Carlos C. claimed to be a shaman. He made multiple beautiful PHD students become his wives and sex-buddies. They all changed their names multiple times and cut their hair and dyed it blond. He made millions of dollars selling bags full of sand that you are supposed to put on your back while lying on a bed doing an 'ancient shamanic resting exercise' that only he could teach you if you had paid thousands of dollars to go to one of his workshops. He taught that women had to be celibate because sperm is poison. But his sperm wasn't poison because he was the Nagu*l. he was born in Peru in 1925, went to sculpture school in Lima, and died in L.A in 1998. His ashes were then sent to Mexico. He said squash your parents because they are fleas. he had a mastectomy. he died of cancer. he refused to be photographed after 1973. Joyce Carol Oates did not think his books should be shelved in non-fiction with the other anthropology books. Every woman who ever met him wanted to have sex with him. Like Pablo Picasso, he was only 5 foot 3. a woman who wanted to have sex with him once said that there was immense sadness in his left eye because she was married and would not have sex with him. After he died, most of his wives dissapeared, but one remarried and still lives in California, but won't talk to writers. his daughter/lover who he called the bl*e sc**t drove her car into the desert and died of dehydration instead of becoming a ball of light and ascending into the Nag*a, as he had promised she would. At one workshop, he had said that the bl*e sc**t was not really human. At another he said she was a bitch who could not complete her designs for paperweights in time for them to be mass-manufactured. All former followers agree that Carlos C. had a wonderful sense of humor.