This started out as a point my character, Bryce, is making about the need for a revolution within his generation...it went a lot further--God started speaking to me, and I was very privileged to record it! Please read with an open mind. Then go to zeitgeistmovie.com and watch the two films provided, especially Addendum. Thank you and may God grant us pardon for all the wrong we have done!
To call the three of us average teenagers would be a vast understatement. I thought of us as the founders of our generation’s revolution. It had to start somewhere. And I really doubted it would effectively come from a place like MTV or YouTube or any other venue for brainwashing the masses, and selling them crap they don’t need. Everywhere I looked in the world, I found lost souls. A bunch of robots, who do the same fucking thing as everyone else, every single day of their miserable fucking lives. Sorry for the language, but this is a sensitive subject to me. Somewhere in time, the human race was imprisoned by a very small number of people who thought of a simple yet brilliant scheme to enslave people worse than they have ever been enslaved, at the cost of their lives, and for the monetary benefit of this select few. The most endangered, and the most targeted mass of people is those of adolescence. If there was anything that I could be happier about, in terms of my relationship with Ashton, was the way he taught me how to think for myself—to recognize the ploys of those who wanted my soul, and to fight them. That’s what we were doing—fighting the miserable, greed filled hearts that seemed to own everything in the world but happiness.
What a sad thing it is to depend on money for happiness, because it is utterly impossible to fill one’s heart with bank statements, horsepower, cashmere scarves, and bottles of vintage wine that could feed an entire village in any one of the many third world countries. What a sad and discouraging grip the Devil has on so many people—most of which have no idea that it is purely the work of all things wicked, what they strive for, how they get it, and who ultimately pays the price. Foolish! We are so foolish when we try to put our heads together, and he or she who tries to speak the truth is made an outcast, un-American and tyrannous. What a pitiful reality it is that we send our sons and daughters off to foreign lands to shoot and kill other human beings who were less privileged to begin with—ALL IN AN ATTEMPT TO FREE THEM! WHAT A SAD, SAD, JOKE that has been played on all of us. In truth, we imprison more and more, from the top to the bottom, for the benefit of such a select few—THE BANKS!
Wake up from your dreams, and face the nightmare at hand. We our owned by a series of make believe numbers in a databoard in a computer somewhere. Yet we exhaust ourselves, neglect our families by working longer and longer hours, literally kill each other, even our sons and daughters, because we’re too proud to admit that we’ve been pawns in a horrifically brilliant scheme, for almost 100 years.
PLEASE WAKE UP!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
There's Always a Reason to Love...Ask Steven
If Steven could throw his arms around the world and hug every human being alive he would.
He is not an extraordinary man, with extraordinary talents, or an extraordinary history.
He is a man, and just that.
His mother died giving birth to him; his father died six months earlier, storming the beaches of Normandy.
He was raised by his aunt and her live-in boyfriend, who sexually abused him until adolescence.
He suffered from a special but minor case of Autism. He never saw a doctor. It was never treated.
Having great difficulty making friends, he constructed a basketball hoop out of a plastic milk crate, tied it around a tree in the nearby forest, and shot baskets every day with a used soccer ball on the walk home from school.
Winter came hard in 1955 and he caught pneumonia. He recovered but would never breathe without discomfort again.
He taught himself how to write and throw a baseball. In fall tryouts, he struck out every batter he faced, but did not make the team.
He was black.
After high school he was drafted by the U.S. Army and deployed to Vietnam.
He served two tours, and came home to no parade, no applause. But he did bring with him a Purple Heart.
He has lived alone, ever since, in an understaffed, undersupplied, and poorly financed Veterans Home.
If Steven could throw his arms around the world and hug every human being alive he would.
But Steven has no arms.
He is not an extraordinary man, with extraordinary talents, or an extraordinary history.
He is a man, and just that.
His mother died giving birth to him; his father died six months earlier, storming the beaches of Normandy.
He was raised by his aunt and her live-in boyfriend, who sexually abused him until adolescence.
He suffered from a special but minor case of Autism. He never saw a doctor. It was never treated.
Having great difficulty making friends, he constructed a basketball hoop out of a plastic milk crate, tied it around a tree in the nearby forest, and shot baskets every day with a used soccer ball on the walk home from school.
Winter came hard in 1955 and he caught pneumonia. He recovered but would never breathe without discomfort again.
He taught himself how to write and throw a baseball. In fall tryouts, he struck out every batter he faced, but did not make the team.
He was black.
After high school he was drafted by the U.S. Army and deployed to Vietnam.
He served two tours, and came home to no parade, no applause. But he did bring with him a Purple Heart.
He has lived alone, ever since, in an understaffed, undersupplied, and poorly financed Veterans Home.
If Steven could throw his arms around the world and hug every human being alive he would.
But Steven has no arms.
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