Guest Post by Mark Crispin Miller
The aged rockers who have leapt aboard the “vaccine” cattle cars, and jeered those who hung back, were often very different people back before their hearts and minds were steeped in deadly propaganda
David Crosby was a tough old bird, touring full-time until tendonitis finally forced him off the road two years ago, then moving into the recording studio, while tweeting, often wittily, with a devoted readership—a steady bustle of activity despite the tendonitis and three heart attacks, and liver problems, too.
But now he’s dead, at 81, his passing marked the usual way: “A cause of death has not been revealed,” reports Variety, along with this:
The death came as a surprise to those who followed his very active Twitter account, which he’d kept tweeting on as recently as Wednesday. One of Crosby’s final tweets Wednesday was to make a typically jocular comment about heaven: “I heard the place is overrated… cloudy.”
Despite that jest, his mind was clearly on this world, or was five weeks ago:
So I played with some friends the day before yesterday and spent today sing with two really good friends and ……hmmmmmm….dare I say it ? …I think I’m starting yet another band and going back out to play live ……
— David Crosby (@thedavidcrosby) December 15, 2022
And just as (typically) we’re not told why he died, so (as usual these days) has Crosby’s family obliquely asked us not to speculate out loud about the cause of death: Patricia Crosby, his sister, “thanked fans for their love,” USA Today reports, “and asked for privacy ‘as we grieve and try to deal with our profound loss.’”
Although I wouldn’t think of pestering his loved ones with this inference, what all this suggests is that, since Wednesday, Crosby suffered some “brief illness” brought on by the “vaccination” that he proudly started undergoing in early 2021 (no doubt proceeding to get serially boosted, too). Nor did he merely publicize that jab, but did so with a haughty dig at all those not, like him, intelligent enough “to understand” the shots, “and ascertain that [‘vaccination’] is the correct move”:
Of course I do …..I took one …truthfully …you have to be a room temperature IQ not to understand them and ascertain that it is the correct move https://t.co/LGdkoX2gUX
— David Crosby (@thedavidcrosby) April 9, 2021
I write this more in sorrow than in anger, as I am not one of those who gloat when smugly “vaccinated” types get theirs; and I too vividly remember Crosby as he was to have those memories eclipsed by the dark star of COVID, under which so many worthy spirits lost their minds. For one thing, I loved the Byrds, and then went on to love CSNY, who gave the best of all the concerts I attended in those days (and I attended many concerts through the Sixties and beyond).
And as I so loved his musicianship—his angel’s voice, his phrasing, his harmonic genius—so did I only later learn that, back then, he was also brave enough to say what few dared say, and that identifies him now as one who wouldn’t always have bowed down to the needle, and denied the damage done. Just four years after Dallas—when even (or especially) all the left refused to touch the subject with a ten-foot pole (a silence that Noam Chomsky helped maintain), and as the CIA was just beginning its long covert propaganda drive to smear all doubters of the Warren myth as “conspiracy theorists”—Crosby said this at a concert (and was applauded loudly for it):
David Crosby on stage 4 years after the assassination of JFK, a man ahead of his time: pic.twitter.com/YYhU8uTGLT
— Bully Wilder (@BuyErasers) January 19, 2023
And while we’re giving retrospective credit where it’s due, to those whose minds, and fame, have lately been deployed to get us all injected, let’s note that, of all people, Paul McCartney too was, back then, keenly interested in finding out the truth about JFK’s murder. Having heard about Mark Lane’s Rush to Judgement, which had not been published yet, he sought out the author when the latter was in London, and asked to read the manuscript. He called back a few days later, and said, cryptically, “Well he could’na done it, could he?” It took Lane a few minutes to realize who the caller was, and that, by “he,” Paul meant Lee Harvey Oswald. So intent was the musician on contributing to Lane’s endeavors that he asked repeatedly to be allowed to write the score for Rush to Judgement, Lane’s documentary, which the BBC (also a very different animal back then) broadcast in 1967. Thanks to the obtuseness of a tin-eared collaborator on the documentary, that dazzling possibility fell through. (The story is in Citizen Lane, the 2012 memoir by that relentless “conspiracy theorist,” who managed to survive the CIA’s long, sly assault.)
Thus, like Crosby, Paul McCartney was, back in the day, able to think critically about an overwhelming propaganda narrative, whereas, under the evil influence of “COVID,” he’s had himself photographed getting “vaccinated” (with a mask on), and unctuously urged all his fans to “be cool,” and get the jab as he did (and Ringo did, as did so many other of Paul’s peers). What both these stories tell us is that “COVID”—and the consequent participation of so many once-sharp artists in the global drive to “vaccinate” all humankind—could not have happened until now, decades of propaganda, on a broad range of related subjects, having paved the way for it, and thereby made our world unrecognizable (and made us enemies of one another), in ways that we must now do all we can to understand, so we can finally take it back, and make it right.
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Like most of us he was complicated. Pacifist and peace protestor who was arrested numerous times for weapons offenses. Huge fan of the intelligence of Pete Buttigieg and the sincerity of Joe Biden. Doubted the JFK story but bought into the flu hoax hook, line and sinker. Ruined his liver drinking and doing drugs, but wore a mask and took the fake vax for his health.
And he wrote this-
I don’t have trouble separating the man from the artist.
R.I.P.
ruined TWO livers, that has to be some kind of record
He should have stayed away from the purple berries.
Langley weighs in.
“Probably keep us both alive” ……. oops, guess not.
‘And it ain’t a fit night out for man or beast’ … W C Fields
Central Scrutinizer,
Coffee out my nose on that one….hysterical.
Thanks!
He got a liver transplant…read about that. He was a POS.
A true piece of shit.
Beat women, fucked over all his friends repeatedly.
Used his celebrity to go to the head of the transplant
line twice, likely costing another their life.
Fuck Crosby. Heaven may be overrated, but he’ll never find out.
he cost a young kid his life by playing “cutsies” in line. fuck him. he should have at a lead pill a long time ago.
“Of course I do …..I took one …truthfully …you have to be a room temperature IQ not to understand them and ascertain that it is the correct move”
Ole Dave now found his IQ……
Lyrics to Wooden Ships:
If you smile at me, I will understand
‘Cause that is something everybody everywhere does in the same language
I can see by your coat, my friend, you’re from the other side
There’s just one thing I got to know
Can you tell me please, who won?
Say, can I have some of your purple berries?
Yes, I’ve been eating them for six or seven weeks now, haven’t got sick once
Probably keep us both alive
Wooden ships on the water, very free and easy
Easy, you know the way it’s supposed to be
Silver people on the shoreline, let us be
Talkin’ ’bout very free and easy
Horror grips us as we watch you die
All we can do is echo your anguished cries
Stare as all human feelings die
We are leaving, you don’t need us
Go, take your sister, then, by the hand
Lead her away from this foreign land
Far away, where we might laugh again
We are leaving, you don’t need us
And it’s a fair wind
Blowin’ warm out of the south over my shoulder
Guess I’ll set a course and go
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sounds like peace and secession, doesn’t it?
Here’s what was rotten in hippiedom, though – .gov/CIA/MK-ULTRA, as usual:
WEIRD SCENES INSIDE THE CANYON LAUREL CANYON, COVERT OPS & THE DARK HEART OF THE HIPPIE DREAM by DAVID McGOWAN
https://avalonlibrary.net/ebooks/David%20McGowan,%20Nick%20Bryant%20-%20Weird%20Scenes%20Inside%20the%20Canyon%20-%20Laurel%20Canyon,%20Covert%20Ops%20&%20the%20Dark%20Heart%20of%20the%20Hippie%20Dream.pdf
Practically everything is psyop.
.
Letter from Grateful Dead lyricist, Robert Hunter, to Jerry Garcia, a year after Garcia’s death:
https://speakola.com/eulogy/for-jerry-garcia-by-robert-hunter-1995
Horror grips us as we watch you die
All we can do is echo your anguished cries
Stare as all human feelings die
We are leaving, you don’t need us
Go, take your sister, then, by the hand
Lead her away from this foreign land
Far away, where we might laugh again
We are leaving, you don’t need us
Sounds like the story of the unvaxxed.
And all of the unfortunate targets of the US military empire’s planet-crushing juggernaut.
Damn, HSF, that is some sharp insight.
BTW, yesterday I responded to an email from one of my readers who feared the time when we Unvaxxed would be hunted down. Tried to encourage him by countering that there is also a chance that we might instead be hunted down for both our healthy blood and our undamaged sperm.
Quien sabe … as they say down here South of Many Borders … who knows…….?
Interesting…do the Adrenochrome drinkers prefer pureblood?
Truth of the day.
Thank you for the links.
Since I read “Weird scenes inside the canyon…” I have gone from pragmatist to cynic. Maybe some one can sing that song.
A fragging pragmatist is one for whom ends justify means … & for whom quantity trumps quality. Cynics are a lot closer to synched.
I know that’s right, it’s a mind altering book indeed
Another of those icons, and one of Laurel Canyon’s most flamboyant residents, is a young man by the name of David Crosby, founding member of the seminal Laurel Canyon band the Byrds, as well as, of course, Crosby, Stills & Nash.
Crosby is, not surprisingly, the son of an Annapolis graduate and WWII military intelligence officer, Major Floyd Delafield Crosby. Like others in this story, Floyd Crosby spent much of his post-service time traveling the world. Those travels landed him in places like Haiti, where he paid a visit in 1927, when the country just happened to be, coincidentally ofcourse, under military occupation by the U.S. Marines.
One of the Marines doing that occupying was a guy that we met earlier by the name of Captain Claude Andrew Phillips.
But David Crosby is much more than just the son of Major Floyd Delafield Crosby. David Van Cortlandt Crosby, as it turns out, is a scion of the closely intertwined Van Cortlandt, Van Schuyler and Van Rensselaer families. And while you’re probably thinking, “the Van Who families?,” I can assure you that if you plug those names in over at Wikipedia, you can spend a pretty fair amount of time reading up on the power wielded by this clan for the last, oh, two-and-a-quarter centuries or so. Suffice it to say that the Crosby family tree includes a truly dizzying array of US senators and congressmen, state senators and assemblymen, governors, mayors, judges, Supreme Court justices, Revolutionary and Civil War generals, signers of the Declaration of Independence, and members of the Continental Congress.
It also includes, I should hasten to add – for those of you with a taste for such things – more than a few high-ranking Masons.
Stephen Van Rensselaer III, for example, reportedly served as Grand Master of Masons for New York. And if all that isn’t impressive enough, according to the New England Genealogical Society, David Van Cortlandt Crosby is also a direct descendant of ‘Founding Fathers’ and Federalist Papers’ authors Alexander Hamilton and John Jay.
Source:
https://www.conspirazzi.com/e-books/inside-the-lc.pdf
In other words, a privileged young man, LOL
That book about Laurel Canyon by Dave McGowan is top drawer writing, I’ve read it twice
Love the song. It was always hopium as our forefathers taught us freedom is never free and never easy.
I don’t have trouble separating the man from the artist.
I didn’t like the artist, either.
Like his bro, Mr. Young (another pro-establishment vaxxer).
As they say “a Southern Man don’t need him ’round, anyhow”
And I’m not even from the south…
Never was much for burned out old hippies.
“before their hearts and minds were steeped in deadly propaganda”
“Counter-culture” and “civil rights” agitators were tools of either the CIA or KGB. Their music is dreadful noise designed to degrade western civilisation, like much else that’s occurred “culturally” since 1900.
Many of those agitators were also (((tribe))) members … Abbie Hoffman, bill ayers and Bernardino dohrn (b h o’s idols), jerry Rubin … and numerous others who insinuated themselves into the moment of the psychedelic drug era and the ’60s/’70s music scene — when all many of US wanted to do was get high and listen to great music.
Semper Fi, 1966-68
There isn’t one. Not even for bonafide split personalities.
Other peoples’ persona-projections of, into, “the artist,” is a thing, but those troubles belong with, are probably inseparable from, the ones doing the projecting.
Even if/when an artist panders to that projection.
Boundaries.
And “compartments.”
And sometimes “not guilty by reason of insanity” so hereby sentenced to life in prison by some other name. Like “Hotel California.”
Not to be confused with the state of CA, which is not stopping imate/guests from checking out of there, & checking into Hotel Montana, Hotel Arizona, Hotel Texas, etc.
And then all those rockers trash the places. Wherever ya go, there ya are.
If you just really believe, then placebo will make it true. (And mass consensus placebo might make it a religion. Or a country. Or any number of “other” Big Lies & Long Cons.) So the ending must have been a belief-lapse:
“That there are an abundance of forgeries accepted as authentic is not a modern problem. If anything, it’s a problem of accumulation: both accumulated fakes & accumulated acceptance of their authenticity. So much of “fact” is opinion, & so much of opinion is *consensus*. Before you disagree, consider the story of the forger of the *Sleeping Eros*.
In 1488, as a thirteen-year-old apprentice in the studio of the Florentine painter Domenico Ghirlandaio, a talented young boy got in trouble for committing forgery. He had been loaned a valuable & very old drawing to study. After he’d copied it perfectly, he departed from the typical course of training & decided to age his drawing artificially, using smoke & tint, thus replicating the object itself.
He was so pleased with his work that when the time came, he kept the original & returned his replica. He might have gotten away with it, but he couldn’t help bragging to the other boys. Eventually, the owner of the drawing heard rumors & demanded the antiquity back from Domenico Ghirlandaio. When the young apprentice was called in to explain himself & return the stolen piece, he produced the drawing he had kept, now claiming that he had lied to the other boys – *his* was the copy. The problem arose when the drawings were inspected side by side: no one could tell the two apart. Not the owner, not the master, not any expert called upon to make a determination. Neither one was clearly the original. (So you can see how that 20 to 30 percent in museums happens.)
Less than a decade later, in 1496, the now former apprentice was working under the patronage of Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici. Like most young artists of his era, he found that people with money were far more inclined to buy masterpieces of Roman antiquity than works of contemporary Renaissance artists. So to make a little extra money, the artist carved a marble statue of the *Sleeping Eros*, a perfect replica of an ancient Greek masterpiece. He then buried the statue in highly acidic earth, which stained the stone & lightly eroded its surface, giving the replica both a convincing patina of age & the credible appearance of having been recently excavated.
When his patron Medici saw the forgery he was so impressed with it that he offered to send the statue to a sketchy art dealer in Rome, Baldassare del Milanese, who would pass *Sleeping Eros* off as a genuine antique. The young artist agreed, & the forgery was sold – fraudulently – as a newly recovered, long lost masterpiece, to Cardinal Raffaele Riario, a patron of the arts himself & the gret-nephew of Pope Sixtus IV – the one who built the Sistine Chapel.
But you know what they say about two people keeping secrets: one of them has to be dead. Whether the snitch was the smug Medici, the cocky forger, or the slimy dealer looking for more deals, we will never know. But somehow, word of the scam got out. The whispers made their way to the Vatican, & Cardinal Riario realized he’d been conned. He was a powerful man & furious with the art dealer, Baldassare. He demanded both his money back & the name of the forger. Of course, Baldassare immediately paid up & rolled on the young forger: a twenty-one-year-old punk bu the name of Michelangelo.” ~ The Truth About Lies, Aja Raden
Awesome post, thanks
Thank you, Bonnie Jean Tucker.
If you’re not going to clarify this water, run it thru the distiller, I will. Can’t have good coffee, Darjeeling, w/o good water. (This stuff really polishes the agua: https://thirdwavewater.com/ )
You can separate the art from the man. And hold those contradictions without vapor-locking. I know what you meant.
But it was a useful slip. A fun slip. Usefun? Like slapstick.
(((In the same book this Charlie Chaplin line: “In the end, everything is a gag.”
Ol Oscar:
COUNT R.: There seems to be nothing in life about which you would not jest.
PRINCE PAUL: Ah! my dear Count, life is much too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it.
And again:
LADY WINDERMERE: Why do you talk so trivially about life, then?
LORD DARLINGTON: Because I think that life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK: What does he mean? Do, as a concession to my poor wits, Lord Darlington, just explain to me what you really mean.
LORD DARLINGTON: I think I had better not, Duchess. Now-a-days to be intelligible is to be found out. Good-bye!
But the obvious corollary is that the serious things you know & are serious about are seriously picked- over & chosen-for deficient … & so, in their well-purposed incompleteness, the too important/serious parts gone MIA-redacted down Guantanamo way, what is “known,” but especially what is unknown but oh-so inferable, is too important to be taken seriously.
Most of out there is a scam. The human race is mostly Long Con/tainer filled to overflowing with Short Con/doleeza Rices-Vices.)))
As is the slipperiness of all involved in the Michelangelo caper. That was sort of like the Catch Me If You Can guy being hired as a consultant after. Or that Nazi rocket scientist being operation paperclipped after (& painted heroic & father figure preferable to Gyllenhall’s character in October Sky), instead of coat-hanger “aborted.”
If ya pay me more (or don’t inquisition me) to pull the wool over your ceiling ~ so you can shear your sheep better ~ than I can make shearing you – I’m in! I mean, who am I, humble forger par excellence, to turn down such a generous & gangrenous & irrefusable offer?
(or if you don’t Nuremberg me, or lock me away forever … yeah, we can paint some beautiful pictures together …
…isn’t Leo Di C some sorta made guy with the Davos/windlers these days? and remember when he, & his pops, made that docu about not quite so agreeable uber-artist Stanislaw Szukalski & then thought it better part valor to backpeddle due to Polish superman’s anti-jewish nationalism? Yeah, that was good…
…but actors, right? Beating heart of show”biz” is pretend, right? And most all the world’s a stage, right?)
The art of the con. And birds of a feather … murmuration’ing the loot … like meditation retreats for crooks. (Now I’m wondering about those Buddhists.)
All that looks a lot better, when Newman & Redford do it, than it is. High trust in higher authority/powers is high tide for these smooth sailsmen, & the fishing is always good. (Or the fishing with electricity; ask Milgram.)
The Infinite Jest guy, DFW, along with fish being oblivious “their” watery medium, said
…This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t. You get to decide what to worship.
Because here’s something else that’s weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship–be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles–is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.
Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that they’re unconscious. They are default settings.
They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing.
And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving…. The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.
That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.
I know that this stuff probably doesn’t sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational the way a commencement speech is supposed to sound. What it is, as far as I can see, is the capital-T Truth, with a whole lot of rhetorical niceties stripped away. You are, of course, free to think of it whatever you wish. But please don’t just dismiss it as just some finger-wagging Dr Laura sermon. None of this stuff is really about morality or religion or dogma or big fancy questions of life after death.
The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death.
It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:
“This is water.”
“This is water.”
It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it commences: now.
I wish you way more than luck.
What? What!? This guy does it best:
The “This is water” part is good. Clear, cool, water. Love the fish.
But warship life eats you alive – whatever you worship. Or don’t. How many are well-adjusted to that? Is avoiding/denying that, with “worship,” adjustment? Or is it “take cover” & the addicts credo, “feeling good is good enough for me … & Bobby McGee … who left me ….”?
DFW posits that “spiritual-type things” are the least catabolic chiropractic adjustment; in fact he says those don’t eat at all … which must mean those are not alive … right? Even photosynthesizing plants eat, right?
But the “spiritual-type things” do eat, don’t they? Voraciously.
Catholic Power Pizarro burned his worship-warships, crawled from the sea an already evolved predator, “proselytized” the fook outta ~ inc’d ~ the also predatory Incas, brought the loot back to Vatican to help pay for a mesmerization/money-mulcting ceiling paintjob… the better for the Criminal Catholic Church Carny to lure the bearded lady leers. Lotta cannibalism goin on in just that pinch of that chapter.
That was then. But not this is now?
“Behind every great fortune” accurate accounting will reconcile all forms of remuneration & booty “lies a great crime.” ~ Balzac
And behind every great crime-fortune lies a great mass of conned-people dedicated to keeping those ill gotten gains intact. Loot … & “identity.”
For as long as can. Which is never forever.
I saw them at their last LA show, at the Greek, third row, was not a big Crosby fan before that but have to say I was highly impressed by him, he was literally a force of nature but in a quiet, reserved way, best way I could explain it
The parking at the Greek SUCKS!
First car in is the last one out, the Hollywood Bowl is terrible too.
Seen a ton of good shows at both….but the parking? OMG!
If you park on Los Feliz you get towed.
Ted Kennedy could drink David Crosby under the table.
He had to, to try to forget the girl he drowned.
Absolutely loved CSNY as a teenager. Top 5, for sure.
Fast forward to about the year 2000. I was at a week-long company seminar in Hawaii, less than 500 people. But, the company had lottsa money and spared no expense in entertaining us. The day before going home was the Big Surprise … we knew it was some musical group or artist, and nothing else. The place just exploded when Crosby came on stage.
It was a nice, not great, performance. His voice just wasn’t the same as I remembered it.
The nice part was that he mingled with the crowd for a while afterwards. No, I did not speak to him or shake his hand. But, I did hang near by … close enough to hear him tell some stories and joke around. My impression was that he’s just a regular nice guy … nothing pompous, arrogant, or entitled as these kind of famous people often are.
I wish I had the balls to ask him for an autograph. He hardly ever did them. But, he might have in that small intimate setting ….. and I’d be rich!!
R.I.P.
David Crosby Intense Last Interview Before Death
https://youtu.be/AA9KsKax304
Oh, with the neurotic jew Howard Stern? What a fucking asshole that douchebag turned out to be.
Yes their harmonies were other worldly.
Eric Clapton has balls for talking about his vaxx injuries..
Important here, he endured the ravages of a severe drug problem, including addictions to cocaine and heroin that landed him in jail, as well as obesity and a general lack of self-care. Crosby’s life involved a stark contradiction: while he gave an enormous gift to the world through his music, for many years he badly abused himself and paid a great personal price for it. What first drew my attention to him, it must be a decade ago, was how, in mid-life, he managed to confront his personal demons admirably well, enough to remain productive professionally and, apparently, do well in his personal life, and, as it turned out, make it to 81. I wrote a brief reflection on it at the time and filed it away. I share it here.
…. David Crosby—a prime example of self-abuse if there ever was one—to see what insights can be gained from it. Motivating this activity from the perspective of this publication is the assumption that White racial well-being is advanced by concurrently attending to the state of the race as a whole and the state of the living, breathing, mortal White individuals that comprise it and noting how each affects, contributes to, the other and acting accordingly.
With that as the context, here’s what I wrote about David Crosby these many years ago. In particular, see what you think of my take on what his example implies in the “my commentary” section at the end.
Booking photo prior to serving a sentence for drugs and weapon possession in Texas.
======
Excerpts from two hospital intake reports on David Crosby in late 1983.1
Ross General Hospital
Crosby, David — 42-year-old, single, white male, rock musician.
Patient describes chills and sweats five to six times a day beginning 24 hours after admission and says he “feels bad all over.”
Describes ringing in the ears and a dull headache in the frontal and occipital areas.
He has a stomach ache with nausea. He notes increased bowel rumbling. He has constipation chronically. He last bowel movement, which was hard and dry, was approximately two days ago.
He states that he periodically notices a left pain in the costovertebral angle [abdomen] so that a question of urinary tract obstruction on a periodic or intermittent basis should be considered.
There is a past history of seizure on one occasion. This was apparently a gran mal seizure and may have been related to drug intake.
Physical Examination
Reveals a disheveled man who appears his stated age and is obese.
Reveals long hair that is in need of shampooing, scalp has plaque build-up. The nasal septum is perforate [a hole in the inside wall of the nose from cocaine use] with purulent material [pus], dried and old on either side. Mouth exam reveals four teeth that are broken and badly carious [decayed], left upper, lower and right upper.
Reveals edema [retention of fluid] in the lower legs and hemorrhage of small capillary vessels with subsequent hemosiderin staining [discoloration from internal bleeding]. The skin of the feet is wrinkled and dry. On the upper extremities, his skin is characterized by healing staphylococcus lesions that are pink and slightly pigmented. There are lesions on his right hand, where he has apparently suffered flash fires handling the freebase unit needed to produce his cocaine for inhalation. There are several open draining wounds on the neck.
Diagnostic Impression
Chemical dependency, opiate and cocaine.
Chronic staphylococcal neurodermatitis [infections].
Perforate nasal septum.
History of lower urinary tract obstruction and urinary retention with gross hematuria [blood in the urine] secondary to probable renolithiasis [urinary tract infection] and colic [gas].
Fixed tissue eruption [skin lesions].
Hemosiderin staining of both lower extremities.
Disposition
The patient will be treated for chemical dependency. He will be encouraged to participate in group activities, to begin a program of self care physically by washing and shampooing and then to move into daily exercises, group therapy, and stress management.
Gladman Memorial Hospital
The indications are that this patient has used drugs over the years to contain his agitations and depressions.
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My Commentary
I presume the drugs Crosby used did contain his agitations and depressions—or at least for a time they did, a few hours. The problem, however, is they didn’t bring lasting containment: he was soon back to where he started and even worse. Not only had the agitations and depressions returned, they were more acute than before. Whatever self-abusive actions we—let’s bring this around to you and me and everyone else—take to make things better—drugs, alcohol, pills, food, neurotic buying, promiscuity, gambling, excessive video gaming, pornography, masochistic relationships—works in the short run (or we wouldn’t be doing them), but they intensify whatever issues we are masking and at some level we knew that when we did those things; that’s what makes what we did self-abusive. Plus, we now have new problems to deal with—read through Crosby’s list, constipation and infections and the rest. And if it isn’t Crosby’s list it is some other: broken relationships, lost jobs, missed opportunities, financial hardship, depression and despair, hurt loved ones, etc., etc., etc.
I believe that for just about all people who are torturing themselves, the way out is clear, and it isn’t complicated, and they know what it is, and, even though it may be very tough sledding, it is within their power to go down that path. It’s not that they—we—don’t know what to do, or that we know what to do and can’t do it; rather, we know what to do and can do it, but we don’t do it. And, I offer, the knowledge that we could have done it and didn’t persists within us as a physically felt inner reality and gnaws at us despite all the assurances we may be getting from others and from ourselves that our problems are bigger than we are. Bubbling just beneath the surface and insistingly pressing on us, we know the truth: we are failing ourselves and those in our lives, and we won’t be self-respecting and at peace until we conduct our lives in alignment with that reality.
Other people can help us, programs can help, therapies can help, books can help, but when all is said and done it comes down to invoking two powers that remain available to us no matter how low we get: our rational mind and our power of volition. Even when things hit rock bottom, as long as we are alive, we can pose and answer an existential question: am I going to stop abusing myself and do what reason tells me is the best way to get out of the mess I’ve put myself in or am I not? To his great credit, David Crosby answered “Yes” to that question, and he carried through with it. Creative to the end, his last album was released in October, 2022. He should be an inspiration to all of us.
.
.
The Banshee of Inisheran.
Yet he lived to the age of 81. Above the average. Damn, the body sure can take an ass kicking, can’t it?
He was the miracle child of big pharma. First illegal drugs to maim him. Then legal to keep him alive. So, ultimately they could kill him with the vax. Big Pharma, the gift that keeps on giving.
Not really…it took two extra livers to get him to 81.
I suspect a lot of the self abuse was the direct result of early MKUltra programing.
And/or guilt over knowing the development of the ’60s musical scene and associated “counter-culture” was not organic, but rather manufactured.
love this version.
We are stardust
We are golden
We are billion year old carbon
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden
RIP DC
Crosby was surviving with an organ transplant (liver) so he had to be on immunosuppressive medications.
If you just do the critical thought process regarding the mRNA SHOTS you know that living with a transplant you don’t take anything to disrupt your bodies systems if you are successful in tolerating the transplant and avoiding rejection you do not risk anything that is a potential disruption in you !
Crosby was bloodline . He pushed the clot shots right along with other bloodlines and criminals and then took the jab himself. He often declared Pete Buttigigger was his favorite to be US president but voted for Bernie in the end. I rest my case, he took the jab and loved the butt pirate, now he is dead by bad decisions. RIP
Yup, Van Cortlandt family. Big Mayflower founding dynasty stuff.
BL,
I nominate you to give his eulogy.
That WAS my eulogy. 🙂
81. Now he’s dead. Were it not for bad decisions, what? Immortality?
Decisions, good or bad, have a lot less to do with how it goes than that conceit is willing, or able, to concede.
Cogdisn’t a decision at all … more like a circuit-breaker that looks & sounds like Jack Nicholson:
https://iwww.youtube.com/watch?v=PWSx0bBiNIs
If the likes of Crosby, McCartney, etc. knew the perilous activity of the CIA, you’d think they would have been more careful.
These “vaccines” have altered the trajectory of the entire human race. WOW!
I wish no harm to those who are harmless.
Sorry but good riddance to anyone who pushes the Jab.
“…the consequent participation of so many once-sharp artists…”
Getting old & f/olding. “Wisdom,” yeah? The elders. And the seinfelders. Great show about … something. Walter White was in it. Played a dentist. “Is it safe?” (~ Marathon Man) Clasp for the Wolfman (he gonna rate your record high) ♪♫♪ & the blades, typically dulled & chipped & no longer pack-worthy or “sponge-worthy” … “fake-fake-fake” (~ Elaine Benis), that fold in on themselves … & anybody else their char•isma can take with them.
(But, straight up, I think this elderberry syrup really works, helps: mrsgloversgoods.com)
“The Art of Burning Bridges: A Life of John O’Hara” (Geoffrey Wolff …woof!-woof!-woof! ~ Oddball Donald Sutherland – Kelly’s Heroes ,,, go for the gold, Ponyboys, go for the gold):
Already, first couple pages, I read that full-sized O’Hara punched at least two women, & got into a bar fight with an actual midget …
“The alert reader will be struck by & want to challenge Stevenson’s terms “overreaction” & “in fact” … The questions raised by [Stevenson’s interpretation] only underscore the epistemological insecurity by which the reader of biography & autobiography (& history & journalism) is always & everywhere dogged. In a work of nonfiction we almost never know the truth of what happened. The ideal of unmediated reporting is regularly achieved only in fiction, where the writer faithfully reports on what is going on in his imagination…. We must always take the novelist’s & playwright’s & poet’s word, just as we are almost always free to doubt the biographer’s or autobiographer’s or the historian’s or the journalist’s. In imaginative literature we are constrained from considering alternate scenarios – there are none. This is the way it *is*. Only in nonfiction does the question of what happened & how people thought & felt remain open.”
Wooden Ships? Pizarro burned his. Then he & his burned down the Inca – who had done their own share of arsonocide. There’s bridges & then there’s bridges. Mostly it’s the Bridge of San Luis Rey. More than that, it’s lighting up one end, then lighting up the other end, then going & standing in the middle whilst singing “this land is my land.” Wooden Coffin Ships o’ States.
So we cheated, and we lied, and we tested
And we never failed to fail
It was the easiest thing to do
Evey Hammond: My father was a writer. You would have liked him. He used to say that artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use them to cover the truth up.
Fook no it ain’t safe. Wholesale pursuit of safety is unsafe at any speed. Even the slowest wolfen purveyor of “security” has got a bite force that goes as high as 1500 psi. Little bRed to die in the Hood only makes it in the “sanitized” (see those Southern Cross lyrics up there?) version.
So if the answer to “whose your daddy?” is Ralph Nader (did he have anything to say about Ford’s Pinto?), you’re doomed & dooming to most around you too … friendo.
How’d Dick Marcinko put it? “Doom on you, Charlie” … who don’t surf.
Troubling bridges over cool, clear, waters:
[youtube
Very nice.
For slippage in the reign … steer right into those skid row bums…& then continue on your way out of town.
Were we ever really here ?
As the spidey web tendrils have always appeared to be of an ephemeral nature, that gossamer thread is becoming ever more indiscernible.
I owe, I owe, so off to Unemployment insurance I go ♫.
Methinks we are a nation of bums now.
I think “as-if” cannot be got round. But also the widespread inability to juggle “not-actually” simultaneously opposite-attracts so compulsively-furiously that huge litters of cogdis/ons-&-sisters are begot.
https://www.britannica.com/topic/philosophy-of-as-if
I’m here. But where is that? Where is here?
The cuckoo’s nest.
Leave a bit of room, out in this kited check’s tail, for self-employed bumblebees, which an entomologist-engineer, prolly a relative of Klaus Schwab, said should be on the no-fly list, but those bees went ahead & flew anyway, for all to see, & before they could be efficaciously locked away like/with Tesla’s free-flying energy ideas. etc.
Like many other celebrities trying desperately to remain relevant, he got it exactly wrong and embraced the “current thing”. The intelligent ones took several steps back, avoided the jab like the plague it is, and waited for the data to surface. I can’t generate any sympathy, or empathy, for those who not only willingly submitted to this toxic, untested gene therapy, but also vehemently demanded that we all submit. “My body, my choice” is every bit as valid for those of us unwilling to accept this nefarious cocktail as it is for those who demand the “right” to slaughter their unborn children (which incidentally is a different body with different genetics). The great die-off is just beginning, and those who try to hide the actual cause face an uphill, and losing battle. As for his pathetic jest about heaven being overrated and cloudy, the alternative, and his much more likely destination, is smoky and HOT!
Fuck him. He was so radical left he made Rachael Madcow look like a right wing extremist.