ULTRAVIOLET

AS ONE LEARNS TO WALK BY WALKING SO ONE LEARNS TO LOVE BY LOVING

Hi everyone,

It's me again. I’m the hot girl with tumors who took MDMA at a Children’s Tumor Convention and then went to Sasha and Ann’s home. I’m here asking for some help on behalf of the Society of Hot Girls With Tumors. In return for helping me, I figured I could also maybe enlighten you on what I believe is Sasha’s most powerful molecule that you won’t find in PiHKAL or TiHKAL. I got front row seats to this beautiful molecule.

You oughta listen up.

Sasha and Ann were always humble people. If you’ve ever made the pilgrimage to their home, I’d wager that you felt their love and compassion emanating from the wallpaper in their dining room. Or you’re a monster who didn’t so much as giggle when you saw the yellowed tab that reads CRAP WRITTEN BY ILLITERATES in the filing cabinet of Sasha’s office, but you still aim to grab your slice of the Psychedelic Pie because it’s all the fucking rage right now and if you act quickly you can make some cool, hard cash while feeling really good about healing the masses from your privileged pulpit with ANCIENT WISDOM.

Give me a break.

I’m the reason erowid was banned on my rural high school’s network—I was writing a series of essays for my College Composition class on Microdosing LSD, MDMA for PTSD, and the Safety and Efficacy of Psilocybin in the Treatment of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Angered that my school had effectively shut off my access to the articles I needed to finish my essay series, I decided to reach out to the authors of those books I’d been collecting. Jim Fadiman bit. Still have that voicemail from him singing to the tune of Happy Birthday: Happy New Years to You. Happy New Years to You- Happy New Years from the West Coast Psychedelic Societyyyy--- Happy New Years to You!

I got to tell Earth over a spread of Easter cookies that his site saved and changed my life, and nudged another person (drunkenly, maybe) that they ought to make a Yankee Candle of Sasha’s lab—I’d buy two so I could burn one and huff the other while meditating on the karmic unfolding of ZECTRAN- THIS ONE REALLY WORKS!

In my undergrad at the University of Missouri, I had the privilege of poring over dense scientific texts that read like spiritual prose for a meta-analysis that explored psychedelic-assisted therapies and their treatment of substance use disorders. Wasn’t long after I got out of Valley Hope in Booneville, Missouri. My favorite article of the bunch was Nick Chwelos’ LSD IN THE TREATMENT OF ALCOHOLISM (1959). It has a quote that I’ve kept in my pocket for some time now.

AS ONE LEARNS TO WALK BY WALKING SO ONE LEARNS TO LOVE BY LOVING.

You should probably write that down and keep it in your pocket, too.

This past week I got on my hands and knees and loudly wept behind plastic foliage at the Denver Convention Center and prayed that folks don’t take what Sasha and Ann built and pervert it for their own gain. I could feel their love radiating from the wallpaper in their dining room—how could you possibly take something so pure and fuck it up into infinity and beyond?

I see you, Moloch.

You’re the force that rapes me in every karmic reality. You’re the dichloro-diphenyl-trichloroethane that drives heavy grooves on my flesh, that tattoo found frozen solid along with a mammoth in a cave surrounded by silent tundra, that rhyme my dad reads to me sometime in the 2000’s-- that super-indelible-never-come-off-until-you’re-dead-and-maybe-even-later coloring -markers. You’re the Trouble on the Tombigbee, CIBA-GEIGY McIntosh Plant dumping Paul Hermann Müller’s molecule in the water and spraying it on the wallpaper just so that a Hot Girl With Tumors in a time and place far, far away can feel like her sacrum is about to explode in that MRI machine and to be told by a boy she trusted that her Lexapro makes her Inappropriately Happy and he doesn’t want to have a tumor baby with her.

BASF took over the cleanup. Didn’t they use forced labor to make ZYKLON B in Aushwitz?

You’re the superintendent screaming at me that I need to attend Saturday School because I’ve been truant after having that tumor removed from my skull. You’re the bandmember from Agent Orange huffing and sweaty and trying to touch me in the back of an UBER after I hissed at you to stop. I’d shown you and that founding member of Parapsychology the CIBA-GEIGY document on Extrasensory Perception that establishes a clear link between these chemists and the occult.

This is extremely valuable, keep this safe—said the Parapsychologist with shaky hands. You wipe his ass after every bowel movement--- could you be blamed for wanting to touch a Hot Girl With Tumors?

You need to finish the final stitch in your shirtwaist, god damn it! Don’t mind the fire!

Anyways.

All federal funding was cut for research into Neurofibromatosis. I tried applying for Patient Centered Outcomes Research (PCORI) funding to start the long and arduous process of penetrating the impenetrable—getting other researchers and drug developers and clinicians to look me in my face while I tell them about how I took MDMA at Children’s Hospital Los-Angeles and screamed that I felt REJECTED ON A CELLULAR LEVEL—AS IF THE CELLS INSIDE ME DON’T HURT ME ENOUGH ALREADY!!!

Neurofibromatosis causes tumors to grow in my nerve tissue, and cost that girl in my support group her leg when she was eleven. A man at the café she frequents told her that she’ll be the first to go to the camps because all she’s good for is taking money from the government. I went to Psychedelic Science in Denver on a scholarship so I could hopefully find someone who understands how delicate a molecule can be, and knows how if you start with pure intention and get some really fucking brilliant people together and walk by walking and love by loving then maybe, just maybe we could alter the karmic unfolding of a better future for Hot Girls With Tumors. I still can’t get the Children’s Tumor Foundation to respond to my emails about volunteering with them.

ZECTRAN: THIS ONE REALLY WORKS! is the first biodegradable pesticide, and it’s what gave Sasha the license to make the tools that make you SEE GOD and birthed your $13,000 Integration cash-cow. If you don’t recognize this snail, what are you even doing here?

If the tumors in my spinal canal were malignant, my Make-a-Wish would be to spend the next year reading, writing, and tracing my suffering back to the molecular level—so that maybe I could begin to reauthor my narrative.

I’d explore how CIBA-GEIGY gave William French Anderson—the so-called Father of Gene Therapy—the first production vial of Desferal. While he was on trial, he received over 200 letters of support praising him as a brilliant scientist and a “Helper of Mankind.” It was considered a loss to humanity to send him to prison for raping his colleague’s 10-year-old daughter on a Garfield blanket, then washing his sins away in Lake Taneycomo at the multimillion-dollar Christian athlete retreat, Kanakuk Kamps, in my hometown of Branson, Missouri.

If the nebulous, cloudy tumors encroaching on my paraspinal nerves were malignant, my Make-a-Wish would be to receive even 1/200th—or just a single molecule—of the support William French Anderson received. Maybe then I could catch a flight to Cambridge, sit the drug developers at Healx Labs down for dinner, and make them look me in the face while I tell them about my pilgrimage to Sasha and Ann’s—and how I could feel their love for me still alive in the wallpaper of their dining room.

I was told by a wise one at the Philosophical Research Society that Animism runs counter to Capitalism, because when you look at something in its face and acknowledge its Divine Creative Intelligence, it becomes much harder to exploit it.

ZECTRAN:THIS ONE REALLY WORKS! If the tumor growing in my left palm were malignant, I’d shake hands with Dr. David Brown at Healx labs in Cambridge and tell him that I shook a hand that shook a hand that shook the hand that shook a hand that shook Abraham Lincoln’s hand. If you believe in that old saying about sympathetik magick, like unto like, then perhaps that handshake might actually do the Society of Hot Girls with Tumors some real good for a change. I’d also ask him what the name of the chance encounter was that allowed him to ride the heels of AI in drug development and was inextricably linked to earning him $52B for his starlet drug Viagra.

What shade of red did the Chance Encounter produce when it blushed and told you about the side effects of that heart angina medication, Dr. David Brown?

Were you maybe too focused on how it could do something novel and different with her hair to really notice her contributions, like Watson when he stole the Nobel Prize from Rosalind while she talked about her images of the spiral structure of LIFE ITSELF?

If the tumors growing on my sacrum that are pressed by the ballooning of dural ectasia were malignant, my Make-a-Wish would be to publish my first book and use the funds to make my own IMAGINATION LIBRARY, like Dolly Parton. It’s because of her and that Little Engine that Could that I learned to read and write.

I THINK I CAN I THINK I CAN.

Dolly Parton’s Stampede was my first job. If you’ve never been, it’s a hyper-realistic re-enactment of the Civil War except with sequined bodysuits and racing piglets and you eat a whole rotisserie chicken with your bare hands. It’s all very primal, just like my urge to put her breasts in my mouth when I was an infant and my parents took me to meet her.
I was a little too old to be breastfeeding, but something in me knew that she was Living Sainthood and if I could just get them in my mouth then maybe via some form of sympathetik magick she’d impart some of her Divine Creative Intelligence unto me and maybe I could do something to help the Society of Hot Girls With Tumors.

If you’d like to help, please consider donating to my gofundme so I can finally write my book.