the birdcage, it was lined with newspaper before putting sand on top. One day, my brother called me and told me he had been cleaning the cage out and after tipping the sand into the bin had seen the article on my bust, face up at the bottom of the cage. We still laugh about it today. I thought for a while I had gotten clean away with it and wouldn’t have to tell my parents.
A week after the myna bird incident, the bishop of the church I attended came up to melooked at the ground and mumbled about something in the newspaper.  Church, yes, I was brought up in a strong faith and although I chose to leave for a long period of time, I still went home most Sundays and attended church.  It made my parents happy and probably kept me from killing myself. I would comb my hair neatly over the few dreadlocks I had cultivated and off to church I would go. Really it was the faith that saved my life, but more on that in later instalments if anyone ever wants to read them.
I digressI told the bishop not to worry, it was all a big mistake and I’d had to take the rap for someone else. There was a party at my place and it was loud and the cops came and it was on the table and yeah, I was blamed.  He scuttled off never told a soul and I’m still friends with him.
However I did get totally paranoid that my folks would somehow find out, so took a deep breath and went to talk to my stepfather.  I told him the same party at my place story.  As far as I know he believed me and as far as I’m aware, didn’t tell Mum. He slipped upstairs and came down with eighty pounds. I never thanked him properly.
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Val’s stepfather and Barney the myna bird

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Val, age twenty

©CQ of APJ

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