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August 29th  is Michael Jackson’s birthday.





I have never been one of his fans. I don’t listen to his music.

LEAVING NEVERLAND is damning hearsay. Hearsay is always damning.

Over my 72 years I have heard a lot said about myself that  is damning.

Those damning words began when I was six.

I am grateful for them. They made me strong. They taught me to walk alone.

Morality, thou deadly bane,
Thy tens o’ thousands thou hast slain!
Vain is his hope, whase stay an’ trust is
In moral mercy, truth, and justice!

–Robbie Burns.

God willing, 8pm Thursday, August 29. Free.

The Cineforum, 463 Bathurst, Toronto, Canada.

“In 1993, Chandler told a psychiatrist and police that he (Jordan) and Jackson had engaged in sexual acts which included oral sex. Jordan gave detailed description of Jackson’s genitals. The case was settled out of court for a reported amount of US $22 million, but the strain led Jackson to start taking painkillers. Eventually he became addicted to these painkillers.

“Now after Michael’s death Chandler decides to tell the truth. “I never meant to lie and destroy Michael Jackson but my father made me to tell the lies. Now I can’t tell Michael how much I’m sorry and if he will forgive me.”

“Under the influence of a father who told his son to lie that Jackson had touched his genitals, Jordan Chandler subsequently told a psychiatrist and later on the police that he and Jackson had engaged in acts of kissing, masturbation and oral sex, as well as giving a detailed description of what he alleged were Michael’s genitals.

Now for the first time I can’t bare to lie anymore. Michael Jackson  didn’t do anything to me, all was my father’s lies to escape from being poor,” Jordan said.”

My friend Andrew Cecil ordered copies of the court transcripts from the start of Jackson’s trial. After reading the first set he received Andrew said, “He’s innocent.”

A lot of folk got very angry with Andrew who said, “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Needless to say Andrew cleaned up.

Perhaps Andrew will join me.

The madness that is set on destroying Michael Jackson is the same madness that brought down Oscar Wilde.

I don’t know if Michael Jackson was queer.

I do know that if he was that being brought up as a Jehovah’s Witness meant that he grew up seeing himself as someone hated by God.

I know what it feels like to believe we are hated by God.

I also know that despite their name Jehovah’s Witnesses aren’t.

In THE LAST JUDGEMENT those on the left hand of Justice will be told, “You saw me homeless, hungry, thirsty, naked, sick and in prison. You passed me by.”

They ask, “When did we see you homeless, hungry, thirsty, naked, sick or in prison and pass you by?”

They will be told, “What you did to the least you did to me.”

If the Hangman understood those words he would know that in the final Judgement the noose will be around his neck.

The excuse, “I was just doing my job” will not stand before that Judge.

3D Bl-rays of THIS IS IT! are hard to come by and expensive.

I am glad I spent the money.

As I said, I have never been one of Jackson’s fans.

More importantly I have never been a fan of murder by gossip.

Seems a lot of folk are.

William Randolph Hearst said of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, “Roscoe was a friend. I knew he was innocent. However we sold more papers over that scandal than over anything else.”

In short Hearst made a lot of money while Arbuckle, whom he knew was innocent, was utterly destroyed.

That’s the media.

Every actor, every actress, every artist knows that the media is a vampire that feeds off their lives.

From NOTHING SACRED (1937) Dr. Enoch Downer: I’ll tell you briefly what I think of newspaper men. The hand of God, reaching down into the mire, couldn’t elevate one of them to the depths of degradation!


THE JEW SUSS (1940) stirred up hatred in Europe against the Jewish people. It was shown to new members of Hitler’s SS to get them 100% in favour of exterminating the Jews. People watched it without question. They accepted as true what they had seen.

if you think by now we know better LEAVING NEVERLAND shows we don’t.

–Reg Hartt 3/9/2019

A Dedication

To Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
Type: Poem

Expect na, sir, in this narration,
A fleechin, fleth’rin Dedication,
To roose you up, an’ ca’ you guid,
An’ sprung o’ great an’ noble bluid,
Because ye’re surnam’d like His Grace-
Perhaps related to the race:
Then, when I’m tir’d-and sae are ye,
Wi’ mony a fulsome, sinfu’ lie,
Set up a face how I stop short,
For fear your modesty be hurt.This may do-maun do, sir, wi’ them wha
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou;
For me! sae laigh I need na bow,
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough;
And when I downa yoke a naig,
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg;
Sae I shall say-an’ that’s nae flatt’rin-
It’s just sic Poet an’ sic Patron.

The Poet, some guid angel help him,
Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him!
He may do weel for a’ he’s done yet,
But only-he’s no just begun yet.

The Patron (sir, ye maun forgie me;
I winna lie, come what will o’ me),
On ev’ry hand it will allow’d be,
He’s just-nae better than he should be.

I readily and freely grant,
He downa see a poor man want;
What’s no his ain, he winna tak it;
What ance he says, he winna break it;
Ought he can lend he’ll no refus’t,
Till aft his guidness is abus’d;
And rascals whiles that do him wrang,
Ev’n that, he does na mind it lang;
As master, landlord, husband, father,
He does na fail his part in either.

But then, nae thanks to him for a’that;
Nae godly symptom ye can ca’ that;
It’s naething but a milder feature
Of our poor, sinfu’ corrupt nature:
Ye’ll get the best o’ moral works,
‘Mang black Gentoos, and pagan Turks,
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi,
Wha never heard of orthodoxy.
That he’s the poor man’s friend in need,
The gentleman in word and deed,
It’s no thro’ terror of damnation;
It’s just a carnal inclination.

Morality, thou deadly bane,
Thy tens o’ thousands thou hast slain!
Vain is his hope, whase stay an’ trust is
In moral mercy, truth, and justice!

No-stretch a point to catch a plack:
Abuse a brother to his back;
Steal through the winnock frae a whore,
But point the rake that taks the door;
Be to the poor like ony whunstane,
And haud their noses to the grunstane;
Ply ev’ry art o’ legal thieving;
No matter-stick to sound believing.

Learn three-mile pray’rs, an’ half-mile graces,
Wi’ weel-spread looves, an’ lang, wry faces;
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen’d groan,
And damn a’ parties but your own;
I’ll warrant they ye’re nae deceiver,
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer.

O ye wha leave the springs o’ Calvin,
For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin!
Ye sons of Heresy and Error,
Ye’ll some day squeel in quaking terror,
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath.
And in the fire throws the sheath;
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom,
Just frets till Heav’n commission gies him;
While o’er the harp pale Misery moans,
And strikes the ever-deep’ning tones,
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans!

Your pardon, sir, for this digression:
I maist forgat my Dedication;
But when divinity comes ‘cross me,
My readers still are sure to lose me.

So, sir, you see ’twas nae daft vapour;
But I maturely thought it proper,
When a’ my works I did review,
To dedicate them, sir, to you:
Because (ye need na tak it ill),
I thought them something like yoursel’.

Then patronize them wi’ your favor,
And your petitioner shall ever-
I had amaist said, ever pray,
But that’s a word I need na say;
For prayin, I hae little skill o’t,
I’m baith dead-sweer, an’ wretched ill o’t;
But I’se repeat each poor man’s pray’r,
That kens or hears about you, sir-

“May ne’er Misfortune’s gowling bark,
Howl thro’ the dwelling o’ the clerk!
May ne’er his genrous, honest heart,
For that same gen’rous spirit smart!
May Kennedy’s far-honour’d name
Lang beet his hymeneal flame,
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizzen,
Are frae their nuptial labours risen:
Five bonie lasses round their table,
And sev’n braw fellows, stout an’ able,
To serve their king an’ country weel,
By word, or pen, or pointed steel!
May health and peace, with mutual rays,
Shine on the ev’ning o’ his days;
Till his wee, curlie John’s ier-oe,
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow,
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!”

I will not wind a lang conclusion,
With complimentary effusion;
But, whilst your wishes and endeavours
Are blest with Fortune’s smiles and favours,
I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent,
Your much indebted, humble servant.

But if (which Pow’rs above prevent)
That iron-hearted carl, Want,
Attended, in his grim advances,
By sad mistakes, and black mischances,
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him,
Make you as poor a dog as I am,
Your humble servant then no more;
For who would humbly serve the poor?
But, by a poor man’s hopes in Heav’n!
While recollection’s pow’r is giv’n-
If, in the vale of humble life,
The victim sad of fortune’s strife,
I, thro’ the tender-gushing tear,
Should recognise my master dear;
If friendless, low, we meet together,
Then, sir, your hand-my Friend and Brother!

–Robert Burns.



I honestly believe Justin Bieber is one of the strongest human beings on this planet. It takes strength to live when we know that every moment our failings, missteps and stumbles  will be plastered everywhere for all to see. “A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and open new doors.”–James Joyce. Yes, they are. Yes, they do.–Reg Hartt
–Reg Hartt 3/9/2019




The Death Of Virginia Rappe And The Trial Of Fatty Arbuckle


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