The Lazy Man’s Life, The Life and Times of Thaddeus Golas
From the Great Depression to the rise and fall of the Hippie Revolution
Compiled and Edited by Sylvain Despretz
©2008, Seed Center Books. California, 2011.
The Collected Works of Thaddeus Golas Vol. 4
By author: Thaddeus Golas
Product Code: ccb-004
ISBN: 978-0-9830574-3-7
Size: 5″ X 7.6″ Inches – 523 pages, plus an additional 16 page color
leaflet of historic photography from the Life and Times of Thaddeus
Golas.
Availability: Book in print/available
The Lazy Man’s Life ~ Autobiography of Thaddeus Golas,
is not a book of metaphysics, but at 523 pages (complete with a 16-page
leaflet of era color photographs) it covers much of the story of the
journey from the Great Depression to the psychedelic ’60s. It is a
historical account of the birth of the psychedelic movement in America; a
parade of the era’s greatest players: Timothy Leary, Baba Ram Dass,
Steven Gaskin, Allen Ginsberg, and all the rest. The book features
original poems by Thaddeus Golas, as well as a behind-the-scenes look at
the creation of The Lazy Mans Guide to Enlightenment,
and some definitive answers to the questions: "Was the book channeled?”
and "was Thaddeus Golas a mere typist for higher consciousness?”
The Lazy Mans Life will leave you feeling like an expert on the psychedelic and metaphysical ’60s. A great read!
Read excerpts from The Lazy Man’s Life, by Thaddeus Golas (©2008, Even Lazier Publishing, Ltd.)
Thaddeus Golas on WWII
All
through my childhood I had heard of the utter insanity of World War I,
but this news convinced me that the human race was doomed, and I no
longer wanted to be part of it.
I decided that human life was
absurd, that the only universal imperative was to use energy, to be
active with no reference to rationality. If I had known more history, I
would have been less depressed. I would have known the human race is a
swarm that can lose millions to famine, plague, or lunatic wars and
then go on as if nothing had happened. In my simple way I anticipated
the existentialists: the appropriate response to the evidence. At the
time I was alone with this mood, though I expressed some of my dismay in
letters to Paulette Morin in Rennes. She replied that it was obvious I
was not the "berserker" sort. Just as I clung to my fantasy of Lois, I
cherished Paulette as a refuge from war. It is a mystery why our tiny
company came to someone's attention several weeks after Ninth Army HQ
was moved north to Maastricht, in Holland.
VIII Corps remained in the
Ardennes, assigned the task of seasoning new divisions and resting
battered ones in what was considered a quiet area.
Ninth Army was
given a few divisions to start, interposed between Montgomery's British
forces and the US First Army. Because of this elaborate change, we moved
to a billet east of Maastricht shortly before the German onslaught in
the Ardennes. By such decisions do we live and die.
Thaddeus Golas on the psychedelic scene
I do not know how I finished that week at Recorder until the weekend
when my two-week vacation began. Of course I never went back
afterwards. I had dropped out, in the phrase of the times. But what
had I dropped into?
I had invoked a maelstrom, and there was no way I could even begin to
make amends to the other roomers in the apartment. Some stranger was
always taking a shower in the community bath, and the kitchen was always
full of people staring like hungry pets. Cooking was impossible. Some
of the mob seeped into other apartments in the building and formed
liaisons with the residents. There were disciples sitting at Michael’s
feet, worshipping him because he looked so spiritual.
I had lost authority with the Good Karma Kids once they sensed that
in my dazed state of mind I could be exploited. I was relieved when
Edith and Michael decided we would all go to Laguna Beach, south of Los
Angeles. Then I objected when I realized that by "all” they meant the
entire crowd infesting the building was to go along in my van. When I
said that was impossible, they treated my "negative thinking” with
contempt. Clutching some strands of rationality, I conceded that
everyone who was in the bus when we started could go along.
On the morning we left, there were eight people in the van plus
Edith’s large hound, Abraxas. We stopped at a health-food store in the
Haight, then set off south on Highway 1. When we got as far as Half
Moon Bay, about fifty miles, Edith realized her dog was not in the van.
She insisted we go back to the city to look for it. Reversing
direction burst the bubble of the excursion. We searched for hours, but
Abraxas was not to be found. We set off south again, picking up
several hitch-hikers on the way. By this time darkness was falling, and I
drove all night. In early morning I stopped at a restaurant near San
Luis Obispo, and my decision was roundly condemned, even though I paid
for the food. Apparently eating in a restaurant was tantamount to
consorting with the enemy. They made a commotion in the place but I was
too old a campaigner to be put off my feed. When we got to Santa
Monica we stopped at a supermarket for food supplies.
Two of the people we had added in San Francisco were a handsome youth
named Ray and his roommate, another slight, slim older man, named
Jack. From Jack’s distress when Ray fucked Edith on the bed in back as
we drove along, I suspected that he and Ray were lovers also. The
coupling was ignored by everyone else.
San Francisco got most of the publicity in the psychedelic years, but
I would guess the parties in Los Angeles were probably more fun.
Certainly Laguna Beach was the post-graduate school of acid-tripping.
The people in a canyon settlement were already living in another
reality. Laguna Beach was the base of the Brotherhood, a small mystical
group spoken of with enormous respect in the communes of California.
They in turn regarded themselves as a sort of palace guard for Tim
Leary, though their real role was the importation and distribution of
large amounts of Afghani and Nepalese hashish, as well as LSD.
Our vanload descended on one of the houses in the canyon outside
town. We rapidly overtaxed the septic tank, and wet towels just as
quickly infected everyone with a jailhouse rash between the buttocks.
It seemed that most of the young people I met in those years had either
been in jail or had been committed to asylums by parents. Hippies were
such nomads, and communes mushroomed and dispersed so quickly, that
diseases spread easily. It was fortunate that AIDS was not yet in
circulation. All the carefree souls were to learn that hedonism has a
price. The people in the colony boasted they had frightened the wits out
of a sheriff’s night-raiding force by gathering on a hillside above the
houses and chanting an "OM” in unison. I liked these people, and hoped
to join them, but the key members were about to leave for Maui to live
on the beach.
All excerpts & photographs ©2008, Even Lazier Publishing, Ltd.
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