THE FOUNDATION OF REVELATION, INC. 59 Scott Street San Francisco, California 94117 USA Pho

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THE FOUNDATION OF REVELATION, INC. __________________________________________________________________________ 59 Scott Street San Francisco, California 94117 USA Phone: 415 863-4509 April 20, 17th Year Siva Kalpa Mr. Shiloh Morgan 1523 N. La Brea, #274 Hollywood, California 90028 Dear Mr. Morgan, As the rambling and incoherent nature of your letters dated March 3, April 6 and April 11 of this year, copies of which you have sent to The Foundation of Revelation, does not bespeak the discipline inherent in the Armed Services, I must assume your use of the title Captain is a presump- tion and not rightfully yours to claim. I am enclosing a copy of The Foundation of Revelation documents, which please read and reread. At such time as you are able to compose a brief, typewritten letter identifying yourself and clearly stating when and where you became acquainted with The Foundation, I will be happy to enter- tain the possibility of a purposeful correspondence with you. Until such time please refrain from sending us anything further, as we have neither the time nor the inclination to be party to your personal desires. Sincerely yours, Caroline A. Grey Secretary-treasurer encl: The Foundation of Revelation documents 1523 North LaBrea, Suite 274 Los Angeles, California 90028 May 10, 1983 Dear Ms. Grey, I became acquainted with the Foundation at Christmastime, 1968 when Ciranjiva, Sheila U.S.A., and Magic Jack, came to one of Jud Presmont's community dinners at All Saints Church. Magic Jack gave a performance with his "silence book," then Sheila introduced Ciranjiva as the Father of heaven, and the Father of us all. Ciranjiva demanded three hours of si- lence, so he could speak. Of course, three hours of silence were not forthcoming from such a motley crew of unruly, freedom-seeking hippies as we were, and Ciranjiva stormed out of the dining hall after someone spoke out when Ciranjiva was fifteen minutes into his presentation. Sheila and Magic Jack followed him out the door, whereupon we continued as we were doing before they came. From time to time during the next 5 1/2 years, I attended the senate meetings of the Foundation, which were held every Sunday, at 1:00 P.M. During these years, I attempted to add my "two-cents' worth" to the pro- ceedings, which attempts were rejected, something on the order of your letter dated April 20th -- except that you are the first person within the Foundation who has ever given me anything which I might do to better suit you; this is progress. "Better is the end of a thing than the beginning of it." (Proverbs) So, the outlook is hopeful. During one of these meetings I attended, I calmly took off my clothes, and sat nude, waiting for the meeting to start. One of your men, acting as a bouncer, told me to put my clothes back on, or they'd call the police. I did as I was told, and waited to speak to Ciranjiva after the meeting, at which time I asked him why I should not be allowed to do my own thing, as long as I didn't hurt anyone. He said simply, "It's different. It's not the same," and turned away from me, offering no other explanation. At the next meeting, I was told (by someone at the door) that I was to be refused admission to further meetings for three months, whereupon I shook the dust of the Foundation, and the dust of San Francisco, off my feet, as Jesus told his disciples to do when they were not well received. I left San Francisco in July, 1973, and went to Chicago, to see if we could change the weather, as intimated in a rock 'n roll song. After finding nothing in Chicago, I went to Utah, where I spent 3 1/2 years in prison. Upon being released from prison, I came to L.A., in September, 1977. After six months in L.A., I returned to San Francisco to attempt communication with the Foundation once more, and had the same success as before -- none! Then I went to New York City for a month, and then to my home in Ohio for a couple years. I returned to L.A. in January, 1980, and have been here since. In 1968, everyone knew me as, "Chuck," which is a nickname for my given name of Charles, which means "strong one." In later years, the people in northern California knew me as, Uncle Albert. After I left them, they were sorry for causing me any pain, enough to try to make me return, but not enough to repent of their actions, that I might return to better circumstances, so I didn't go back. In prison, I was known as, Commander Cool. A fellow prisoner once asked me what I was commander of. I replied, "I command the energy that no one else can handle." Being "head honcho" behind the walls, I walked free and easy through the hallways. All those who didn't like my trip stayed back out of earshot, on the other side of the exercise yard, etc. Overcoming all those hardened criminals was no easy matter, which is another story in itself. The people who liked my trip, and I, had a grand time, partying every night. I smoked more dope in prison than ever before. This successful adventure led me to where I am now, a survivor of the worst hell anyone can imagine. I am alive, and Ciranjiva is dead, which speaks of the power in me that he didn't have; that is to say, I won the game of Mind Over Matter, and Ciranjiva is the loser. Upon learning that Ciranjiva had died, the desire to get my foot in the Foundation's door (as his replacement) was birthed. I feel that since Ciranjiva's end came as it did, he was a false prophet, and I'm the true prophet of God, being that I practice true religion, as stated in James 1: 26,27, that of comforting the widows and the orphans in their affliction, and of keeping myself unspoted by the world. About a year ago I took the name, Shiloh Unto Whom The People Shall Be Gathered, as according to Genesis 49: 10. Two months ago I saw a billboard stating, "Captain Morgan Lives!" The billboard had a picture of a pirate standing on a hill, with one foot resting upon a keg of rum, and in the background was a pirate ship in the harbor. I glommed onto the name, Captain Morgan, as being myself. I have since found out that Captain Morgan is a brand of rum. I'm Captain of my own soul, doing as I please, when I please, and how I please, which other people seem to be missing out on. I wish to share my philosophical survivorship with those who are less fortunate, that they may enjoy it as I do; that is, people need a leader, because it is not in me to direct his own steps, as stated in the Bible. To this end, I'm desirous of lessening my rambling incoherency to a bare minimum, as I can see that it doesn't do anyone any good. I'm sure that any assistance you may (or can) offer, in this particular regard, will be to our mutual benefit. Being that self respect is the way to the life of truth, knowledge, power, and love -- if you will study me (my habits, my ways and means of surviving in a hostile world, and of keeping myself in a positive, upward, forward, outward reaching movement -- which is its own delight) then you will find that I'm not lacking in any form of self respect. I use Captain as my first name, Shiloh as my middle name, and Morgan as my last name. Some people call me Captain; some call me Shiloh, but you may call me anything at all. You don't even know my real name; so, what are you going to do? In the name of Jesus Christ, I remain your unworthy servant, Captain Shiloh Morgan (alias Chuck, Uncle Albert, Commander Cool, The Fool On The Hill, Bo Jangles -- who danced to jukebox music and talked of life, Ruby Tuesday -- who changes every day, and Maggie May, who messed up their beds, and in the morning kicked them in the head) I'm a woman lost in the song, which accounts for my incoherent ram- bling stemming from my illimitable forms and forces of human experience, the fevers of a deliriously hilarious existence groaning under the darkness of mounting pressures of mechanical wants and needs, and the seeming victo- ry of the analytical material knowledge of established society, all of which makes it difficult (but not impossible) to get a handle on what is known as reality. Nevertheless, I do the best that I am able. What fault do you find with this? (copies of this go to Olivia Newton-John, Fleetwood Mac, and Dusty


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