Amsterdam to Barcelona by Submarine dream timespace

Lights shot out from the Pentagons and Hexagons that covered the crystal ball, and I felt myself transported to a different place entirely. My feet were curved over a rough rocky surface and the sun was at a high intesity beating down on my head and shoulders like thousands of tiny hot catapillar feet.

The smell of ocean swelled up my nostrils and I remebered everything at once: The Jade mask, the underground pools, the shapes, the submarine, the under the counter movie, the filth, the Sixty and the soundtrack that was rising in my head, a kind of raw human beatbox with poetry and the hum of leaves rustling in some trees a few mind breathes away.

The stolen stealth submarine was only 2 miles off the Barcelona coast, tripplenit, yute, judy and Franky were atop the sail shaped hotel making final arrangements, securing the ropes to a bathroom sink, making a call to my cell phone and leaving a nice tip for the kind Spanish room service.

I lept from the rock into the ocean and swam down to my watertight stash bag beneath some large square granite blocks, and then made my way out to sea, past the yellow bouys and between a few yachts until I was far enough off land so that I could only see the top 23 floors of the sail shaped Hotel, then my feet got caught in something and I was pulled under the water and sucked down further and faster until I thought I might drown.
The life-guard torpedo had been tested on me, I was soon to discover, and had worked better than anybody could have hoped for, pulling me back to the Submarine and into its decompression chamber in only 33 seconds, in which time there could be no chance of drowning, thank goodness.

Franky cracked the window he had cut while Tripplenit, yute and Judy attatched themselves to the rope using their rucksacks. I gave Nicki the precise hotel room number from the decompression chamber and he fed the data into the torpedo launch system.

A dolphin swam out from a port in the submarine and sped to the surface, jumping out while simultaneously regurgitating a Crane attatched to a very long intenstine which unravelled from the dolphins belly as the Crane flew up, and out toward the sail shaped hotel.

The Crane flew directly straight into the hole in the window and was caught by Franky who quickly connected his rucksack to the rope and tied that rope to the one tied to the bathroom sink. Meanwhile the Dolphin had reattacthed the other end to the submarine to create a taught line between the Hotel and the submarine. One by one they jumped out into the hot Barcelona air and sped down the rope swing across the ocean out to the sub where they were quickly sucked down into the ship and we were together again, finally, travelling across the water to the island of Ibiza to recover the Jade stone mask and return it to the underground Mayan pools.

—Steven ‘fly agaric 23’ Pratt, 2011.


--Steven James Pratt. 2010



The tales you are about to read are prepared from my own experiences and my guesses about things, about people and about meanings. They are based upon my observations over the last 4 years working in a coffeeshop as 'bud-tender' in central smack bang in between the two main Red Light areas.

Millions of tourists visit Amsterdam every year for the Coffeeshops and the Hookers, lets be honest and not beat around the bush about that, and I have sold 10's of thousands of people 10's of thousands of grams of Marijuana and so can swear by my experience that Cannabis culture and Coffeeshop culture in Amsterdam is thriving and a major source of income for the city and a major source of Kudos for the culture. I've walked through the Red Light district enough times to have seen the sights and I've had enough quality blow jobs for free, without having to find out first hand what it must be like to be in a red-room with one of those 'centerfold' looking hookers sucking rubber.

Terence McKenna once memorably implied that not having tryed psychedelic drugs or not having a psychedelic experience was comparable to living a life not ever experiencing sex, such was the power and impact and joy of the psychedelic experience. I agree. Sex and drugs go hand in hand in the way that they are surrounded in taboo, censorship and usually paranoia in those that do not use them; those that may consider sugar and kissing their 'drugs and sex'. Compare this with a visionary mushroom enhanced orgy with the most beautiful looking people in the world, getting high and fucking and getting high and fucking and experiencing Joy in orgasm and Joy in getting high.

Coffeeshops and Prostitutes sell sex and drugs in Amsterdam, both are sins according to the conservative Religious views in most other countries and are not tolerated like they are here, in fact they are deemed 'criminal' and 'illegal' and demonized, not surprising then that Sex and Drugs often get compared to the Devil's business. I think that all business is the Devils business, and like George Carlin said: If fucking is legal and selling is legal why is 'selling fucking' illegal? I agree with the sentiment and think that every business and corporate entity on earth should consider the question and think about it logically.

My job as a weed waiter in the coffee-shop is relatively simple in that I weigh weed and Hash on a scale, put it in a bag and then make the cash transaction. That's it, almost anyone could do it. I pay tax and all the work related payments that anybody else would pay who works in the Netherlands. Sometimes its easy to forget how unique and special the situation in the Netherlands is concerning toleration of Sex and Drugs. I hope that these tales can capture some of my own unique and special experiences here in Amsterdam and share the magic.

You have my word, dear reader, that I will try to reflect what actually happened through the telling of these tales in an ojective and truthful manner, yet I still choose to call them tales due to the fact that my individual oservations can be somewhat flimsy and incomplete. Therefore, whenever I refer to an individual by their nationality, gender or appearance generally I'm missing most of their illuminating characteristics, that they own and they own alone and walk with in their own life.

My passing encounters with Individuals will always be only part of the story and 'one side' to a proably more than 'sixty sided' complex of personalities, a life way beyond the wooden 'generalizations' implicit in descriptive writing about human beings that I share. I hope that these snapshots jog your memory buds and help remember similar scenarios and events in your own life experience that may reflect my tales. Please read with great caution and excuse any of my over-generalizations and probable miss-interpretations of events. Some names have been changed to increase the liability. --Steve Fly Agaric 23, 20th December 2010, Amsterdam West.

Interviews, and multimedia: Many parts of these tales have been captured and dispersed throughout the internet in a variety of multimedia and formats. You can visit my Youtue Account and corresponding playlists, my blogspot accounts and my soundcloud, myspace and twitter feeds for up-to-date 'offering' of my thoughts.

Amsterdam Blues Scholars

Milky Galactic.

Craphound on my tale

Pollak and Sinclair and Whitey: Soundcloud

Jack Herer at 20 to life:

Coldcut - Mike Ladd, the door bottle tale.

MLA in Amsterdam, Vondel Park Lasanga

Reading Bible Backwards at Ruigoord: Photo, Radioshow

The Last residue hole: Soundcloud

Alan Hertz, Lee Perry and John at melkweg and Hague Jazz, girl.

Alto - Rabbi D, Leslie Lopez: Youtue.

World Cup Maddness:

Queegs Day 1,2,3: Photo

Dr. Marshmallow Cubicle

Evolver Dream Spore

6th Ward 420

420 International Blues Scholars

East Truffle Shuffle 1, 2, 3

ICI Conference

Pick Up Club


Buurvrouw Bar

Battavia Cafe

Eddie Eagle Edwards


Weed Pass:


Cats and dogs

White Out [membership pass]


Love and Hate

Sex and Rock and Roll

Trippers, floater and flyers

Cops and Robbers

Synchronicity and weird encounters

Spies and Cameras

The Cup and its contents

Neighbors and passers by

BBC TV and Radio enter the smoke

AT5 and Dutch TV in the Coffeehouse

German TV and De Spiegel

French Austrian TV

Smoking Ban debate

Schools distance debate

Membership Card debate

News article name drop among the bullet casings.



These tales concern my experiences in America during 2000-2005, and reflect a few of memorable moments while living in the San Francisco Bay area, New Orleans and Brooklyn, New York, and the thousands of miles traveled in between.

The America I discovered for myself remains, in part, like a dream, a movie like Forrest Gump, playing back in my mind featuring great adventures and meeting many kind and loving people on the road; contrary to the actions of the U.S Government under the whip and chain of George W. Bush and his mob during the Millennium period. At 23 years old when I arrived just two days before my 24th Birthday, and 29 when I finally left to live back in England, I spent my late 20’s in America.

I found fellow tokers’ everywhere in America, especially among the artists and musicians I was fortunate to be around, I'm not talking about huge quantities here, but just the fact that almost everyone has a little toke 'now and again' who I met, all walks of life and all shades of people were United by the weed, the Bay Area, New Orleans and Brooklyn were very kind on the quality of the Marijuana and I felt like I was smoking the best, organic strains in the United States, and I was. I'm forever grateful for this experience and the more or less 'tolerant' attitude and even pro-attitude found around the Bay Area concerning the medicinal and healthy use of Cannabis, Hemp and Cannabis Culture.

California recently (November 2010) came very close to a new Marijuana initiative and this reflects my experiences with lots of turned on Californian’s--creative individual--and their 'weed' stash. I found that you can comfortably stroll around parts of the Bay Area 'tripping balls' and not be out of place whatsoever; appealing to a 25 year old pot head. I sure left my heart in San Francisco, and my lungs in Berkley and my head flew to Marin County.

My travels to U.S and so this writing is somewhat due to my interest in the life and works of Dr. Robert Anton Wilson who originally highlighted the fabulous and arcane secrets of parts of American society, with globalist balance, illuminating many great thinkers, writers, artists and their positive impact on world culture, opposed, and distinguished from the destructive and destabilizing impact caused by 'exploited policy' in foreign lands and in America itself on behalf of the corporate militarists.

I found Bob to be every bit as witty and down to earth in person as he seems to me in his works which added a certain 'bond' to many of his optimistic ideas and informative social philosophy for me, a great American of the new anarchist tradition who writes to the reader of today with a message of thinking for oneself in new ways and questioning authority every step of the way, and if you read close enough between the lines, keys to unlock knowledge systems and wisdom language of eternal prescience.

I wrote extensively on RAW in many articles and blogs, publishing all three of my interviews and some self-recorded 'audio fragments'. Here in these tales however, I shall relate to more of my not necessarily Robert Anton Wilson related tales. Although, I suppose he is now everywhere running through them like a Ghost, reminding me of the Schtick’ and the Schmooze, the SNAFU principle and Buckies ‘LAWCAP’, The FUCKUP computer from Illuminatus! Trilogy, the 'Cosmic Schmuck' principle, the 'strange loops', the synchronicity, the Hologrammic Prose and the TSOG.
Prophets Con trip

Lilly float, Symposium.

Saul Paul

Planet work

McKenna’s Wake

Garaj Mahal

G.J Band

A.H and friends

High Sierra 1, 2, 3

reggae on the River

NOLA jazz fest, Mardi Gras, Opp

Brooklyn, NYC, Half Moon, Farenheit, DMT swimming

Ravi, McCoy, Amiri, Pharoah, Charnet Moffet


Schwag fest train trips

NOLA – Santa Cruz Trip

Pete Best band

DNA lounge

Inustice League


Point Reys

Vallejo new Year

Michael Bowen, Shulgin, Babcock, Errowid.


RAW’s front room



I was born April 15th, 1976, in Wordsley Hospital near Stourbridge Town, Dudley Borough, in England. I lived in and around this area until I left for America shortly after the turn of the Millennium, and for two years after my American adventure, before setting off once more to settle in Amsterdam, Holland where I currently reside.

I have many stories and tales to tell from my life growing up in the west midlands of England, and keeping with the themes of the collected tales in this book of travels, I wish to extract those that best summarize my experiences and the wonderful characters I was fortunate to share them with. I wish to polish and present the ‘teeth’ of my travels in a new mouth.

The wide-angle feeling of leaving the small nuclear family and the insignificant neighborhood environment and then moving into school and the first visits alone to the big city, the first trip abroad, the move into secondary school and the move into and out of new social circles, the first kiss and the first girlfriend, first orgasm and first time drunk and ill, the first time stoned and the first time in love, first run-in with the law, first tears shed over a girl, first night out all-night, first rave and first rock concert, first blow-job and the first steady job. My memory is firsty. Some but not all of my first experiences in life happened in and around this area, and therefore they have become the foundation for my ‘small town’ perceptions and ‘culturally biased’ observations, carried off to other parts of the world to be compared and distinguished from, my personal historical yard stick: growing up in and around the Black Country, England.

Compared with the other places I have lived Dudley and environs has the least amount of existing literature and cultural hero’s to associate with, although I view the working ‘mon’ of the Black Country the blueprint for characters John Lennon may have had in mind when he wrote ‘Working Class Hero’ and the many other commentaries by writers and artists of the majority of English folk, working nine to five and scrapinmg to get by.

When I got to San Francisco and the Bay area, to New York and New Orleans and finally Amsterdam; I came to realize how starved and annexed of world culture my home town life seemed to have been. Unable to enter the arena of political blood-sport, I chose to create music with drums, and share creative writing as vessels to communicate.


911: dream poem: mum’s edit.

As If True

Peter King at the Bear: Jazz Review

Reclaim the Streets G12.

Nazareth at the Talbot: July 4th 1997. Mars Landing.

J.S at Bonded Warehouse, Bell Hotel

Trolley Hoist, Stour clean up and poem.

Stourbridge Views: video, river.


In banks we trust.

Luther Alison last UK Joint, blues, merry hill.

H.M Cannon Hill.

Super-string theory – DEP. Mr. Vegas.

RAW memorial Multi-story.

Pass The peas at the Talbot: July 4th.

Walls on Fire: Bristol. Will Barras, Dan Capozi. Banksy.

Busted in Devon.

Lifted: Linus, Wales, Salsbury, western supermare.

London with Beatnik Youth and Inn on the Green

Howard Marks in Brum

Meeting M.P 1 and 2: Linda, Rushkoff, open source democracy.

Trip Ken Kessey and Babs in London

Million Marijuana March London 98

Big Chill Break In

New Flesh London Gas Mask crypt

Graffiti Bastards B'ham 2 and 3

Marxism 06.

NO Swimming tales: Coseley, Brierley Hill, Stourbridge.

CCTV Pot Bust

Trip to Malvern, Black Star.

Trip to Wychbury

Quest 93

Alton Towers tripping

Grande Canaria - College Trip

Broken Ankle Trip

Eclipse 99

Library Angels

Fingerprints of the Gods

Cosmic Trigger

Pete pothelswaite and Tortoise in Leeds

Sun Ra Essay