INTRODUCTION & THE PROLOGUE

INTRODUCTION

In the next few months, I shall endeavour to tell my life story as lucidly and succinctly as I can.

My name is Stuart Martyn Bennett. I was born on January 8, 1961. I reckon that this made me born in the year of the bull or cow, if you wish. I think that the profile's automatic Chinese Zodiac search may be a little out. When I was in Japan and even according to paper place mats in Chinese restaurants in Canada, my take is correct. Whatever!

As of Monday, November 27, 2006, I am no longer homeless. I share a small, one-bedroom home with another inopportuned man. I was homeless from about June 8, 2006 to November 26, 2006. I was rendered homeless by circumstances that are ridiculous, cruel, and beyond my control.

I have attempted to spell everyone's name correctly within these pages. Any misspelling of a name does not indicate the innocence of an actual, guilty party, nor does the misspelling of a name signify the guilt of an actual, innocent party.

I have copyrighted the pages and postings on this website.


THE PROLOGUE

I was extremely spiritually minded as a young child. I had an unwavering faith and belief in God. I still have this. As a child, I knew that there were lots of people, who did not believe in God: I did not understand why or how this was possible, though. I was an innocent in many ways.

I believed that God would talk to any believer if the believer had an absolute faith in prayer and in God. I reasoned that God had spoken to many people throughout the Bible and that that type of relationship with God was still possible. As a result of this firm belief of mine, I prayed to God and spoke to God when I needed help and when I wanted to thank Him. I believed that God would answer me directly and verbally and He did. One day when I finally told my mother about God talking to me, she became furious with me and told me that God did not talk to anyone anymore and that He would especially not talk to little boys. This hurt me deeply because I knew that my mother was wrong and I realized that she was not close to God.

Before I turned three years of age, John F. Kennedy was assassinated. To my recollection, my brother and sister were at school and my mother and father were working out in the yard. My father had taken that day off or some time off for some reason. It was an Indian Summer and stayed very warm late into November. I was in the house watching cartoons on TV when a news flash interrupted my show. The video taken by an amateur was played on the TV. I saw the now-famous footage of the American President being shot in the head. On the first playing of this footage, I laughed because I thought that it was a cartoon. On the second playing of the footage, I realized that it was a serious item and I became scared. I even saw part of the back of the president's head be blown off. On the third playing of the footage, I became terrified and I froze as I watched it. When that playing ended, I went and hid behind the armchair. I peeked at the TV from time to time. Then I started to scream for my mother. Both my father and mother came running into the house. Initially, I was accused of having changed the channels. I had not done so. I became angry that the "TV people" had scared me and I voiced my annoyance over my show being pre-empted. My father chastised me for being callous and he sent me to my bedroom: he told me that I was a naughty boy.

As I went to my bedroom, God spoke to me through telepathy and told me that I would die the same way that John F. Kennedy had died, but God told me that I would live again right away. I forgot about this for years.