Was Michael a victim of sexual abuse himself?
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First, my apologies for this very long post, but……<br /><br />Please, please read this pervasive story, written by Bonnie Cox http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/12/message-of-michael-jackson-help.html<br /><br />It’s written as an intro about what Bonnie believes what Michael is trying to expose to us for years about sexual child abuse, the abuse of children in any form, and very, VERY likely, the sexual abuse of Michael and his brothers when they were just little children. I actually cried and was heartbroken, because I think she is so very right about it. I urge you to read the whole blog (link above). I also urge you to read her latest blog http://michaelsguardian.blogspot.com/2011/12/michael-said-if-we-dont-stop-it-then.html<br /><br />I will copy a few of the paragraphs below this story, that turned my stomach and my heart.<br /><br /><br />
<br /><br />Some excerpts from the blog:<br /><br />[size=10pt]She stepped out into the street, greeting the sun which sent sharp darts of glare into her eyes as it reflected off the brilliant surfaces of windows and fixtures. She squinted and smiled against it. She hesitated before choosing a direction. She then stepped down and began to walk.<br /><br />What made her decide to take a walk as soon as she arose that morning began to invade her thoughts. It wasn't her usual routine. As a matter of fact, she never walked the streets in the morning. But today, she felt something else in her, driving her.<br /><br />Other thoughts stalked behind her, trying to catch up and plant themselves in her brain. She actually began walking faster to avoid them, but they ran, ran faster and jumped.<br /><br />Turning the corner, the street suddenly changed. It was no longer the glistening and pristine surroundings she met as she left her abode. She collided into another reality altogether. <br /><br />Litter and debris were strewn across the street, blowing in a previously non-existent gust of air. The smells were that of food left out in open barrels and the people once well dressed and walking with purpose were now clad in dull rags, moving listlessly along the buildings.<br /><br />She turned, looking for the safety of the street she just left, her world, but now it was nowhere to be found. Why had she come walking in the first place? Was she dissatisfied with the environment of privilege from which she came? She didn’t know where to go from here, so she stopped and looked around. Nothing was familiar to her.<br /><br />To her left was the building that just a few moments ago rested on a street that was clean and host to people who had hopes, meaning, purpose. She walked back to the corner but the same desolation existed in the direction from which she came.<br /><br />Trying to understand she slowly turned, bewildered, shaking her head. Where was she? How did she get here? WHAT was she doing here?<br /><br />As she turned to continue walking, her foot caught something and she stumbled and fell. She caught herself on her hands and her knees, nearly falling on a little boy. Her palms stung against the abrasion of the oily sidewalk as she looked up into the eyes of him who would tell her where she was.<br /><br />In those eyes she saw at first gentleness, pride and potential. The brown cheeks under the eyes were clean and unblemished, wholesome. She wanted to touch them but she was transfixed in a prone position. She could not tear herself away from his eyes.<br /><br />As she continued to see, the eyes told her another story. Behind the gentleness and potential there was a deeper pain. Layer by layer she was drawn in. She became acquainted with terror. Deeper in there was torment, abuse and torture.<br /><br />She scrambled backward on the sidewalk but the boy grasped her wrist. In the depths of his dark brown irises she saw movement which turned into shapes. She followed them as they beckoned her, “learn”.<br /><br />The world under the potential, pride and gentleness harbored another world corrupted by iniquity and malevolence. It was not a child’s world but here it existed, in the soul of this one. <br /><br />[size=12pt]In his eyes the moving and shifting shapes became multitudes of people in all colors, builds and ages. They were jumping up and down, all turned in one direction, all waiting for something to appear before them. They cheered, called out, exclaimed for the one they called Love.<br /><br />Lights appeared at the front of the crowd. She floated above all of them as if she was going to be given a closer look.<br /><br />On the platform the lights danced and maneuvered. The crowed pressed closer, mashing the people at the front toward the platform. The din calmed to a low murmur of thousands of voices, then an unsettled, electric silence. <br /><br />Suddenly the lights dimmed and one lone white light made a spot on the platform above them. The anticipation began to build like pressure in balloon being fed air as everyone waited for the “bam”.<br /><br />The silence was vociferous. The quiet before the storm.<br /><br />Suddenly she saw sparks and blinding light as a lone figure dropped down onto the platform seemingly from nowhere. He landed on his feet, crouched to break the fall, then slowly standing strait. He had fists at his sides, big lenses on his eyes and was dressed in glittering, magnificent costume. The throng of people became raucous. And she was above them all, a part of it all but unseen.<br /><br />She was being drawn above them closer to the platform. The man in costume was still unmoving as the crowd’s collective frenzy became hysteria. People were falling out and disappearing, being trampled as the gathering crushed those at the front wall trying to get closer. She could see there was a wide space between the wall and the platform where their idol stood still motionless.<br /><br />The hysteria matured and calmed into a steady, static din. People were still pressing to the front against the wall, but they didn’t want to miss one movement of the one they came to see.<br /><br />Slowly the man in costume brought his hands up and removed the frames from his eyes. When he did, he looked up and directly at her. The jolt of familiarity hit her directly in the heart.<br /><br />The man put his hand up to the crowd, as if to tell them to quiet themselves. He looked out at them. One tear escaped his eye and slid down his cheek. Then another fell from the other eye . . . than another, and another. With his hand up, palm facing the assembly he looked down. Her eyes followed.<br /><br />Below him, between the platform and the wall were hundreds of thousands of children, all of them in different states of misery. In the hum of the crowd you couldn’t hear them. In the brilliance of the show, the crowd couldn’t see them, but the one on stage was trying to direct their attention to them.<br /><br />The children all had names: Abandoned, tortured, raped, drugged, electrocuted, suppressed, illness, disease, abused, neglected, poverty, hated, tormented, manipulated, terrorized, apathy, hopelessness, and on and on.”<br /><br />The children, all different ages, colors and sizes were looking up. They saw the one on stage, the saw her floating above them, and they could see the mob of people, but the mob did not see them. They just pressed and crushed each other toward the wall, trying to get to the one called Love.<br /><br />His tears fell. He had done this hundreds of times but no one, NO ONE would hear. They didn’t understand. Love was not a possession, he was a gift to be shared, but people were not sharing him. They were coveting and keeping him to themselves.<br />They turned Love into something to be fought over, used or turned into an object of lust. They didn’t understand that Love only grew if the seeds could be fertilized in new ground.<br /><br />The one called Love beseeched the masses. His song was not heard no matter how much he gave to it. <br /><br />The throngs continued to push and push to get to him. The wall began to move. Sudden terror filled his eyes. She saw him mouth the words “No, not me . . . help them!”<br /><br />She looked down into the pit and the children were crying. Creatures were pulling on them, trying to drag them down. Some of them were disappearing beneath the squirming of other children. The wall began to rock as the mobs pushed against it, not seeing the children, not caring. They wanted him, but his message was drowned out in the sensational frenzy surrounding him.<br /><br />The one called Love fell to his knees on the stage. He was reaching down and pulling children up onto the platform, sometimes two at a time, as fast as he could. He kept looking toward the wall which was dangerously close to falling on them and closing them off forever. He was crying as he worked frantically.<br /><br />She was almost directly in front of him now, hovering above the children. She was crying. Her tears were falling on them. Some of them felt it and looked up at her. <br /><br />The one called love saw her. His eyes were filled with pain as he continued to pull the children up one by one. His face said it all . . . they don’t care.<br /><br />She wanted to help but she didn’t know how to get down to them. She tried moving through the air toward them but she stayed at the same position, the same level. She looked at him. She said to him without moving her lips, “I want to but I don’t know how . . .”<br /><br />He looked at her with an excruciating hopelessness. It tore at her. She turned toward the multitude, then back toward him. He was tiring but continued to pull children up onto the platform. The wall was beginning to give way.<br /><br />He looked at her one more time. In her head she heard, “I need help. Tell them!”<br /><br />Her face crumbled. She turned toward the crowd. If they didn’t hear him they wouldn’t hear her. Fear built up into her and she began to sob. Powerless to do anything else she prayed. She squeezed her eyes tight and she prayed.<br /><br />When she opened her eyes, she was almost nose to nose with the one called Love. She was looking into his eyes.<br /><br />“I prayed” she tried to whisper. She looked at him. He was drenched in sweat and trying to breathe, but he was resting. Instead of the pain filled face she saw a slight smile.<br /><br />In those eyes she felt the sensation of being pulled backward. The vision of the one called Love, the platform, the pit of children, the wall and the multitude swiftly receding into a thin dot of light as she was pulled back through the darkness.[/size]<br />She found herself being drawn out of the eyes of the boy on the sidewalk. His expression was that of the one she left. He was peaceful and the slight smile in his eyes and on his lips told her that something had been done.<br /><br />Finally she could speak, “Who were those children?”<br /><br />The boy answered with a soft, smokey voice, “The children? They are called innocence.”<br /><br />She was bewildered, she asked another question, “Who were all the people in the crowd?”<br /><br />He replied gently, “they are called indifference”.<br /><br />She sat back on her hip on the sidewalk. She took a good look at the little boy who was probably about ten. His hair was like brillo and black. She wanted to touch his hair, but she kept her hands in her lap. He must have sensed her because a small smile lit up his face. She thought he was beautiful.<br /><br />She asked him one more question . . . “Who was the man in the lights on the platform? The one helping the children?”<br /><br />The smile on the boy’s face slowly faded and his eyes seemed to grow in size and depth. A look of sadness mixed with premonition took over.<br /><br />“The one you saw helping the children? Well, he is called Hope.”<br /><br />“Oh”, she whispered. <br /><br />She looked down at the sidewalk. She wondered how she would help the children she saw in the little boy’s eyes. She felt his little hand on hers. She looked up at him and was met by a look of understanding.<br /><br />“You are called empathy” he said to her. “When you seek others like you and you gather with them, then all of you shall be called witness.”<br /><br />He leaned toward her, “When all of you witness, Hope will again be present among them. Hope can be delivered through each of you just by telling his story.”<br /><br />She smiled. She wanted to kiss his cheek but was afraid. She didn’t want to scare him off. She saw him smile which made innocence take over his eyes. He looked at her, he kissed the palm of his own hand, then placed it gently on her cheek.<br /><br />“In your zeal to help Hope, don’t forget what Hope was for. They can’t receive Love through indifference . . . it has to come through Hope. Empathy gives birth to Hope.”<br /><br />The little boy stood up, looking down at her still sitting on the sidewalk. She saw the face of Hope before it had been abused. He smiled and as he turned to walk away, she said, “Wait! Can I ask you one more question?”<br /><br />He turned and stopped. His face said he already knew what she would ask. “How do I receive Love through Hope?”<br /><br />He looked down for a minute, then back up at her. “Witness”, he said, “With Love[/size]”.
<br /><br />“[size=10pt]This has been going on for a very long time,” concurs former “Little House on the Prairie” star Alison Arngrim. “It was the gossip back in the ‘80s. People said, ‘Oh yeah, the Coreys, everyone’s had them.’ People talked about it like it was not a big deal. <br />“I literally heard that they were ‘passed around,’” Arngrim said. “The word was that they were given drugs and being used for sex. It was awful – these were kids, they weren’t 18 yet. There were all sorts of stories about everyone from their, quote, ‘set guardians’ on down that these two had been sexually abused and were totally being corrupted in every possible way.”<br /><br />“People don’t want to talk about this because they’re afraid for their careers,” says Peterson. “From my perspective, what Corey did was pretty brave. It would be really wonderful if his allegations reached through all of the protective layers and identified the real people who are a part of a worldwide child pornography ring, because it’s huge and it respects no borders, just as it does not respect the age of the children involved.” Fox News<br />http://www.foxnews.com/entertainment/2011/12/05/recent-charges-sexual-abuse-children-in-hollywood-just-tip-iceberg-experts-say/#ixzz1foATuKTf[/size]
<br /><br />[size=10pt]“We covered MK Ultra and the birth of Hollywood as a tool for mass mind control. We’ve spoken of Bryce Taylor’s book “Thanks for the Memories” which describes her life as a mind control slave working for the CIA to gather information, plant information, and set up targets for blackmail. She began as a child and was both the victim and a witness to child sexual and physical abuse and psychological abuse.<br /><br />In her book she describes Bob Hope as being one of her “owners”. Reading her account of remembering certain events in her childhood, one of them was the description of sitting in a Limo outside an event that Bob Hope attended. With the door to the vehicle open, she overheard Hope and Elizabeth Taylor discussing her, outside the limo. She writes that Liz Taylor looked past Hope into the limo at her, then looked at Bob Hope and said “you couldn’t even find one with breasts? She looks like a child!”<br /><br />This is where this gets hard (as if it isn’t already). Bryce Taylor then describes a VERY YOUNG Michael Jackson and his brothers being sponsored by Bob Hope (who in her book describes Taylor’s familiarity with Hope’s slaves.) She states at the time that Michael was only four or five, which would match up with some of Michael’s interview’s where he said he actually started working at age five or six, not the age of eleven where he became famous.[/size]<br /><br />[size=12pt]]“Michael Jackson was just a little boy of four or five when I accompanied Bob Hope to a place where they were filming up-and- coming talent for television. Bob told me he supported and sponsored the Jackson’s, getting them a professional foot in the door. Their father brought the boys in and I remembered seeing them taken into a side room where bright lights were on.<br /><br />They all had to drop their pants and bend over before their performance a big man raped each one of them in a lineup. Then they were taken to a different room and dressed in little suits and sent onto the stage to perform. Due to the mind control I was under, I’m not sure exactly where we were, but feel that it was the early days of the Ed Sullivan Show. I watched as Bob, dressed in a grey pinstripe suit and bow tie, with white shoes, shook hands with Ed; and then the Jackson boys went on. They were made into a sensation and famous, on purpose, so that they could be used in the future to influence large audiences.” <br /><br />She continues in her book, “Bob was often the connection for new entertainment. The Council used his connections for their own interest and got ‘key’ entertainers in place for future use. Many were robots like me. I saw many of them get hurt. I never saw Bob get hurt though.<br />The Jacksons were hurt; I was witness to their abuse. That first time when they performed, Bob got them onto the show and then we left in the limo and watched from the television inside. He told the driver to drive around until the show was over. Then Bob told me, “See how easy it is to be a star?” [/size] <br /><br />[size=10pt]I think most would agree that the inherent love that is part of Michael Jackson’s soul essence shines through for the world to see. In spite of the programming themes in some of the songs he sings, as I was recovering I often held onto the words he sang, the lyrics reminding me, “You are not alone,” when I felt so very alone.<br /><br />To Michael, I extend a hand and say you also are not alone. Now there is a way out of this insanity…” Source – “Thanks For the Memories” by Bryce Taylor, Chapter 26, pgs 238-239[/size].
[size=10pt]Jermaine Controversy Over 2001 Book Proposal <br /><br />Here is another piece of information that matches this. Earlier this year, Jermaine was challenged by an unnamed journalist about a manuscript Jermaine defended that never existed, or at least, the SUBJECTS publicized did not exist.<br />The SUBJECT MATTER was a portion of this book that was publicized, claiming that Jermaine said he saw his father take his brother Michael into these meeting rooms with important looking business men. In this “leaked” excerpt, Jermaine allegedly stated that he did not know what happened in there but that Michael was sick for days afterward.<br />Jermaine went after Stacy Brown who is the one who proliferated the story all over the internet and the press, but now there is a problem. Because how well does Stacy Brown know Bryce Taylor? How do all these roads traveled by different people keep ending up in the same place?<br /><br />“Speaking on US TV show LARRY KING LIVE, the 51-year-old dismissed stories published in the New York Daily News in which the publication claimed to have an eight-page synopsis dating from 2003 for his unpublished book LEGACY: SURVIVING THE BEST AND THE WORST. Jermaine told host King the alleged manuscript, which contained numerous revelations about Michael, was faked by the book's co-author STACY BROWN and that he is considering legal action. However, Brown has warned Jermaine that he has his confessions on tape and that he took is consulting his lawyer. He says, "He'd be crying, spilling his guts, pouring his heart out for hours on end. I thought, 'Man, this is really deep.' "I've got Jermaine on tape, and the tapes are being turned over to attorney MEL SACHS.” Source <br /><br />I believe Jermaine did not write this. But SOMEBODY that knows what happened did. SOMEBODY is covering something up and while Jermaine may know for a fact if Stacy Brown is a liar, can he also say that Bryce Taylor is one?<br />Bryce Taylor is exposing what our government is doing. Jermaine did the same thing on Saudi T.V. They’re on the same side.[/[/size]quote]<br /><br />[size=10pt]Remember what Conrad Murray said in his documentary? He was telling about the horrible, horrible things Joe did to Michael, even much worse then we already knew about. That it would shake the earth? And what about what Michael told about himself in his lyrics? I'm scared and I'm afraid but if you think about it, think about what Michael told Schmuley about the horrible things he'd seen and he just couldn't understand it. If you think about all those things, could this be true? To expose [/size] [size=18pt]the worldwide pedophilia ring[/size]?????<br /><br /><br />
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