Eine Ausgabe des Life Magazine von 1966 beschäftigt sich mit LSD.

Zitat: "The Exploding Threat of the Mind Drug that Got Out of Control Turmoil in a Capsule One dose of LSD is enough to set off a mental riot of vivid colors and insights — or of terror and convulsions"

Als Zeitdokument ist der Artikel ganz interessant.

Charmant fand ich die Aussage von Dr. Sidney Cohen: "Many people are doing to themselves what we would never consider doing experimentally. Some day their brains may wind up in the laboratory and give us the answers."

Dr. Cohen erinnert mich ein wenig an einen Arzt aus einer Kurzerzählung von Thomas Pynchon mit dem Titel "the crying of lot 49".

Dort heißt es: "We still need a hundred-and-fourth for the bridge." Chuckled aridly. The bridge, die Brucke, being his pet name for the experiment he was helping the community hospital run on effects of LSD-25, mesca-line, psilocybin, and related drugs on a large sample of surburban housewives. The bridge inward. "When can you let us fit you into our schedule."

"No," she said, "you have half a million others to choose from. It's three in the morning."

"We want you." Hanging in the air over her bed she now beheld the well-known portrait of Uncle that appears in front of all our post offices, his eyes gleaming unhealthily, his sunken yellow cheeks most violently rouged, his finger pointing between her eyes. I want you. She had never asked Dr Hilarius why, being afraid of all he might answer.

Zu LSD lies auch den Artikel von Thomas Pynchon " A journey into the mind of Watts"

"At the Deadwyler inquest, much was made of the dead man's high blood alcohol content, as if his being drunk made it somehow all right for the police to shoot him. But alcohol is a natural part of the Watts style; as natural as LSD is around Hollywood. The white kid digs hallucination simply because he is conditioned to believe so much in escape, escape as an integral part of life, because the white L.A. Scene makes accessible to him so many different forms of it. But a Watts kid, brought up in a pocket of reality, looks perhaps not so much for escape as just for some Calm, some relaxation. And beer or wine is good enough for that. Especially good at the end of a bad day."