When dreams turns to dust
Written By Alex Foster
I must admit, I was quite surprised by all the messages and comments I received after the "Who Cares" first edition... I wasn't expecting such reactions… I knew you would've appreciated the blog… but honestly, I wasn't ready for anything close to such response… all those testimonies, all that support and all that trust coming at the same time… I was overwhelmed… I tried to answer the best I could to everybody even if I was broken and powerless by the magnificence and revolting meaning of your words… even if I was filled with anger and violence by so much melancholy and forgiveness… I went through a lot of different emotions… answering the questions on Little Sister itself was quite difficult for me, I didn't want to cheat on her or to cope her out… cause the reality was all about seeing those memories emerging in an overflow of pain, shame and suffering… hitting harder question after question… let's say the interview wasn't packaged in order to portrait me as a freakin' hero or to build any type of easy sympathy around me… I hated every second of if… I hated every question… I hated every time I had to elaborate my answer, to explain my feelings, to expose my hurtful wounds, my bruised spirit… I'm more of an introspective type of guy you know and I'm living with major issues from my past on a daily basis… and that's probably why it's been so difficult to deal with the interview… I thought I was way past that… I was wrong… I thought I would be able to easily deal those pieces of souvenirs… I fooled myself… I thought that speaking wouldn't resurrect all those images I worked so hard to hide deep into my soul… I was deceived… and I don't wanna sound romantically faithless or anything… just can't stand any type of flaky compassion and inconsequent empathy… taste like religion to me… empty, cold and repulsive… cause I'm no different than all the friends who courageously wrote me about their past… and you know… you guys are the reason I'm writing the "Little Sister Part. II" tonight… I had to admire your boldness… had to expose my life in order to honor your trust… had to be as brave as you've been to face your anguish and distress… had to dig as deep as you've done in order to subdue your personal demons and let downs… your words were violence to my sorrows… your hope was healing to my grief… your strength was a lifter to my mourning spirit…
In fact, after I read all your messages and had a conversation with the rest of band, I decided to share with you my own experience… to open the longtime locked door to a part of my life that even my own folks are not aware of… the day I died inside… the day I've seen the world for what it is… the day my dreams turned to dust… the day I lost faith in God and righteousness… I was 8 years old… sleeping over at my aunt's for the week end… was being babysat by a 16 years old teenager living in the same building… and while my aunt was out shopping… the life I knew… already black eyed by my father's alcoholism and my mom's depressions… suddenly make place to the world of anger and violence that I still have to fight to this day… all filled in those endless hours of pure evil, aggressively constraint to do sordid things I wasn't even understanding… brutally forced to endure the agony of satisfying, what was a man to my children eyes, with every part of my bleeding body… to humiliatingly had to repeat and repeat and repeat the same actions while smelling the reluctant transpiration melt with cheap cologne… to hear the moaning of a beast slaughtering my innocence… I remember every single seconds of it… I remember every single word I begged for him to stop… remember every single prayer I did for God to intervene… remember every how many times I was sick and how many times I was hit… it lasted the whole week end… my aunt's apartment… his parents' apartment… the lockers… every single place was synonymous of fear, shame, guilt and agony… I died ten thousand times over that week end… physically abused, emotionally damaged, spiritually crucified to a cross I wasn't supposed to bear… my dad picked me up after the week end… too scared to talk… too ashamed to feel… too disillusioned to believe it might change anything… I decided that it was preferable to secretly carry those stains than openly exposed my faithless heart to any strangers designated to help…
I grew up… body without a soul… filled with anger towards life… filled with frustration towards others… filled with anger and rage against myself… I fed was lasted of my existence with violence and hatred… from the joyful kid I was before to the withdrawn, passive and socially disordered kid I became… I've never been able to close my eyes without seeing that young man's face looking at me… and from a young teenager without a dream, I became one of the most dangerous and determinate leader of a national Neo-Nazi organization… spent 5 years, from 13 to 18 years old, to auto mutilate my life with such a passion, that even my so-called friends were scared of me… I wasn't able to wash myself with soap cause it was the souvenir of that young man cleaning his mess on my body… I wasn't able to fully experiment love… never let anybody look at me without an aggressive answer, I never trusted anybody and I never gave any importance to life… every time I was cruelly hitting on somebody or seeing somebody's being brutally hit, I was 8 years old again… destroying my aggressor and erasing my past… those moment of ecstatic freedom never latest long… and I was more violent after every single glimpse of peace and freedom with my past… I attempted on my life at 16 to gamble with God… and survived a few killing attempted on my life between 16 and 18 years old… God's got a strange sense of humor… right… and after admitting my wasted condition I slowly started to put my life back together at 18… helped by my newly sober dad and by an American private English teacher… 2 men I owe everything I am today…
It might sound weird… cause I do feel weird as I'm writing… it's kinda like throwing a bottle in the ocean… quite wondering if I wrote the message to be found or to keep my hope alive… to be honest… I'm not quite sure… I deleted more words than I kept… cause you know, even if I'm aware of the consequences of that blog on the youngest readers, if I'm well aware of all the pain it might resurrect from abused friends, if I'm conscious of the emotional tide it might create, if I've warned about the career suicide it might be for me and the band… I truly believe I had to do it… not to be seen as a role model or some other fake jesus preaching to his generation… I don't have those pretentions… far from me… in reality… I wrote that blog to honor every single friend that took the time to send me hurtful souvenirs… painful memories… pieces of sorrows… but most importantly for every glances of hope they offered me over their personal experiences and merciful recoveries… tonight I'm not the frontman of a rock band… I'm a 8 years old kid traumatized by the most brutal aggression a person can ever live… but with the major difference that I'm taking the chance to speak tonight… cause as I was growing up I only had that regret… I should've told my dad right away… I hold up… and my silence caused more damage than being sexually abused… I felt loneliness in the most perverted way… so if you're dealing with any form of abuse… from peers pressure to sexual abuse… take the empowering decision to freakin' speak out… to scream the shit out of your soul… it's giving you the opportunity to grow up with the hope to be healed and allow you to pray for other wasted kids… cause even if I'm still fucked up today… even if I'm still dealing with the consequences of that week end… I understand that answers to prayers are coming at the right time… speak out… it's time to raise our voice louder than pains and sufferings… and thank you for the invitation to join my fragile and desperate voice to your strong and determinate voices… this blog is my answer to your call for inner peace and freedom… thanks… - Alex
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Speak out – Don't be another number
· Children are arguably the most vulnerable members of society, yet the extent of child exploitation across the globe is both startling and overwhelming. While offences such as abuse and prostitution are often easier to quantify, others such as child trafficking are less so due to their clandestine nature. Despite various gaps in reporting, the following is a snapshot of the burgeoning problem of child exploitation around the world.
· The profits generated each year from the child pornography industry range from $2 to $3 billion.
· In excess of 20,000 child pornographic images are posted on the Internet each week; more than half of websites offering child sexual abuse images are located in the United States.
· By 2005, 14 million child Internet users in the U.S. will be solicited, 2.3 million of those aggressively.
· In the U.S., over 300,000 children are forced into prostitution every year, where they are exploited in an organized fashion that extends across state lines.
· According to the United Nations, approximately 1.2 million children are trafficked worldwide each year.
· International Federation Terres des Hommes estimates that 6,000 children between the ages of 12 and 16 are trafficked from Eastern Europe each year, with more than 650 being forced to work as sex slaves in Italy.
· UNICEF reports that one in 12 of the world's children—180 million young people below the age of 18—are involved in the worst forms of child labour, including slavery, forced labour and commercial sexual exploitation.
· According to the National Centre for Missing and Exploited Children in the U.S., one in five girls and one in 10 boys are sexually exploited before they reach adulthood, but less than 35 per cent of those child sexual assaults are reported to authorities.
· From 1998 to April 2004, the National Centre for Missing and Exploited Children's CyberTipline in the U.S. has processed more than 230,000 reports of child exploitation crimes, a large number of which have been referred to law enforcement for investigation.
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St-Valentine's Day
I know Valentine's Day is quite difficult for lonely people… might taste like shit… but there's worst than being alone for that stupid love call scheme and commercial plot to sell crappy cards, cheap chocolates and overprized flowers… it's being unable to believe you're worth more than you feel… to dream you're looking like somebody else for the sake of pleasing a team of degenerate marketers deciding what's beauty and sexy are about… to live free from anybody's dictating if you're hot-hype-cool enough to be accepted for who you are… so let's screw Valentine's Day… what about affirming our affection and appreciation to our love ones on a daily basis… we don't need a freakin' calendar in order to spread or love around… and believe me… flowers will be cheaper in a few days… lol… don't get fooled… Valentine's Day is nothing but shit… and believe me… you worth more… even if I probably told you that you were "the shit" before… well… you know what I mean… right… lol…
Little sister
Thanks for everyone who asked me about the "Little Sister" lyrics and for your kind words… I curiously felt understood… even if it was a really personal story… so thanks a million…
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LITTLE SCHIZOPHRENIC SISTER
Dressed with invisible pearls and lighted colors
She's a broken flower in a huge wounded body
Travelling for years to find some place to stay
She loses herself in someone else's, someone else's tragedy
Spinning round like a gypsy fallen queen
Schizophrenic shinning secretly
For the man who gently say
How wonderful she used to be
Tell me little sister, is it warm and safe in there
Your face is like winter and your eyes seem so dry
Any words to fill the blanks, speak out little sister
Are you waiting for me somewhere deep inside?
Standing on a corner, she's trying sometimes
To touch my world, to reach my side of the wire
Walking the whole universe to cross the line
Spinning round like a gypsy fallen queen
Schizophrenic shinning secretly
For the man who gently say
How wonderful she used to be
Tell me little sister, is it warm and safe in there
Your face is like winter and your eyes seem so dry
Any words to fill the blanks, speak out little sister
Are you waiting for me somewhere deep inside?
Carousel has slowly stopped spinning round
Alice won't be back this time, wonderland's fading
Has she closes the light and drops the bottle down
Wonderland's fading, wonderland's fading
Tell me little sister, is it warm and safe in there
Your face is like winter and your eyes seem so dry
Any words to fill the blanks, speak out little sister
Are you waiting for me somewhere deep inside?