to an Unpublished Book by Lynette Fromme, 1977
As long as the man is tucked away in asylum/prison/grave, you can say anything you want about him. Anything. You can lie in more movies and bogus books for money. You can pretend to play like him. You can orgy with your awkward paws and dance your frantic feet off, joke about his suffering, draw your very life from his blood. But you have not the soul to face him.
He’s a genius you don’t recognize, in a ragged coat, with no tails for you to ride—or in secret, his majesty could blind you. The first time I saw him dance, I ran out of the room. He’s in motions and sounds, not words, and he’s hidden because he gave everything he was asked for.
People said that I was Manson’s main woman, people who didn’t know that Manson treated all women around him as one. His main woman is the truth. She comes before anyone and anything and he’s always with her in life or death. He married her in a dark hole. He knew alone. Three grades of school. Thirty years in a cage. Pulled out of solitary confinement dead—or a reflection and the balance of whatever group he’s in.
Born into this imbalanced world of women’s law in 1967, carrying Truth over the threshold, he met thousands of young in the streets. I was one of them. He stood our words up in Truth. He never broke our wills. We put up our lives, and the symbol of one finger as alternative to anarchy.
He knew what anarchy would do to the Earth. She has been treated like he has, by people too proud to look and too scared to see. He was thinking Earth-balance before I was born, and in the 50s he set the thought for International People’s Court of Retribution so that everyone will know what they’ve done to air, land, water and the soul of the Earth.
Everyone has wanted to make him small. Yet a monster. Stupid. With hypnotic powers. A fascist. And a Commie. And prejudiced nigger-lover. A macho punk. Both Christ and the Devil. Or, on the opposite side of everything.
We told the world Manson is a reflection, yet even President Nixon, a lawyer, publicly declared Manson “guilty, directly or indirectly” before the trial was over, and set his own downfall. Believe it or not, Rome stumbled over the truth in one bastard.