[Ibogaine] Daniel Pinchbeck's new book in NY Times

tink tinkerbell.sarah at gmail.com
Thu Jun 29 07:22:29 EDT 2006

and he's RUDE

On 6/19/06, Mark Corcoran <mcorcoran27 at hotmail.com> wrote:
> he still sucks.
> ________________________________
> From: HSLotsof at aol.com
> Date: Sun, 18 Jun 2006 22:48:40 -0400
> To: ibogaine at mindvox.com
> Subject: Re: [Ibogaine] Daniel Pinchbeck's new book in NY Times
> Good or bad, when you get that much play in the NY Times it has to be worth
> a fortune.
> Howard
> In a message dated 6/18/06 9:55:30 PM, vector620022002 at yahoo.com writes:
> Here, this is for all the people who seem to have been under whelmed by
> Daniel's behavior at the last ibogaine conf. The NY Times panned his
> book, taking special note to trash how poorly he conveyed his ibo
> experiences.
> On the other hand, they did take the time to trash him and he did get
> into the NY Times.
> Review summed up: shut up, you suck.
> Longer version follows.
> .:vector:.
> http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/18/books/review/18swofford.html
> June 18, 2006
> '2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl,' by Daniel Pinchbeck
> The End Is High
> DANIEL PINCHBECK has done a lot of psychedelics, and he's here again to
> tell us about those trips and the resulting dreams, daemons and
> synchronicities, as well as the forthcoming "global decimation" that
> might be avoided if people begin "confronting their habitual mechanisms
> of avoidance and denial, overcoming their fear and conditioned
> cynicism."
> In his previous book, "Breaking Open the Head: A Psychedelic Journey
> Into the Heart of Contemporary Shamanism," Pinchbeck mined much of the
> same material and substances. "2012" pushes the baggie a little further
> and "advances a radical theory: that human consciousness is rapidly
> transitioning to a new state . . . a transformed realization, of time
> and space and self." He adds: "The transition is already under way . .
> . and will become increasingly evident as we approach the year 2012."
> That's the year the Mayan "Great Cycle" ends.
> In 2012, urban liberals and fundamentalist Christians alike lose their
> heads to the Pinchbeckian guillotine, a machine made not of wood and
> steel but the after-effects of DMT ("a seven-minute rocket-shot into an
> overwhelming other dimension"), ayahuasca, magic mushrooms, LSD and
> iboga ("a psychedelic root bark that is the center of the Bwiti cult").
> Of the multiple difficulties encountered by the writer of
> drug-induced-mind-expansion narratives, none is more important to
> overcome than that of transferring the effect of the drug to his prose,
> a near impossibility attained by only a few — William S. Burroughs
> comes to mind, as well as Thomas De Quincey.
> Not so Pinchbeck. His descriptions of his trips are New Age
> narcissistic and fortune-cookie cute. Apparently, when you are
> mindblown on iboga, the root teacher speaks in CAPS. Among the messages
> Pinchbeck receives: "PRIMORDIAL WISDOM TEACHER OF HUMANITY." While on a
> "fungal sacrament," Pinchbeck describes the Nevada morning desert at
> Burning Man as "a Narnia sunrise of golden cloud fingers and taffeta
> swirls feather-spinning across the horizon." No thanks, dude, I'll pass
> on the fungal.
> If you ingest psychedelics and write about their galactic psychic
> healing properties and tell your readers you offer them your book "as a
> gift handed backward through space-time, from beyond the barrier of a
> new realm," you need at least an ounce of humor and warmth to go along
> with it all. It's hard to swallow the counterculture self-help pill —
> or leaf or drink or droplet — offered by a self-proclaimed "somewhat
> bohemian and alienated intellectual," especially a bohemian
> intellectual who writes plodding sentences that utterly fail to render
> his ascent into other, better worlds of consciousness and sensation.
> Pinchbeck insists the crisis he's trying to help us solve is global,
> but throughout "2012" there is ample evidence that the crisis is
> Pinchbeck's own: there's his recently dead father; the birth of his
> daughter; the wealthy and beautiful partner who is unable to match his
> same high enthusiasm for psychedelics and an open relationship; the
> witnessing of the 9/11 attacks from his partner's Soho loft; the
> inability to score, while high, in an Amazonian jungle with a woman who
> calls herself a priestess; and ultimately being forced to live in an
> underheated South Williamsburg share apartment. The high seas of the
> global psychic crisis are rough.
> Pinchbeck's thinking suffers from the deep navel-gazing that comes so
> naturally to this son of urban humanist materialist liberals, the very
> class he disparages for their atheism, passivity and greed. Not that he
> is off the mark. Most of the people who once sang Beatles anthems and
> marched for civil rights are now more concerned with the stock market
> and real estate — not to mention the quality of the new sod job at the
> golf course — than with world peace or the welfare of indigenous
> peoples. But haven't we known this for at least two decades? And will
> doing psychedelics really help usher in a new era of living and being?
> Pinchbeck's censure of corporate globalization and hegemonic thought is
> well meant. Petro-domination and the desecration of the biosphere are
> real dangers that require immediate attention. But Pinchbeck's
> reasoning moves quickly from practical, thoughtful criticisms to the
> conclusion that near the end of 2012 the world as we know it will end.
> It's akin to stating that because a 10-year-old shoplifted a pack of
> gum, next Wednesday her entire family will turn blue.
> "2012" occasionally engages the reader solely because of the cast of
> characters Pinchbeck befriends and cites — crop circle hoaxsters and
> devotees, believers in extraterrestrials, physicists and poets, time
> concept revisionists and their acolytes.
> Pinchbeck's most lucid writing surrounds the two periods of his life
> that receive the least attention in this book: his youth in Manhattan,
> in the atmosphere of truly avant-garde writers, personalities and
> artists (his parents among them), and a visit to Hopiland, at the end
> of the book. His rage at what he sees as the thieving and wasting of
> the Hopiland aquifer by a coal mining company, as assisted by Enron, is
> the kind of writing you want from a muckraker and subversive. Rage at
> social injustice is infinitely preferable to claims of drug-induced
> prescience and visionary flights, but Pinchbeck's romantic subservience
> to psychedelics and their doubtful global psychic breakthroughs (he
> liberally uses the words "might," "could" and "perhaps") soften the
> anti-establishment punches he occasionally throws.
> Since when can a guy on mushrooms land a punch? And no one likes a
> global morality bully who's tripping. Whatever happened to just taking
> drugs? Visionary flights sound like such a downer. But if things change
> in 2012, please paint me blue.
> ________________________________
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