Mr. Connolly — (your title)
Mr. Robt. Russell
wrote & I got it the same day yours came. He wanted to know my birthday also. Does that mean anything to you?
It meant to me that I had to write another letter that couldn’t get too real or it would be misunderstood.
I can’t help you with your school report. Earth cries and you want my birthdate. If the report had something to do with survival when the money reality falls, you wouldn’t know what to write because the money mom holds the leash & the reigns—mom earth is under her trampling discontent—Look at the Big Bitch selling pieces of Air, Land, Water & her children’s asses
And you people look down at me.
When you are gasping for air we’ll see who is hysterical.
I’m not fighting for a cause. I’m fighting for my life, trapped by my own knowing. (The soul is it’s own reward). But you sit back and enjoy your T.V. life a little longer.
Don’t let your personality fool you into being offended. Personalities & words are just clothes. I really don’t play that birthday game.
A note on this letter. This letter, originally handwritten, covered two pages, the second of which appeared in Nikolas Schreck’s excellent book, The Manson File, published by Amok in 1989. To see the second page as it was reproduced by Schreck,