The bottom line is, I am creating this Manifesto to reveal and disseminate my own unique and brilliant Forbidden Truths. You should already know about and be familiar with the unique and brilliant Forbidden Truths that people like Donald Gaskins, Charles Manson, etc..., have expressed and disseminated, especially if they have done so in a public manner, such as a published autobiographical book such as Final Truth. If you are not familiar with these other Forbidden Truths, you should be required to go to the time, effort, and in some cases expense, of educating yourself by obtaining the complete books or other texts, and certainly you should not rely upon whatever few quotes I may be able to provide here, given my space limitations. This is the reason why I am choosing to greatly limit, and in some cases completely withhold, lengthy quotes from a book like Final Truth. The Truths Donald reveals are every bit as valuable, unique, and profound as the content of this Forbidden Truth manifesto is. This endorsement alone, should be enough to send all of you running to the bookstore, library, or other source, to obtain a copy of this book yourself, so that you may be enlightened as to the complete and unedited scope of Martyr Donald's Truths. The most important fact that I can reveal here, is that Donald, like millions of fellow human beings born into the ultra-diseased society of america, was victimized, tortured, tormented, deliberately and with utter malice, by america itself, and in the greatest outrage of all, he was murdered outright, this brilliant philosopher and seer of Truth was murdered, by the very society, the genocidal society, that was and remains guilty of his creation and his victimization. This book is an absolute must read for any of you creatures who value and appreciate the Forbidden Truths of life, especially as they relate to rage, hate, reflective and cathartic violence/vengeance.

"Being born on a farm, I know the difference between raising something and it just growing. You raise tobacco and vegetables to harvest, and pigs and sheep to butcher. They got purpose; you tend them. But weeds grow on their own, tended or not. I grew; I wasn't raised; that's for damn sure. Hell, I didn't know my own real name until I was a teenager and got sentenced to The Reformatory." "When I was younger there was always one or another of a bunch of different step-daddies around. I called them all sir and never bothered to learn most of their names because I knew my Mama wasn't married to them, and they wouldn't likely be around for long. The one she finally did marry was one mean son-of-a-bi*ch. He used to back-hand me and knock me clean across the room just for practice. But then everybody knocked me around: my uncles, my other step-daddies, and nearabout all the boys and girls I played with and went to school with. They beat-up on me just because I was so dam*ed little. It wasn't that I was the littlest because I was the youngest; no matter how old I got I was still the littlest; I never growed enough to keep up with the others. That's how I got the nick-name Pee Wee--Pee-Wee Pee-Wee, playing with your Pee Pee" they used to say, and when I got mad and hit somebody, that was all the excuse they needed to gang up and beat hell out of me."----------------Donald Henry Gaskins.

"I was born March 31, 1933, and most of what I remember from when I was real young is hazy, like trying to see through smoke in the woods, but I do have this here one memory from before I started school that's as clear as yesterday: Going to the Carnival....My step-daddy paid a dime apiece for him and Mama, and a nickle each for me and my cousin. Inside the tent, in a wire pen was this alligator that didn't look too big to me, even then, and inside glass-front cages were bunches of snakes all balled up, sleeping I guessed. The man who took our money outside followed us in and talked to us through a megaphone which he didn't hardly need because there was nobody there but us....And I remember him saying something like 'Ladies and Gentlemen, let me direct your attention to the center of the tent. The snake lying inside that cage may look peaceful, but don't be fooled: You are looking at the most dangerous creature on God's earth. That is the fearsome King-Cobra that each year kills hundreds, sometimes thousands, of men, women, and children in India.' Then the Barker stopped talking, took a live rat out of a box, and dropped it in the cage with the snake. The rat ran around and around real fast. The Cobra stirred and coiled, rose up and flared out it's neck, and the rat stopped, froze like it thought if it stayed still, it might turn invisible. What took hold of my attention right then was that that Cobra's head was almost exactly as high up as my head. When I looked through the glass I was staring it straight in the eye and my reflection looked like that Cobra and me had the same head and face and eyes. 'Ladies and Gentlemen', the Barker started talking again: 'most animals either kill for food or to defend themselves. A Cobra eats twice a week. This one was fed last night. That bulge halfway down it's length is the supper it is still digesting. So let me assure you, this snake is not hungry. And as you no doubt noticed when you walked up to it's cage the Cobra didn't get upset. It just lay there. That's because it is use to people and knew it didn't need to defend itself. But now suddenly it has raised itself up and is about to strike--and that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is what makes the Cobra the most dangerous of all reptiles--the fact that even as we watch it, it is preparing to kill for no reason other than the fact that it has decided to kill.' The snake struck, then stretched out and went back to sleep. The rat didn't move. I looked at my reflection, then at the Cobra and I turned and saw my girl-cousin holding tight to my Mama's leg, and I looked up at my Mama's and step-daddy's faces and saw that they seemed pretty scared, too. I had a hard-on. And I knew that what I had just seen was somehow special and important, even though I didn't know why. I still carry that memory, clear as a picture etched on my brain. Nothing they do to me can ever burn it away."--------------Donald Henry Gaskins.

"To me, school was more than just a waste, it was a kind of torture. Everybody picked on me, so I got into fights almost every day, and then I got punished by the teachers and principal for fighting. It's no wonder I never learned jack-sh*t...My step-daddy said if I weren't going to school I had to work in the fields and do more chores. I said I wanted to work on cars, not on a farm, but he beat my as* so hard every time I slipped off to work for the mechanic that I decided it was best just to do what he wanted....I remember the worst whipping I ever got was the time me and two older boys dug a trench back of the outhouse at the Church, so we could hide there and watch the women and girls when they pulled down their pants. Three sets of step-daddies, a preacher, a deacon, and four mama's, including my Mama, joined together and tore our as*es to ribbons with switches for that. Even back then, girls pis*ed me off....It especially made me mad that them bi*ches could do anything they wanted--show their as*es, make fun of me, even beat me up--and dare me to do anything about it, knowing I couldn't do nothing without being punished by grown-ups." "But no matter how things went, good or bad, I always felt something bothersome was astirring inside of me. It was like I had this ball of plumber's lead rolling around in my guts. Most-times it lay quiet, just weighing me down. Other times, it growed bigger and hotter, like it was going to explode. Every once in awhile I dreamed (I still do) that it blowed me apart and there was all these millions of little pieces and parts of me running around and flying around trying to find each other and put me back together."-----------------Donald Henry Gaskins.