The Scythians were riding horses a thousand years before the Greeks and there’s a good reason. Scythians lived on the steppes, a great flat ocean of grass easily crossed with horses and carts. The Greeks lived in mostly mountainous terrain where runners could travel faster than horses over steep rocky trails. Both cultures descended from the Yamnaya, but the ones who preferred sailing and a southern climate moved south, while the others settled in the shadow of Mt. Elbrus, where Heracles was born, or at least where he went looking for his stolen cattle.
The greatest piece of Scythian art is a three-ring, gold breastplate intended for a high-ranking royal Scythian, with fantastic mythological creatures attacking real animals on the bottom. All details were created separately and then soldered to the frame. The center contains spirals on spirals, flowers, leaves, and a few birds.
The top ring shows two men stretching a golden fleece, while another man milks a sheep, and a colt drinks from his mother. The distinctive Scythian quivers for holding arrows and bow are liberally distributed around.
If you melt this down you can get around $150k, while the breastplate is priceless and would sell for many hundreds of millions if ever auctioned, which will never happen as it is a Ukrainian national treasure.
Tragically, most of the Scythian art was melted down after the kurgans were raided, starting around 200 BC and continuing until 1715 when Peter the Great pleaded with the raiders to sell him the artifacts intact rather than melt them.
Nobody knew anything about the Scythians. History ignored them. Maybe because they had no alphabet, only runes. Or maybe it was the cannabis.
Details magazine did a hit piece on me after High Times became the biggest selling title at Tower Records. The article was titled “Bedtime for Bongo” and ridiculed the national hemp movement I’d kick-started. It was the first and last profile of me in any media for 36 years.
When I first came to High Times, I knew cannabis was being unfairly demonized. I was never a stoner. I never bought cannabis, but I also used it frequently at parties, and never turned down a free hit.
Right after I took the job, I discovered the assistant art director had briefly been in the Fleshtones, the premier garage-band in the East Village. I had just written a book about the East Village art scene, and knew the Fleshtones had played at Club 57, and that Wendy Wild was dating the guitar player.
I asked Brian, would you like to form a band? He immediately said, ‘yes.’ We started rehearsing at my Upper West Side apartment. Brian was playing bass and I was beating on cardboard boxes with drum sticks.
The three bands I was most interested in copying were the Sonics, Chocolate Watchband and West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. I called this synthesis “psychopunkadelia.” David Bither was lured into a rehearsal. I already had a guitar player in mind who I knew from the garageband scene back in C-U, Illinois. So I was hoping David would play keyboards as he had recently left a band he’d been playing keyboards in. Dave could also sing like a bird and was a potential lead vocalist. But Dave only wanted in if he played guitar.
Today, Dave runs Nonesuch Records at Warner Brothers and he’s easily the most respected executive in the music industry. He could have been the star of my band, but was already on a much higher trajectory.
When Dave Allen left as art director, I brought in Flick Ford, who had designed my Art After Midnight book and been art director at the East Village Eye during my brief tenure there. I thought the publisher/editor had assembled a great staff, most of whom worked for free, but he was shortsighted and incapable of taking the publication to the next level. So Flick and I (along with John Howell) ended up creating New York Beat, a weekly covering the downtown scene. That only lasted a few wonderful weeks before the investor pulled the plug. And that’s when Howell moved over to High Times. I soon followed.
The first person I hired at High Times was John Holmstrom. He had a long history with the magazine and was reluctant because the magazine had a sordid reputation of ripping off contributors and never paying. I could tell just by examining the files that the company was being gutted and sucked of all profits. By the time I got there, profits were gone, and debts were mounting. High Times owned a fortune to the printer, and it things didn’t turn around, the printer was going to end up owning the company.
Once I kicked out the heroin chic and cocaine covers and centerfolds, and switched to natural plants and homegrown as a means to escape the blackmarket, the rebound was immediate. The heart of the counterculture at the time resided in a traveling circus that followed the Grateful Dead around. This is where the early homegrowers met and shared genetics.
When I discovered Nevil was selling cannabis seeds in Holland, I established the Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam as a way for readers to get access to high quality seeds. Soon, many more seed companies sprouted in Holland, and they all used my event to establish their businesses.
After the first Cup, I didn’t go back for a while. I wasn’t into smoking tons of weed, and the event was being produced on a shoestring, like everything at High Times. Trying to produce the event by remote control, however, wasn’t really working, and when I returned to the event, I was armed with a lot of ideas about the origins of cannabis in ceremony and some silver cups designed by master occultist Robin Ludwig. I also brought my 420 ceremony, which I had introduced to the office.
I ended up going solo to the Minnesota National Rainbow Gathering, which is where I learned a ton about pagan ceremony and participated in numerous OM circles. The OM is the only thing the original stoners in the Ukraine have handed down to us. That and the myth of the holy grail. When Wagner created his ring cycle, he opened with the grail descending from heaven. He was using the Scythian version of the story. There is no Jesus in King Arthur because Arthur was built on top of Heracles. Both were sun avatars, and had twelve labors (battles) to win, a reference to the sun’s progression through the zodiac. Of course, Jesus is also a sun avatar, which is why he has 12 mythical disciples.
Around this time, I’d written the first and only national magazine story claiming a renegade CIA station near Miami had assassinated President John F. Kennedy, and he was killed for resisting a land war in Vietnam, and threatening to dismantle the CIA and scatter the leading executives to the winds. He did not trust the information the CIA was feeding him, and wanted to end the Cold War.
In fact, the CIA was feeding him bogus info based on a fake defector. James Angelton had been shattered to learn his best buddy Kim Philby had been working for Moscow all along, and Philby had milked Angleton for secret info by getting him drunk. So when Moscow fed a defector with inside knowledge on KGB penetrations into our national security state, Angleton took the bait. There were no penetrations, but there were lots of KGB sleeper agents being activated after a decade of lying low and mixing into the general population.
Only recently have the depth of those ops been explored. Similarly, Oswald was a dangle sent into Russia with the U-2 secret, the revealing of which was supposed to make him best buddies with head of counterintelligence for the KGB.
But the KGB knew Oswald was a dangle and he never penetrated the KGB. After the fall of Communism in Russia, a fake KGB file on Oswald was released and used by CIA apologist Norman Mailer to write a bogus book on Oswald, even though Mailer knew Oswald was CIA but likely needed the money after all those expensive divorces.
So Angleton ended up fingering JFK as the mole at the top, and that theory was used to end his life. And it was probably done legally and completely shrouded by secrecy agreements that prevent the truth from ever emerging.
Since the lawyer who was running High Times was named Kennedy, and since he was a paragon of leftist politics, and had been associated with the Weather Underground, who had been painted as ardent anti-war activists, I assumed this lawyer would be pleased by my JFK expose. Especially since he was an ardent Catholic. But strangely, that lawyer never spoke to me about it, and soon began making moves to restrict my influence. There was a parade of publishers, all told told to “find a new editor.”
However, the publishers realized I was the key guy in the financial turnaround, and High Times was now making bundles of profit, although very little flowed back into operations, but instead went directly to the lawyer’s bank account.
I sent the lawyer an email outlining my plan to mount a case for hippies getting legal right to cannabis thanks to a religious rights law that had just been passed. If I could prove the counterculture was an infant religion that was just emerging, then hippies would get the same rights as natives, who had just gotten legal rights to grow and use peyote as part of their religion.
The only element necessary to prove hippies comprised a religion was having regular ceremonies as part of the culture. The emergence of teenagers on the sunset ridge of Mt. Tam on April 20th, with the intent of lighting up at exactly 4:20 PM fulfilled this obligation in spades. I felt we had a slam-dunk case and since the lawyer’s expertise was constitutional law, mounting this case was going to get him a fortune in lawyer fees, even more than he was already collecting, and High Times was his primary source of income.
When he failed to respond to the email, and never broached the topic with me, and continued his campaign to have me de-toothed and dethroned, I knew something was terribly wrong.
It would have been easy to get thousands out of jail, and reunite thousands of families. There were far more people being arrested for cannabis than all the other “crimes” combined, and children were routinely being put into foster care only because their parent(s) were found possessing a small amount of cannabis.
Eventually, I was run out of the company after being abused for decades, constantly gaslight and fighting against headwinds. It all led me to study who this lawyer really was. And I discovered he was the secret leader of the Weather Underground, which was a CIA plot to dismantle and destroy the non-violent counterculture.
Eventually, all these facts will become clear, but I may not live that long. The only thing left on my bucket list is to build a silent meditation chapel on a lake somewhere, where my story of the true story of the holy grail will be represented by the art I’ve created over the last ten years. The chapel will also hold my archives of the Cannabis Cup, including the original cup and Freedom Fighter tricorn hat worn by Willie Nelson, Jack Herer, and so many others. The last one to wear it was Rick Simpson, who, like me, got disappeared.
The only other thing on my bucket list is combatting lies told about me for a decade by a certain bozo who had worked under me and never comprehended anything I was doing.
I find it fascinating the march of cultural innovation starts with the first stoners and continues for centuries with stoners continuing to lead the way. From Pythagoras and Mani, to Rabelais and Deschamps, to Armstrong and McCartney, cannabis users have been at the forefront of artistic innovation, and yet nobody but me seems to comprehend the ramifications.
Even more fascinating, the central myth of Western culture, the holy grail, came from ancient Scythia long before the time of Jesus. So I made a deck of cards tracing the 60 saints of Western culture who made the greatest contributions. Despite cannabis possession being cause for execution in some Catholic countries, many of these saints were outspoken advocates of cannabis and felt its use beneficial.
The patriots who founded our wonderful country were largely deists as that was the rage during the enlightenment era. Deists believed that a force or spirit ran through everything and the only way to learn its mind was through the study of nature and not by reading books about super heroes.
By eliminating the Gnostic versions of Christianity, Rome successfully wiped rational deists out of Christianity, but the belief came back when Europe discovered the classics. There is no need to worship at any altar or blindly accept rules from anyone. There is only one rule: don’t hurt anybody.
Perhaps the long dormant Grand Lodge of the Pot Illuminati might appear for April 19-20. It’s been a decade since I held a public ceremony. It would be a way to distribute my decks of cards, the red cards are the Saints of the Grail, the black deck is all about the Illuminati who manufacture war for profit.
German intelligence officer Theodore Reuss wearing his masonic apron.
In 1888, a Christian mystic and Prussian military intelligence officer met and began a collaboration. They are listed as founders of the German branch of the Theosophical society, which was penetrated if not conceived by British intelligence. The society was constructed as another layer on the established masonic networks.
For millennia, control of the dominant religion was paramount to managing the national zeitgeist. But when intellectuals in Europe began reading classical Greek and Roman literature, the once magical stories in the Christian bible lost their glow. Greek philosophers seemed so much more enlightened and rational.
Carl Kellner was a Christian mystic and co-founder with Reuss of the O.T.O, which renamed the society created by Reuss and Leopold Engel.
The classics created a sudden jump in science, something that had been held back by Christian superstition and dogma. A fever grew in the minds of men and women, something similar to the fever of the mid-1960s, when a generation discovered cannabis and other forbidden substances, and yearned for more freedom of thought.
But after rejecting Christianity and Judaism, the rank and file of the enlightenment greatly missed the ceremonies and pomp and circumstance, and masonry rushed in to fill the void with an even better magic show, which unfolded in secrecy, making it even more alluring and enchanting. And if you lived in a Catholic country, becoming a mason was tantamount to heresy and often led to execution, which made it daring and noble. Masonry was based on the secret society created by Pythagoras after he visited with the Zoroastrian Magi in Persia mixed with Bible stories involving Solomon’s temple. The pentagram was popularized by the Pythagoreans, although it can be found in ancient Sumer, Babylon, Judea, and China.
In Catholic Bavaria, the publishing industry was under strict supervision, and spreading the wrong info got you tortured and murdered pretty fast. Not so much in France and even less in England. Voltaire inspired a generation by attacking censorship, slavery, and religion, especially Catholic dogma. He became Elvis overnight and was sought out by the most enlightened rulers in Europe. His books were in French and slipped through the Bavarian censors.
This was 50 years before the American Revolution. Frederick the Great, crown prince of Prussia, became his most famous patron. Frederick had written an essay disputing everything in Machiavelli’s book, ThePrince, which claimed rulers must be ruthless to remain in power (because those seeking to steal the kingdom will be, and the most ruthless win). Frederick favored a more genteel approach rather than rule by terror. Voltaire briefly served as a spy for the French King, reporting back on Frederick’s military plans during the Austrian War of Succession. Frederick was Grandmaster of the Grand Lodge of Prussia, and Voltaire a prominent member of French masonry.
The spy and the mystic decided to revive Weishaupt’s order of the Illuminati. Just as Weishaupt had invented a phony story about the order’s origins, claiming the order was led by a council of intellectual giants descended from the Magi, the spy and mystic made identical claims (even though Weishaupt had later admitted his origin story had been fabricated).
This hoodwink would be repeated when the phony Priory of Sion was born in Paris, which claimed the story of the grail was about the blood of Jesus. Jesus never walked the earth, and the priory was just more fabricated Christian mysticism. Christian mystics should be considered deluded or frauds, with most falling into the latter because “garbage in, garbage out.” For millennia, some of our greatest minds had been chained by religious fundamentalism. At the same time, getting rich by staging elaborate shows with magic lanterns and Pythagorean symbols was relatively easy. Hypnosis wasn’t discovered until the late 1800s, but the guided meditations of the Jesuits easily brainwashed Christians into believing the Bible was the divine word of God. Goethe was greatly troubled by the story of Moses leading his people around the desert for 40 years, which indicated Moses was an incompetent leader, or the story was fabricated. As brilliant as he was, Goethe couldn’t fathom the reality Moses was a myth and created as a composite of Cyrus the Great and Zoroaster.
So not only are Judaism and Christianity built on fabrications, but so is masonry and all its offshoots. The mind is easily enchanted and craves magical stories and will invent them if necessary just for the entertainment value. The control of the occult societies is just as vital as control of religion, which is why some royals immediately flocked into the masonic societies and used their power and influence to take control of the lodges.
But did the Illuminati network really disappear when Weishaupt retired? In the 1840s, William Huntington Russell, cousin to the heir of the North American opium empire known as “the China trade,” so as not to mention the word opium, visited Germany and joined a fraternity, and he brought the Illuminati rituals back to Yale.
Before Weishaupt resigned, he left detailed instructions on how to survive the ban. He had created many splinter organizations in different countries that never used the name Illuminati, and had been designed to be self-perpetuating assets serving the order.
Almost nothing real has been written about this for centuries, but I hold out hope AI will one day expose all the bullshit. And one day the masses won’t be so enchanted by magic stories, but develop a more rational zeitgeist not so easily swayed by dogma and hocus hocus.
A few years after Reuss announced the Illuminati revival, co-founder and Christian mystic Leopold Engel was bounced by Christian mystic Karl Kellner and the name of the society changed to O.T.O. Soon, a British intelligence agent would join and hijack the society, leading it to great infamy. That agent was a 33-degree mason who’d recently been kicked out of the Golden Dawn after trying to hijack that society.
The Nazis banned Freemasonry and masons were treated just as severely as Jews, which indicates the masonic network was where anti-fascists could be found. Most masons believed in intellectual and artistic freedom. People flocking to masonry during the enlightenment were departing other religions. The masons were deists who believed a divine spirit ruled the universe but the only way to learn its mind was through the study of nature.
The Nazis seized all masonic documents and assets. As many as 200,000 masons may have been killed as part of the final solution. Those who escaped the dragnet were forced deep underground and used the forget-me-not flower to signal each other. One lodge was established in secret inside the Esterwegen concentration camp. It’s possible the Bavaria Illuminati were wiped out by the Nazis during their takedown of masonry, which would be ironic since a Bonesman-connected bank helped finance Hitler.
Weishaupt never met most of the members. They were told the society was run by a group of Illuminated masters descended from the Zoroastrian Magi. A lot of phony mysticism was invented. Weishaupt understood people crave enchantment and magic. Anyone of potential use was a target for recruitment, but he concentrated on nobles, priests (Catholic and Protestant), high-ranking masons, civil servants, generals and other military, and especially, the best authors. Goethe was the greatest and Weishaupt got him into the fold, but likely never met him, and Goethe was probably agast when the order was banned and Weishaupt went on the run, seeking sanctuary with a royal patron.
The order was running on enlightenment fever, the same thing that created our Revolutionary War. There was a real danger the masses might take control away from the nobles and the Illuminati was supposedly plotting that very thing in France and Russia. They had all sorts of front organizations as they never used the word “Illuminati” in public, and the meetings were rare, and only held for the inner circles. Most members were kept completely in the dark on what the society was up to.
After the ban, a bunch of members ran to rat out the society. They claimed to have been hoodwinked into something evil. Weishaupt pioneered a lot of things now routine in intel, like honey traps. He believed the ends justified the means and nobody knew for sure what his real allegiance was, although he did repair his relationship with the Catholic church before he died, which indicates he may have been secretly working for the Jesuits all along, in order to manage the enlightenment reforms. In fact, a leading member accused Weishaupt of being a secret Jesuit agent.
I suspect the German branch did dissolve because nothing has been heard from it since, and the spy and mystic would not have made contact with the major lodges in Europe to tell them the Illuminati was being revived in Germany if it never dissolved. Apparently, a treasure trove of original documents held in Sweden were sent to the spy and mystic.
It appears the Illuminati may not have dissolved in Italy, which makes sense if it was a Jesuit conspiracy all along. A masonic lodge connected to the Vatican was found responsible for the worst terror bombing in European history. Founded as Propaganda Massonica in 1877, the lodge was renamed Propaganda Due in 1966. After documents were discovered linking the lodge to a train bombing that had been blamed on the left, it was banned in 1982. Figures high in Italian military, intelligence and law enforcement had been members, along with operatives inside the Vatican and Vatican Bank, as were numerous figures in South America. The list we have is the rolodex of the grandmaster of the lodge, so we don’t really know who was a member and who he just had on speed dial. The Italian media characterized the lodge as “a state within a state.”
The lodge was part of Operation Gladio, a secret stay-behind army organized by NATO in the event France and Italy went Communistic, which seemed likely at the time. Gladio made strange bedfellows as it merged masons with Nazis. Nazis and the Vatican, however, had always been chummy, and it had been easy for any Knight of Malta to switch sides. There was nothing similar to the Illuminati rituals uncovered, however. Members seemingly had no code names. However, suspicion remained that P2 was connected to another lodge, one buried deeper inside the Vatican, and if those rumors are true, that lodge could be part of the original Illuminati network.
Bones had been kept busy through the decades and most importantly, played a strategic role in the 1963 assassination of JFK. None of this appears in anything written by Robert Anton Wilson who buried the truth in a blizzard of bullshit.
Watch by Gerald Murphy, who only created 14 paintings and was a Bonesman and good friend of Picasso and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
People need to discard their prejudices and understand that membership in the Bavarian Illuminati or in Bones is not an indictment or evidence of a devious mind. Both societies wanted the widest net possible, and mostly good upstanding people, with only a few malignant narcissists for any covert action that needed undertaking, like assassination by poison to elevate some member into a high position. No evidence Weishaupt did that, just that nothing that benefited the society was off the table. And if Weishaupt did foment an assassination, nobody would have been told about it, just like you can bet the knights and patriarchs don’t discuss the JFK assassination inside the Tomb at New Haven.
One of my favorite artists, Gerald Murphy, was a Bonesman, and he never hurt anybody.
Clockwork Orange was a linguistic treat, especially for anyone educated in Russian as well as English, and with an appreciation for classical music. It was easily on par with other dystopian classics like Brave New World and 1984. It correctly predicted a rise in teenage violence fed by drugs. The MK/Ultra-Skinner-style behavior modification described in the book had already been well under way for a decade when the book was released in 1962.
The author had been trained in music and was an avid composer in the classical style before becoming a writer, and only began a writing career after a lifetime of service as a civil servant for the collapsing British Empire. Although his military career had been blighted by minor insubordinations, he had remained an ardent monarchist and abhorred anything smacking of socialism.
The book was inspired by an earlier event after his pregnant wife Lynne was robbed and raped by deserters from the US Army in London during the Battle of Britain blackout. He was denied leave to comfort her and she miscarried shortly after.
Burgess was already 45 when he wrote the book, and the beatnik counterculture was just beginning to evolve into the hippies. This culture was certainly not to his taste. The racist and violent skinhead movement would not emerge for a few years, and that was possibly infiltrated and encouraged by her Majesties Secret Services from birth, as it would have been the logical foil to pit against non-violent peaceniks. Anything smacking of world peace is the military-industrial-complex’s worst nightmare. The book influenced skinhead fashion, white shirts, black boots and suspenders, a style invented by street ruffians known as Bovver Boys in the early sixties. Their style exploded soon after the book’s release.
As a scholarly investigation into mind control, as well as creation of a new slang, the book was a smash hit, although it was considered by many as unfilmable. But then so was Lord of the Rings. At the time, disaffected youth were routinely subjected to electric shock, something many feared as much as reform school as the treatment was a legal form of torture.
I’m confident the film would have far more appeal to millennials today if the soundtrack of mostly Beethoven were switched out with death metal or gangsta rap. Burgess falsely believed the most intelligent skinheads of the future would, like himself, prefer the great German classics when zonked on meds, but how wrong he was. Had he been a bit more in step with the times, he might have realized the loudest and most angry music playable by teens will always have the most appeal to a violent subculture, and certainly not anything as refined as Beethoven.
Some today blame Burgess for creating the violent skinhead movement, but Bovver Boys were already emerging as a Mod spin off. Most of the Mods were living on speed. Disaffected teen living on speed typically turns out bad for someone because speed creates violence. The Rockers, on the other hand, drank beer and detested uppers, downers, and/or stoners. The Rockers looked exactly like our Elvis-loving, duck-trailed, rockabillies, and rode cafe racers, while the Mods stuck with the more affordable Vespas.
Eventually, Big Pharma figured out a way to wrap the speed in time-release capsules and began handing it out like M&Ms to toddlers for imaginary illnesses. Smart users eventually learned how to crush it to get the full dose immediately, turning it into a proper Bovver Boy delight.
And then a wave of teen violence swept across the country, which is where we are today.
coda:
My suggestion to change the music for the re-make so it can be more easily digested by GenZ drew ire from several who love the current film just as it is. If the movie were made today, it should not slavishly follow Kubrick in any way, but use skinhead metal or gangsta rap instead, depending on the racial profile of the main character.
In regards to questions of morality, I found myself thinking of another Kubrick masterpiece, Lolita, which also deploys an unreliable and mentally disturbed narrator. The book seemed inspired by Sally Horner’s abduction by a 50-year-old mechanic. Sally was 11 at the time. Nabokov denied that claim and produced an unpublished 1939 short story about a child molester checking into a hotel with a victim. However, the parallels between Sally and Lolita are striking in many details.
Death in Venice is also about an old writer obsessing over a young boy, very similar to the way Humbert obsesses over Lolita. And the obsession also ends in death. But the more talented Nabokov went for humor and Humbert and Quilty are comic characters who are also monsters, and Lolita, a victim of their carnal desires.
Nabokov positively hated Thomas Mann’s writing, calling it “plodding and cliche-ridden.” Humbert is given almost heroic status because he can love no one but Lolita. In reality, child abusers are serial predators who seek new victims all the time. Think Jeffry Epstein. Mann’s character is a repressed and closeted gay man near the end of his life who sadly never knew who he really was.
The Kernosovskiy idol is a Yamnaya kurgan stelae dated to the 3rd millennium B.C., discovered in 1973 in the village of Kernosivka in the Ukraine by five schoolchildren. The nude statue with prominent genitals is one of the earliest representations of the leader of the Indo-European pantheon.
Foundations for Western mythology were forged by the Yamnaya culture on the northern banks of the Black Sea in what is now the Ukraine. The Yamnaya were migratory herders who buried their dead in small kurgans, smelted copper for tools and weapons, and ornamented themselves with silver and gold.
Great advancements often followed whenever distinct cultures made friendly contact. After the Corded Ware culture to the northwest made contact, they likely introduced cannabis to the Yamnaya. The name “corded ware” derives from their use of hemp rope to create patterns on their distinctive pottery. Copper smelting probably came from farmers in the Caucasus who built fortified settlements, unlike the migratory Yamnaya.
Early use of cannabis involved burning colas inside tents and caves and drinking bhang. When horses became domesticated, they were small at first and used for pulling carts and producing milk. But a century of breeding produced horses that could be ridden.
The Yamnaya descendants who moved south into Greece made contact with the Phoenicians, the purple people. The Phoenicians had two important advancements: an alphabet and a non-fading dye known as Tyrian purple. Moses commanded this dye be used for the tabernacle curtains, priestly garments, and prayer rugs. An enormous amount of snails were required to produce a tiny amount of dye.
Yamnaya migrations.
The Myceanaeans of Southern Greece created the Greek alphabet based off Phoenician script and it traveled east and became Sanskrit. They began mixing a small amount of tin into the molten copper, making bronze, which is four times stronger than copper. The Myceanaen warriors covered themselves in bronze armor. Their culture was captured by a blind singer-songwriter named Homer. Heracles, the original Greek superhero, has a cameo in the Odyssey when Odysseus visits the underworld.
Myceanaen warrior.
Meanwhile, back in the Ukraine after centuries, the migratory Yamnaya descendants were now riding horses and raiding cattle and women from neighbors. They had become the heavily tattooed Scythians, named for a tool used to harvest hemp. Herodotus was the first to document their love for cannabis intoxication.
Although separated by centuries, the myths of Myceanae and Scythia both involve Heracles, a Greek who traveled to Scythia and met a half-woman-half snake creature who forced him to have sex, resulting in the founding of a Scythian royal family that would rule the steppes for centuries before becoming the prize mercenaries of Rome.
Scythian prince.
In Greece, cannabis fumes for divination was kept secret and made part of the Eleusinian mysteries, while in Scythia cannabis was openly enjoyed. Socrates was famous for cannabis fumigation and accused of corrupting the youth while violating the secrets of the mysteries. Socrates was so offended by the charges that he refused to back down and voluntarily drank the poison they were threatening him with.
The major difference in spirituality between the two cultures was Scythian priests were men who spoke and sang in falsetto and wore priestess robes, not pants like all other Scythians. The priests carried scepters and had antler headdresses. Deer was an important food source and considered spiritual and part of Scythian mythology. Many deer ornaments were fashioned out of gold, although it appears the best work may have been done by Greek goldsmiths living along the banks of the Black Sea.
Scythian deer ornament.
In Greece, however, everyone wore robes as they considered pants backward and unrefined. But Scythians were raised as mounted warriors from birth, and pants were essential for riding. Girls and boys were raised collectively by blinded slaves and were indistinguishable in battle, giving rise to the myth they were a tribe of woman, the Amazons.
I often get mired in a project before I realize why I am doing it, like Dreyfus in Close Encounters. Anyone watching me here knows I’ve been obsessed with creating a deck of Tarot cards showing my Saints of the Grail, which is my rampage through the history of Western culture and spirituality, tracing the most important influencers, starting with Heracles.
My subjects all really walked the earth, so no Jesus, Zeus or Thor. Heracles comes first. Despite all the mythic magic stories, Heracles began in ancient Yamnaya, where horses were domesticated and bronze smelted in the shadow of Mount Elbrus, where Prometheus would eventually be born. The original story is based on the first great king, who became enshrined through Scythian culture documented by Greek Herodotus.
There are 60 saints and two demons. Many of my favorite artists are included in the deck.
Very few living people, however. You typically must die to be sanctified. Dylan and Patti Smith are there, however. I was planning to send out a few decks to close personal friends for Christmas, but now realize there are two names I should add to the list. When I started a Substack after Bozo called me a serial predator, I activated an awards system, where people can send money. Never paid any attention to it, never made up any awards, never expected anyone to send me money.
But, amazingly, two people have sent me $100 each.
I guess I should probably add the deck as a reward.
I was well on my way to becoming the Ken Burns of the counterculture until…
It all ended abruptly, as I was booted from my events, no more books, videos or special projects, no more WHEE!, no more World Marijuana Film Festival, no more Stonys, no more Doobies, and after years of being diminished and abused, I was fired with zero severance after requesting a raise to cover my son’s braces.
I already had tried to bow out of the 20th Cup as I had become a powerless puppet and Stang and his girlfriend openly disrespected me. But mostly I wanted out because my wife had postpartum depression with two toddlers overwhelming her.
I rented our New York apartment and moved to Woodstock. I did not feel confident leaving my wife alone for ten days and this message was conveyed to the Kennedys, who showed no sympathy and forced me to attend the Cup upon threat of firing.
The night before the awards show, I learned my wife was in the hospital and my kids were in foster care.
I assumed I could leave to rescue my kids, but instead was commanded to remain in Amsterdam for the awards show the next night.
My wife was never the same, nor my youngest child. My oldest survived because he had to stay strong for his brother.
After this and other issues too numerous to go into, I requested a divorce from High Times and asked for a respectable settlement as I owned ten percent of the company. I was ghosted, suspended without pay and no offers for shares came forth.
So I solicited offers from four outside buyers at $100k a share, half my shares.
High Times rewrote the articles of incorporation in emergency session to prevent me from moving those shares 3 of which already had signed purchase agreements.
Then High Times immediately engulfed me with litigation threats, and once I was compromised emotionally, forced me to cough up all 8 shares (worth $4 million) for $400,000 in quarterly payouts over six years. This was less than I’d already been making, only now I owned no shares, so the deal was a complete rip-off. Except I was given rights to exploit my video. Halfway through the schedule, High Times stopped paying me. When I complained to Stang, he ghosted me. When I requested access to my archive as per the divorce agreement, Stang ghosted me.
I had to sue, and eventually got everything back I was owed, including my lawyer’s fee and the tapes. The judge was angered by obfuscations perpetrated by High Times. Still, it took two years to get them back. The judge was ready to add damages if High Times stalled any longer.
I had evolved into an impoverished single dad with two kids, who’d been living on $50k a year for five years, while Stang was making ten times that. And now I had to support my wife at a separate location as she could no longer live with us per Child Services.
High Times and the Cannabis Cup lost its soul when I was curb-stomped, and so far High Times has shown zero inclinations to make things right.
I’m reminded greatly of one of my favorite movies, The Man Who Would Be King when Sean Connery and Michael Caine spy four Afghans riding three donkeys.
“The problem,” says Caine, “is how to separate four Afghans from three donkeys.”
This has been the folly of High Times. Any other media company would have respected me and made use of the stream of content. High Times had become the success story of the 1990s, and ignited the minds of a generation. My stage shows were 4-camera live-mixed, internet and pay-per-view ready for decades but never exploited beyond a Fishbone documentary I made for Mike Esterson, whose contract allowed him access to the Cup concert footage.
Stang buys High Times for a couple million, and first thing sends me a text on my cell saying he’s making a Forcade doc and wants my tapes. Now, he has been ghosting me for six or seven years, and was central to the theft of my tapes, computer and hard drives, and all video equipment. I say that because if I’d fought it out in court, I could have proved ownership of over half the tapes and all the equipment, but was so bullied by legal threats and so impoverished, I had to fold up and run for the hills. I gave away all my High Times and Cup tees, and put everything else High Times into storage. For five years.
During that time I became an early adopter of bitcoin and this is what saved me, cleared my mortgage, put my kids through college. I’d be having a wonderful retirement with my solar bikes and pedal boats if not for some unfortunate recent incidents.
One of which involves Stang. After he discovered I wasn’t turning over the tapes to anyone, and intended to keep them under close supervision at all times, and was negotiating the access with the producer, this was not sufficient for Stang, who wanted to pick up the tapes tomorrow.
The tapes are in the same condition High Times delivered them to me. A jumbled up mess. Only now, they are mixed up with all my pre- and post- High Times footage.
Kennedy is dead, and Cruella has no power. So why is Stang still in kill-Hager mode, instead of seeking an alliance with me that could actually unlock the entire archives?
I asked him to stop texting me at night. He ignored that and responded with a threat to sic his General Consul on me. Probably thought I’d fold up and run for the hills like last time. Not likely. This time I am armored up and have resources.
Perhaps someday someone sensible will emerge amidst all this greed and madness, to apologize for what was done to me and my family. I’m ready to negotiate an honorable deal that grants true access to my archives: art, songs, video, scripts, correspondence with famous figures like Hunter S. Thompson. The Steven Hager Archives runs from 1966 to the present and represents the greatest counterculture collection in private hands. This could be an important and profitable collaboration. The books I produced and edited by Stephen Gaskin and Paul Krassner (which won the prestigious Firecracker Award for counterculture journalism) could be put back into print, along with my Adventures in the Counterculture.
High Times minted two icons, me and Tom, and living icons are more exploitable than dead ones, so why was I curb-stomped? I had a $2 million green light from Lion’s Gate for a script called “High Times Cannabis Cup.” Was that killed because it would have documented the evolution of my ceremony of peace before the money-grab it morphed into?
High Times might someday even be considered as a potential repository for my entire archives if they ever cured this situation.
There’s a certain Bozo slamming me for being a whiner for sharing this info. This means he views this as: complaining in a feeble or petulant way. And he goes around for a decade trying to rally others to join his ridicule. He’s got so much hate for me, it’s pathological.
There is a lot here to digest. A list of categories can be found at the bottom of the sidebar (right). Choosing a category is the easiest way to navigate to areas of interest.
I also have included two links in the sidebar. The first leads to my Substack site containing updates on some stories posted here. The second leads to my the gift shop for the Peace Trail Project. All profits go to build peace sites.
Some of the more important stories I’ve broken over the last three decades include:
The origins of hip hop in the Bronx, origins of the 1980s East Village art scene, the CIA assassination of JFK, the true story of Soma (it’s not a mushroom), John Wilkes Booth was a Confederate intelligence officer, Jesus never lived because he was the Judaic interpretation of Greco-Buddhism, Manna is matzo made from hempseed flour, the story of the holy grail began in ancient Scythia where Heracles was born, and, perhaps the most important of all: the domestic terrorists known as the Weather Underground were actually created and controlled by the CIA. The secret leader was a Jesuit-raised lawyer who stole High Times from the employees and ran it into the ground while climbing the social ladder in New York City.
Over the last 50 years, I’ve watched our media fare grow increasingly violent to the point that most content today seems little more than a vehicle to transport viewers from one shockingly realistic terror event to another, and our real history as humans is being blotted out and replaced with a far more violent history, and this process just drives us deeper and deeper into a heart of darkness. And that’s why we are becoming more and more violent. That and all the synthetic drugs people are taking.
I had a video camera for WHEE! but didn’t use it until the wrap party at the end, when Ken Babbs came to hang with the Temple Dragons. The next day we visited Kesey in his video studio. Kesey really inspired me to get deep into video editing, the tools of which were just slipping into the consumer market for the first time. You could get into digital editing for ten grand.
In one annual report, I pitched a video travel guide to Jamaica starring my sidekick Chef Ra. I was not invited to that summit, but when she got back from whatever 5-star resort she’d spent ten days at, Cruella said, “good news and bad news. Good news is we are funding your Chef Ra film idea, bad news, my son-in-law is directing, you aren’t going, and you’re not getting any credit.”
He made a rambling, 30-minute collage that took some boring political tangent, and was saved by Chef Ra writing the script for his voice-over. Ra was able to interject some real humor and spirituality into the film.
It hurt being left out of the first High Times film project since D.O.A. about the Sex Pistols first tour. The company could have scored a major underground hit with that but refused to pay the pittance required to get the music rights. They even stiffed the researcher who put a deal together. After Tom died, the company was about making and taking money, but not spending it.
But a year or two later, when Mike Esterson put together a Chef Ra tour of Negril, I tagged along and made a film called “Bumbaclots in Negril.” It was a guide masking as a biker flick. I was really just toying around trying to learn the craft but my zero-budget, 10-minute film blew away the one made earlier for a hundred grand or so.
When I first ventured seriously into reality-TV, it was to make a spoof on Survivor. Instead of competing against each other, the contestants were told to bond and pick the winner of the Cannabis Cup over five days confined to a small houseboat in Amsterdam.
The real drama began when one of the contestants overdosed and had to get off the boat. He soon announced he was done smoking pot for life because he couldn’t handle it.
Another contestant called him out. He had signed a contract to judge weed and failed to deliver. He never should have entered the contest in the first place.
I thought the show was a fantastic success because it illustrated the dangers of having a cavalier attitude toward cannabis and not respecting the plant’s powers.
The sad part about the whole thing was the kid who had the meltdown was the most talented of the group and I was hoping to keep my Castaways as regular pot stars on the network I was trying to build. He was creating wonderful animation sequences for the next Cup when he suddenly ghosted me in a paranoid fog. So that blew up what could have been a great collaboration.
The next attempt was my High Times Reality TV Show. That unwieldy title was not my idea. (I plan to recut the project into a feature doc at some point because it’s so hard to find the episodes online and only the pilot got released, and not the material shot in Amsterdam about Doc entering Ookie Kabuki and beating out DNA Seeds in a smoke-off judged by Robert Connell Clarke).
The pilot involved staging the first Miss High Times Pageant in Jamaica. Instead of a competition, the girls were supposed to bond and have a spiritual experience. This worked beyond my wildest imagination, and the girls ended up bonded for life.
I was doing my best to chart a course for meaningful content that ran contrary to the tsunami of competition, greed and violence dominating the mass media. And it was working. So one wonders why there was so much friction, fog and clogs coming from Cruella, the real power at High Times?
As if the work I was doing wasn’t meaningful and the rap around the office became, “why can’t he just concentrate on the magazine?” That was Cruella talking. She was so hostile to my videotaping everything she ordered me to stop shooting video at one summit.
“I can’t do that,” I said. “It’s part of my process. I used to tape record all my interviews since I was in college. I found it much easier to edit the interviews in video format, so it helps speed up the process of turning the interviews into type. I have been shooting everything I do for years now. This is valuable.”
“My son-in-law has been in California making videos for years and never made a dime!” snorted Cruella who refused to believe I could do anything worthwhile in the medium.
The next year, the son-in-law was nominated for an Oscar for a low-budget film he produced. Cruella sent out the email, she and the lawyer who stole High Times, “were bursting with pride.”
I never had the nerve to confront her with her earlier statement about how worthless shooting video was. I just knew any refusal to buckle under to her every whim was asking for major trouble and she would soon be toying with me like a cat with a bird in its claws, but I was a magic bird who could disappear and reappear in a different place with a whole new project that needed to be stopped. Cruella was playing whack-a-mole for decades and I was always the mole.