last night I had a dream that Charles Manson called me to thank me for the poem I sent him. It was the kind of poem that would be gruesome to some and hauntingly beautiful to others. about dead babies being shit out their mothers wombs and the crows and pigeons not even waiting for the bodies to hit the ground before they peck their little eyes out. the eyes are the best part. He laughed and "sure I'll talk to you" in his usual charismatic friendly tone. I asked him if he believed in life after death, heaven and hell. he responded saying "I was born this morning. there were lights. yea this is heaven" I could hear the clanging sounds of the prison in the back ground while he tried to convince me he was elsewhere. more happened but I can't remember. I do hope to talk to charlie on the phone outside of dream land at some point before one of us dies
