Most of us who were raised in the 60's and 70's, have been here done that,
or knew someone who had been there done that. We may have visited someone like this poor soul.

In a shabby room, in any big city, a broken man lies dead or near death. From his pipe, a vision of what all mankind seeks wafts towards the ceiling. Paradise, the face of a woman, brotherhood, harmony with nature and spirit, the heart of human existence is but a vision. His table is filled with a cornucopia of escape mechanisms, anything to quash the pain of existence.
A nuclear bomb goes off on the TV set, as the newspaper proclaims the next war.
The toxic environment was not the drug of his choice.

The room overlooks a desolate urban nightmare. Pollution hangs over a garish street scene.
Ladies of the night stand on the corner; cops roust folks on the opposite street as
Krishna devotees sing their mantras hoping to bring a bit of divinity to the situation..

In the hotel across the way, an artist peers through his window.
In rooms nearby, various people escape in their own ways from their collective self-created miseries.

It's our war on us. Man tries to control the pleasure and misery of his fellowman.
Those most out of control seek to control others. This does not work.

This image is used in The John Hopkins University Press issue of
Addiction and Treatment, Science and policy for the 21st Century