Read Online Charles Manson Now by Marlin Marynick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marlin Marynick
Tags: Non-Fiction
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done at least a dozen times before. When granted permission, Dwayne rolled the bill up, tightly, pressed it into the pencil sharpener, and watched as the machine ground the money into fuzzy bits of green dust.
Even more incredible than Manson’s letters was the feeling that their content lent much weight to Donald’s story. I trusted that the two did indeed know each other on an intimate level. I couldn’t believe I had made such a connection by chance, and I wouldn’t believe the extreme places that connection would take me. Life was about to take off on the crazy train, because as myfriendship with Donald developed, everything else began to fall apart.
When I told my girlfriend Sheila about Manson’s letters, she wasn’t impressed. In complete disgust, she said, “I can’t believe you’d allow something like that in your house! What’s wrong with you?” I was taken aback by her reaction. “It’s not like I bought a Gacy painting,” I said. “Manson never actually killed anyone.” I reminded Sheila that I worked in psychiatry and so I naturally found Manson fascinating. She was silent. I knew Sheila would be dumping me soon, and the thought was devastating. Things had been falling apart for a while, and the closer I tried to get, the farther she pushed away.
Sheila was the most important person in my life; we had worked together for years and we were great friends. We had started spending a lot of time together while she was going through a really rough breakup with someone else. She was fun to be with, and so fucking cute; I could hardly handle it. It was an awkward transition, but after a year or so, we ended up in a relationship. She had two amazing daughters and she was a great mother. One of her girls was an aspiring writer, and the other one was a rocker who just loved music. I never had the opportunity to tell them how much they meant to me.
I was hardly myself those days. My friend Dave died from cancer and his brother Danny, my best friend and roommate of seven years, also died from cancer, six weeks later. Shortly after I lost these important people, Sheila gave me the “It’s not you; it’s me” speech, and said she needed some space. Basically, she had found someone else. It was too much.
Danny and I had been in several bands together over the years.Almost daily, for as long as were roommates, we’d end up in our basement, making noise. He was a drummer, and I was sort of learning how to play guitar. We promoted and set up shows for hundreds of bands; our lives completely revolved around music. It was normal for us to catch bands four or five nights a week and Dave was usually right out there with us. Both Danny and Dave toured with bands, selling merchandise, and doing whatever promotional work they could. Dave was starting to turn his love of music into a career, touring with international bands like Into Eternity and Edguy. He never learned how to play an instrument, but his friends wanted to take him out on tour anyway. It was impossible to go to a show and not run into Danny or Dave; they were always there.
After both were diagnosed with cancer, I wanted to do a benefit in their honor. But they resisted. I reminded them how many benefits they’d done, how many bands they’d helped out, how everyone now wanted to do something for them. Every local band wanted to participate and our newspaper carried a frontpage story about the event. When the show finally took place, Dave had died and Danny was very sick. Danny was able to make it to the show, and watching him give his final goodbyes to those closest to him broke my heart. It was the last show my band ever played and the hardest set I have ever had to get through. Emotionally, I felt completely drained. I gave up on music midway through recording my band’s second album. I had made it through the vocals of eight of our fourteen songs when my voice just left me. We never did finish that record.
It’s difficult to get help when
Even more incredible than Manson’s letters was the feeling that their content lent much weight to Donald’s story. I trusted that the two did indeed know each other on an intimate level. I couldn’t believe I had made such a connection by chance, and I wouldn’t believe the extreme places that connection would take me. Life was about to take off on the crazy train, because as myfriendship with Donald developed, everything else began to fall apart.
When I told my girlfriend Sheila about Manson’s letters, she wasn’t impressed. In complete disgust, she said, “I can’t believe you’d allow something like that in your house! What’s wrong with you?” I was taken aback by her reaction. “It’s not like I bought a Gacy painting,” I said. “Manson never actually killed anyone.” I reminded Sheila that I worked in psychiatry and so I naturally found Manson fascinating. She was silent. I knew Sheila would be dumping me soon, and the thought was devastating. Things had been falling apart for a while, and the closer I tried to get, the farther she pushed away.
Sheila was the most important person in my life; we had worked together for years and we were great friends. We had started spending a lot of time together while she was going through a really rough breakup with someone else. She was fun to be with, and so fucking cute; I could hardly handle it. It was an awkward transition, but after a year or so, we ended up in a relationship. She had two amazing daughters and she was a great mother. One of her girls was an aspiring writer, and the other one was a rocker who just loved music. I never had the opportunity to tell them how much they meant to me.
I was hardly myself those days. My friend Dave died from cancer and his brother Danny, my best friend and roommate of seven years, also died from cancer, six weeks later. Shortly after I lost these important people, Sheila gave me the “It’s not you; it’s me” speech, and said she needed some space. Basically, she had found someone else. It was too much.
Danny and I had been in several bands together over the years.Almost daily, for as long as were roommates, we’d end up in our basement, making noise. He was a drummer, and I was sort of learning how to play guitar. We promoted and set up shows for hundreds of bands; our lives completely revolved around music. It was normal for us to catch bands four or five nights a week and Dave was usually right out there with us. Both Danny and Dave toured with bands, selling merchandise, and doing whatever promotional work they could. Dave was starting to turn his love of music into a career, touring with international bands like Into Eternity and Edguy. He never learned how to play an instrument, but his friends wanted to take him out on tour anyway. It was impossible to go to a show and not run into Danny or Dave; they were always there.
After both were diagnosed with cancer, I wanted to do a benefit in their honor. But they resisted. I reminded them how many benefits they’d done, how many bands they’d helped out, how everyone now wanted to do something for them. Every local band wanted to participate and our newspaper carried a frontpage story about the event. When the show finally took place, Dave had died and Danny was very sick. Danny was able to make it to the show, and watching him give his final goodbyes to those closest to him broke my heart. It was the last show my band ever played and the hardest set I have ever had to get through. Emotionally, I felt completely drained. I gave up on music midway through recording my band’s second album. I had made it through the vocals of eight of our fourteen songs when my voice just left me. We never did finish that record.
It’s difficult to get help when
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