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At age five, 1954, "the Bishop" (Card. Stritch) stood over me and said, "Stop babbling about what Father Horne did to you." It took me 40 years to talk about it again. Now, I babble. - ke
**********The City of Angels is Everywhere*********
in 2009 our ongoing coverage of the pedophile epidemic in the Catholic Church will be at City fAngels5. in 2010 at CityofAngels8

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Follow-up: A church is just a building. Stained glass is just a way to play with light. From burlesque to Mass it is all just entertainment...

Here is Mabel from the planet Oblique - infiltrating one of these so called church places by becoming a member of the choir.

She says, I am Kay and only whispers Oblique, come to observe your spiritual ceremony and oh I get it, it is all a show. That explains how you can say the priests are celibate, when they are really banging altar boys backstage.

From burlesque to High Mass it has all been nothing but entertainment, really. And towards the end they pass the hat.

Not that there’s anything wrong with these Sunday shows. I am Kay from the planet Oblique come to watch you do church. Coming in the backdoor almost. Been so caught up in stories about children being raped by priests, and all the ceremonies that went with it, I have been denying myself this experience.

And It is All a Show. An entertaining one at that.

What finally got me back into a church was standing in the front, on the “altar” which is, when you get down to it, really just a stage.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Something wonderful happens when people pray together and sing praise songs. Why not find a way to do that and be theatrical at the same time. People have a show to come to every week, and towards the end we pass the hat. It’s theater. When you get down to it, the ceremony on Sunday in a church, from a Mass to snake handling, it is theater.

The basest of all theater where you pass a hat. I loved it being in the choir. I was talking to them, not passively letting them talk to me.

But being from the planet Oblique I scanned the crowd for fellow travelers. Maybe someone read the blog and would come up after to talk? Go for coffee? No. I don't know where the “survivor community” went in LA, it’s hard to believe 500 plus people just got settlements - what happened to the cross? No one seems to care. Where did everybody go?

Being up on the altar, it was me, I have something to say to you, not me, okay I will listen.

Then the Presbyterian preacher started talking. Apparently with Presbyterians a long sermon is a major part of the ceremony.

You know what?

I’d rather be singing.

The Mass, the songs, it is all a performance.

The ones who do it better have bigger churches. Like those who produce big movies get big studios.

So for those wondering how it went today, it was a release. Entering the church from behind the altar, being on the altar facing the pews - I wanted it to change my perspective and it may have. I'm going back next Sunday because at this church the 11:00 o'clock service has no ceremony to it at all. Instead people who are performers and Christians locally get up and sing, it’s mostly singing together, performances

except for that long sermon.

We could start a group there and call it Damaged Catholics. I think they would give us a room at Hollywood Pres.

I wish someone would have shown up today.

I'm getting frustrated with this population of people, pedophile priest rape survivors. I keep holding long conversations with people, and they know I am a journalist, and then after telling me their whole story, they say, oh but don’t write anything about me. It’s especially exasperating if the interviewee knows I'm not just another survivor but a journalist who is taking busy notes, actually working quite hard, the whole time the story is coming out of the person’s mouth, and then after all that you say, oh but don’t write about me.

If I call you and say tell me your story and I'm asking you how do you spell that again, etcetera and say to you, I'm writing this down - it’s on the record. When you are talking to me, the story IS going to end up here.

IT HELPS EVERYONE when you tell your story…publicize it. Put it in print and Video if you can and post it on YouTube.

What makes our stories significant is the similarities, the areas where we can point out patterns that prove collusion on the part of the bishops, communication across state lines. One of the reasons I keep trying to put people’s stories up is to in the end prove the organized crime element of what happened to us.

But people in this population keep disappearing. A survivor will emerge, say a few words, speak at a conference, and then suddenly be afraid to tell their story anymore. So of course that means never returning a phone call from me again.

So I am Mabel from the Planet Oblique, wondering if any of my fellow infiltrators on Earth will ever contact me.

It’s happened over and over again since I’ve been producing this blog. People appear in my life, become intimate even deep inside me, as we share our stories, and then two days or two weeks later, they have disappeared.

I am paranoid enough to think someone calls them after we talk and tells them not to talk to me again. There is almost no other explanation for it.

This pattern keeps happening over and over again.

Keeping silent plays into the hands of the priest bishop felons. They don’t want you to talk at all. They are the ones who don’t want these stories to come out.

Meanwhile I'm back to work, 50 percent pretty much since our mini recession started. Have to put in eight hours between now and tomorrow morning on “Make Me A Supermodel” season 2.

Girl’s gotta make a living…

So please put a high five or higher on the PayPal button as I need to raise $200 to buy a new camera. My old one got fried in the last heat wave.


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