98 The book of judges

Still doing time with the Jesus Freaks. I looked at them knowing many of the people there had good meaning in their heart, but at the same time I felt as though they were damaged and weak. I never got near the people running the place except for the one Bobby Beausoleil character. He's the one that took my jeans to be sewn. I call him that because he had a look much different than the rest of the members. He had a dark impish look and he wore black. I thought there might be a chance to relate to him. I don't know if you understand how I was a dark themed hippie. Love and all, but let's check into the dark side once in a while. I was a Black Sabbath girl. Even Jesus spent time with the devil in the desert.

In between checking Beausoleil out, I was falling into a deep funk. I just wanted to go. Why could I see what was happening and no one else? Because I had balls of steel, that's why. I held my mind and didn't let it sway. I knew the tricks that were played. Every fucking day the same thing. Hold back food then glorify the message with reward. That small piece of chocolate. No time to gather your own thoughts. Broken sleep, prayer and chores. The masters of manipulation learn human nature early.

If I had such fortitude why didn't I just go? It was getting close, but a few things stuck with me from Catholic school. The Dominicans main lesson "Use the brain that God gave you to think about what will make this world a better place. Think of others. Don't follow, hold onto the free and individual spark in your soul. Think but be kind." One of my mom's themes too. These people were twisting LBJ's brain in a way I hadn't seen before. He was a big "fuck you" kind of guy and now he was following orders. 

On the few occasions that I quickly saw him, which was really weird because we were usually in constant fornication, I pleaded with him to leave. "I hate this place. Can't you see it? They're using food and sleep to weaken people." Now you might think "but he was happy." Not what I saw. He had a vacant look in his eyes. My thought is that they gave that part of his brain where he was thinking about the trouble he left a rest. I appreciated that. That's why I stayed as long as I did. But I felt that they were getting free labor and a sense of power out of it. Who was I to judge, right?

So it was twirling in my brain that for my own sake I had to get out of there. Not any kind of existence I longed for. I was still working on LBJ but I had another obstacle too. How could I love a pair of jeans that much? Because they were an expression of what I was. Every patch, every color of embroidery thread. I astounded people with them. I'd see the Beausoleil guy "Are my pants ready yet?" "No. Not yet." "What's taking so long? Give them back to me." I couldn't even get in to talk directly with the sewing ladies.

Far, far beyond this in creativity

"No. We have to let them be sewn by the sewing women. Let's pray they get done soon." No. I'm not going to pray they get done soon. Give them back to me." He just stood there and I walked away. If you ever wanted to see me mad, this was the time.

Next day the Beausoleil guy approached me as I was outside, the only alone person. "Are my jeans ready?" "No. Let's sit." I am not unreasonable so I sat on a log bench with him. Here's a little conversation.

"I hear that you've practiced witchcraft." 

"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The person that I shared my bed with and had such intimate conversation exposed something personal to a stranger. Witchcraft in the early 70's was severely frowned upon by many segments in the population. Not the mass produced wicca of today. Uh oh. I didn't say anything.

Then the Bobby fella went on to explain his dark path that he had taken. No wonder he had the black and the silver. "I used to practice witchcraft." I don't remember all he told me about how he fell into so much depths and dregs, but he had been into it darker than I was.

I could have sat there for a few more minutes. I am always open to discussion, but he started veering from the kind and forgiving Jesus and ventured into the cruel and wrathful God. I was going to burn unless I changed.

I was hurt beyond words that I was so betrayed.