Rantall Cunningham III
/in History, Uncategorized /by Kiddhartha
(photo courtesy whitehouse.gov)
BLUF*
Ladies and gentlemen, in my world, everything is a joke but nothing is funny.
Here’s a history lesson I hope none of you will overlook. I’ve read, re-read, verified, re-verified, discovered, re-discovered, forgot, re-learned, and read some more. I’ve done so in light of the words written by numerous distinguished scholars, leaders, entrepreneurs, historians, war veterans, abolitionists, excavators, world travelers, shaman, journalists– artists in as many senses as infinitesimally possible within the confines of my finite time of enlightened senses. The information I’ve managed to gather over the last decade +$ome change has humbled me beyond a point of caring about much in life at all.
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I was once humbled to the point of homelessness. To the point of defeat and faulty existence. It was a sturdy reminder that human beings make mistakes, that they seemingly exist, and that it seems that I am one of them. Whoever I am and whatever it is that causes me to be how I am with perspective to all of my experiences moving my host through space and time is simply that alone, and it’s unfair to judge someone merely by the words that they had the nuts to publish for the wandering gossipers eyes to see and interpret. I will use a common analogy to tie in a corresponding factor– if I tell you “don’t think about an elephant” you will most definitely think about an elephant and you are inferior to me muahahahaha. Do not take my words to heart, if you have a problem with them (see: definition of ‘offended’), just remember, with my flawed personality I’m provoking your flawed personality on purpose. For example, if you are Christian and you are offended when I tell you the Bible is a horrible book to be reading to children, no matter whether it’s read to it before or after that child is or isn’t sodomized, and this offends you– please forgive me and resume your prosperous journey to heaven. Rest in paradise, Mr. Bill Hicks.
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I simply do not have the time to apologize for the words I write. But there is truth in every joke, I can promise you that. I believe what was delved on in the long history of medicine in Food of the Gods (by Terence McKenna) will prove to be true and accurate information. I believe in the healing power and versatility of plants with regard to the various different uses and formalities, with the idea in mind that their benefits directly coincide with nature symbiotically, and they far-outweigh the negative factors they’re implied with, specifically when it comes to legality of plants that grow naturally all over the world as we know it. The “problem” with what my belief seems to be in this society is that it’s not popular, so it will never be “cool” until it reaches the right platform. Statistically speaking, my full name most likely lurks at the cold, damp bottom of a government hit-list because I’ve culminated enough data in my research to decide that whatever most** people seem to choose to believe is just, well, is just plain ol’ gahdam rawn-guh. Somewhere in the midst of all that lineage is an outline of documented holistic ritual artwork in the form of hand-painted symbols on the walls of caves in West Africa. The story behind the symbols is basically this in a nutshell: we were Sapiens but we weren’t always homo (did you know homo translates to ‘wise’ in Latin) (did you know we stopped teaching the Latin language to our youth around the turn of the 21st century in this country?) anyways, without digressing any further, we were once hetero Sapiens, or whatever the opposite of homo is, and then we ate fungus that grew on the platter of cow poop, and then, as we evolved, the matter and make-up of the fungus further-developed our brains to full-blown-homo mode, and our Pineal gland became/re-became a thing, and fast forward through an undetermined amount of years in the form of estimated, scientifically-educated guesses (theories) injected via cultural language with history unraveling before us and only captured when recorded both objective/subjectively, and wham bam here we am, mah’fockizzz. Or, as Joe Rogan put it, we are monkeys on a rock flying around in space.
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Okay, taken with a grain of salt, all of the above- that is, I think I’m ready to finally get to the point.
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For the sake of argument, let’s assume a few high-ranking government officials are capable of exploiting their “power” in order to make a bunch of money by using a bureaucratic legal/justice system unfairly to their advantage– and accepting that possibility allows us to (for the sake of argument) assume that’s exactly what has-been and is-being. Here are the verified facts:
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In the mid-1800’s a man by the name of Warren Delano, an American… let’s call him a philanthropist because when a spade is a spade we call it a spade in this country, sailed to Europe to meet some drug-dealing buddies of his. Although it was illegal in China, Honeybadging Delano did not give a shit, and managed to acquire riches and wealth by smuggling opium forcefully into the Orient, which was successively passed down to his kin, which I will get back to that in a Florida minute. Now, China would go down in history as a once-great Empire that ate its own foundation from the inside out with the help of the side-effects that can be found on the side of prescribed pain-killer medicine containers today, some 150 years later. Not to quote the great George W, but to quote the great George W——— “fool me once…” suttin’ bout shame.
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So?! Warren Delano and his mob of cronies tore apart a prospering nation by injecting its heart with opiates? “Why, I don’t see the problem here? What EVER are you getting at, young lad?
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Well, after the economy collapsed (Panic of 1857), all of Mr. D’s hard-earned, honest livings went to shit, and I’m assuming some bridges were burned and he wasn’t able to make the trip to Europe and that’s why he provided opium to the Union army during the civil war this time instead of going back to China to re-destroy it… after all, how do you sell opium to people who don’t have money, amirite? Blah blah yadatadablah, did you know the hypodermic needle was invented towards the beginning of The War [the Civil one in America, we’re well past the Opium Wars at this point– catch up, bruh]? Why stop at China when you can tear apart your own society at home right after!? Then, with all thanks being to God and his mysterious ways, Warren D was able to mount up and regulate on a clear dark night which happened to cast a clear white moon. Rumor has it, even, that he was trying to consume some skirts for the ‘E, or something that sounds like that if you’re like me and not 100% sure on the song lyrics, and Warren D had much rejoice in his re-acquired riches. I reckon it’s a lot easier to REGULATE a large society consisted of highly-capable warriors when that band of warriors is strung out on morphine, but I’ve reckoned incorrectly many times before in the past. I do remember, way back when, one time I read a book, and I don’t remember what it was called, but everything about the book was great except the cover really fuckin sucked, but I decided I’d just look past the cover and grant the inside info for the taking, but that was just that one time.
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Anyways- I started wondering why the area of Tampa I frequented the most was named “Hyde Park”. And why Platt Street is named Platt Street. And why at the end of Platt Street there is a 30-foot statue of a man who wasn’t American and never actually set foot on America, and why that same guy has a federal holiday celebrated in his honor in this country, and why the person who created that holiday was the grandson of the guy who got richer than a goddesses golden vagina juice from illegally selling a by-product of a plant that rivals another naturally-growing plant, and why that rivaled naturally-growing plant was signed into prohibition by that same grandson of the opiate pirate when he became president, and why Oliver Platt was one of the most quote-unquote ‘influential’ Senators of those times and there’s hardly any information about him readily available on the surface of the world wide web but of the little that is available, it’s known that many of the records in his office were destroyed after is sudden death from an unsuspected illness just weeks after yet another US Senator passed away from the same, and why there are historical text books written by Ivy League school professors that admit Columbus had nothing to do with this country but we still celebrate him like he did. I wondered a lot of that and a few other things. I still wonder how this was able to happen. I’ve lost friends and I’m losing friends because of the deceptive origins found in the poppy plant in question. It’s very unnecessary. It’s wrong and it needs to be fixed. One way to do that is hire an Attorney General who isn’t afraid to get the downtown-Dallas parade treatment, and have that AG de-schedule all of the substances which are being controlled by a bunch of buttheads on high horses to something more reasonable. I’ll save sugar, tobacco, alcohol, cotton and slaves for later.
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I’m halfway through reading Mark Twain’s first volume of his autobiography, and I learned that the 1,400 words he wrote each day were quite a lot, even for a writer… I found that pretty interesting because I’ve proven myself capable of hand-writing 4,400 in a small fraction of the day. And I planned on going far into all of this but I think this is a good stopping point for right now. Remember, this is just how I feel, so please make sure to stay classy out there, San Diego. “It’s just a ride.”
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*Bottom Line Up Front
**most does not mean all so if you’re offended you’re probably a most but there are exceptions to every rule, just ask the people who make the rules and if you’re not a most then they’ll tell you that some rules can be bent, but I’m like wait if my pool cue is bent isn’t it as good as broken?