My name's Raleigh Epps, and I'm a survivor.
Charlie's girls were Lilim, daughters or devotees to Adam's first wife. Yeah, Adam from the book of Genesis. Human girls are daughters of Eve. A select few are born or become Lilim. They're creatures of immense depravity who'll do things in the name of sexual pleasure that would made the Marquis De Sade blanch with indignation. A roaring good time, all told.
I'd read somewhere about Helter Skelter, Charles Manson's planned race war/Armageddon Scenario. I knew objectively what he thought would happen, but it wasn't until I saw it, in that fucked-up Ayawaska vision, that it really hit me.
I saw Manson, in the studio, recording his album. I heard the music. I heard the words. It was all shit, Manson not having the musical talent of your average high school band geek, but I watched as the studio people did their magic. They worked his subtle, almost sublime, hate into passable music.
I watched as people, kids mostly, bought the tripe and put it on their record players. I watched as most people bopped their heads, but didn't give it too much thought. I saw others get it. I saw their latent evil waken as they beast roared in their ears and they went to Spahn Ranch in search of their false messiah.
I walked with Charlie as he lead his host into the desert, to Death Valley and revealed to them that he did indeed know the location of a mythical hole, an entrance to a magical land where they could wait out the coming race-war in peace. Of course, it wasn't a hole or a pit at all, more of a cave, the mouth flush with the surrounding ground. A dirt track extended deep, deep inside into a darkness that repulsed me, even as a fleshless, floating consciousness. I think I'm the only one who saw the inscription arching along the cave's open mouth: All hope abandon ye who enter here.
I saw lawmakers go crazy as their daughters disappeared, lured to Manson's clarion call. You have to understand, this was the age of hippies, and the Flower-Children had real power. Their connection to the Archangel of Flowers spread peace and calm over a powder-keg era ready to explode at the slightest spark.
Times were hard for everyone. People lost their jobs or just quit going to work. Blacks, already disenfranchised began to riot, first in places like Watts and then in places like Bel Aire and Hollywood. It should have reminded me of the Watts riots of 1965, since it was nearly the same era. Instead, I recalled the the Riots of '92. I remembered watching them on TV, not understanding. I saw the National Guardsmen called in, citizens defending themselves. I watched white men kill black men. I watched militant black men fight back.
I watched the violence spread like cancer across the United States and then the world.
Then I saw Charlie Manson stick his head out of his hole and hop on his Dune Buggy. It had some kind of weird-ass metal tube welded to its frame, the handle of a saber or cutlass sticking from it, which he drew, after donning his goggles, and pointed as if leading a charge.
I watches a scene from Mad Max as a legion of depraved weirdos followed their leader, also riding dune buggies. Flanking the dune buggies, in tight formation, were an army of bikers. No more were they Straight Satans or Hell's Angels or Mongols or Pagans or Iron Horsemen. There were only, and I swear to this, Charlie's Angels. Each wore leathers, despite the heat of the valley. Each wore their club colors and tattoos.
I saw Manson and his horde ride through the desert at night, killing what cops there were- brave one, trying to keep order in the face of world-ending chaos. I watched, after all the cops were gone and whites were dead, Manson meet with a former Black Panther. I saw Manson pull out his Buntline Special, his Dirty Hairy gun, and blow a hole in the black man's chest.
Because the world had shifted to savage time, remember I was a spirit and this all could have taken years, or because he was the Antichrist, the one-proud black men bowed to him, as did their remaining white slaves. Charlie bid them rise and took them for his own, then surveyed the Black Man as he rebuilt the world in Charlie Manson's image. For the first time, Charles Manson declared himself Messiah. Manson. Man's Son. Batshit Crazy Charlie Manson, Son of Man, Broken Jesus.
As the coin of perception turned in the air, I saw something else. something a little more hopeful.
No comments:
Post a Comment