Hippiedom's antecedent seeds were sown with the romanticization of the loose morality and Holy Road bodhisattva burn, burn, burn homosexuality and abandonment of responsibility of The Beats. The whole hippie scene was scripted and disseminated via Laurel Canyon in SoCal & Tavistock in Merry Ol England. Oh so counterculture and edgy tunes promulgated by corporate and advertiser backed primetime slots on Ed Sullivan and Top Of The Pops. Music is, like, gonna change the world, man. Dig it. LSD flooded the scene and was unleashed on a naive and wide eyed mass of soft kids that were historically and culturally unprepared for that ride. Pranksters, gurus and charlatans led the benighted down a swirly path of narcissism and too much fucking hair. "Tune it, turn on, drop out," quipped Leary. He (unintentionally or nefariously) missed the mark. "Tune in, turn on, HELP out," has been the warrior's shamanic path to enlightenment since the first dude plucked a psilocybin bloom from a bovine patty loooong ago. Take your vision quest. Get to know thyself. Glimpse Divinity. Embrace truth. Come back and employ the lessons learned to the betterment of your self, your family, your tribe. The hippies and their Slouching Toward Bethlehem flight Over The Cuckoo's Nest to Yasgur's Farm on The Further Bus captained by an MKULTRA alum and piloted by an unabashed Speed Freak derailed any true opposition to the machinations of The Machine.