GET UP STAND UP STAND UP FOR YOUR RIGHTS!

 I penned the last blog early in the morning, sick as a dog. Hence all the typos etcetera. 

But one day I will edit all this stuff. But at least I got some material out. Material that I find difficult to discuss but I ruminate about constantly.aHowever I believe it to be cathartic to publish it in a public forum online.

I discussed the death of my brother in some detail, but not in total detail. Truthfully I would rather not breach the subject but I deem it necessary. I believe I had to mention finding my brothers body to provide context to my nuclear family, the subsequent death of my mother, my kidnapping and my seven bullshit arrests and four wrongful imprisonments. Oh and let’s not forget being forced to survive on the mean streets of Toronto for ten years. And all the while I was being defrauded of approximately fifteen million dollars in cash and assets.

The aforementioned me being “sick as a dog” started with a tickle in my throat and then sort of a cold. I was at “Erica’s” aka The Veltmeyer Estate. And four or three days I lay in bed feeling like my skin was crawling. It’s a miracle of sorts that I actually blogged. I think the lack of formatting and detail can be forgiven. I will “fix it in the mix” so to speak, to use a recording cliche.

After the third or fourth day in conversation with Erica we discussed my “goose pimple bone” (John Lennon: COLD TURKEY”.)

I realised I was going through withdrawal. So I immediately packed my bag, hailed a cab and speeded home. I hurried downstairs to THE BUBBLE where my medication was kept, shaking and trembling as  the blister pack was handed to me and I sped upstairs to my humble abode and swallowed the wack of pills I hadn’t taken in days.

Funny. In two hours I was right as rain. I no longer had COVID or any other dreadful illness. I was cured, praise Jah, I was healed and I’ve been high on life ever since. Remind me to always stay properly medicated. To me it makes me happy to be alive.

I still haven’t detailed the KIDNAPPING ON YORKVILLE but I will detail it exactly as it happened and exactly how I detailed it to 52 DIVISION MAJOR CRIME UNIT, TORONTO POLICE SERVICES.

This is not what this post is primarily about, I just wanted to foreshadow things and get a few issues off my chest.

When the police charge you, they lay on the charges thick and see which ones stick. So I believe the potential charges involved with the two thugs who pulled me into a stolen green Plymouth’s panel van on Yorkville Avenue, as posh and affluent as it is and is supposed to be… at 6:55PM July 2, 2002… the charges involved (and that occurred) were kidnapping , Armed Robbery, Assault, Forcible Confinement, whatever the Canadian term for Grand Theft Auto and attempted murder.

Police could no doubt figure out more and scarier sounding charges.

Oh and the victim was me, John Paul Young, DOB July 16, 1956.

But I didn’t want to get into that. I wanted to write while I feel good.

This part is written a couple of days later:

After reading the copy I had written above for a change, there is a few points I’d like to make in addition.

About discovering my brothers body: After she jerked my head to see my brother’s corpse And I confirmed it was my brother, she jerked my head away from seeing what was him and HUGGED me. That was so thoughtful and professional and important I will always remember.

My malaise was only partially withdrawal. I also had a really bad cold. Have I should say.

I feel my blog and my YouTube vlog which eventually I will run in sync are going well. They’re really rough at the moment but better I motivate in baby steps rather than laying in bed curled up in a ball. Readership and view results are increasing all the time and I really appreciate the comments.

Sorry for the quality of the screenshot of the Yorkville area where the kidnapping occurred.

(Right on Yorkville Avenue off Yonge Street Toronto). I try to supply context for viewers from other countries unfamiliar with what “Yorkville “ in context to the significance of a kidnapping.

Oh here’s another potential charge “assault with a weapon”.

I need a 27 inch iMac. Vayo Con Dios. JPY.

KIDNAPPED! (Continued)…Yorkville, Toronto

 I come from a family of four. My mother Margaret Isabel Young (nee Peace), my father Dr. Robert Goddard Young, my brother, six years my junior, William Robert Stuart Young nd myself, John Paul Young.

My brother died tragically in July 1996 shortly before my fortieth birthday. For the next six years I was the principal caregiver of my two parents.

I was the one who discovered the body of my “baby” brother in his apartment. I was in shock. The attending police officer “Bart”, said to me at the scene “If you ID your brothers body for the Coroner, you’ll spare your elderly parents from seeing their son on the slab.”

So still in clinical shock, the Coroner, a woman, a very nice woman arrived amongst all the others, arrived. She understood what I didn’t: the psychological impact of identifying a loved ones body, dead town days, bloated, cyanotic and with rigour mortis. A ghoulish vestige of his former self.

So I wasn’t allowed to look at my brothers body until the Coroner chose the appointed time.

when that time came, She held my head with both hands and for a moment, which felt like a nano-second jerked my head towards where my brother lay so that I had no choice but to see his mortal coil. She said: “ Is this your brother?” To which I blurted: “Yes.”.

That’s something I will live with the rest of my life.

So for the next six years, as determined by our former family doctor, JERRY ZADYKO, MD I was the principal caregiver of my elderly parents.

I took me five years to function normally, that is normal for myself. By 2001 things were going great, great as they could be living with the memory of my late brother.

I had reunited CARDBOARD BRAINS into a super group, I did KILLER RATS in Bulgaria with Ron Perlman and it all ended with the premiere of GODS, GAMBLING and LSD in September 2002 at The Isabel Bader Theatre (which one a Genie for best documentary) in Yorkville as part of TIFF. The Toronto international Festival of Festivals. That was the end of that portion of my life and career.

My mother died unexpectedly and preventably, I suppose if I were truthful i could say tragically, the day before her birthday in November 2001. My father had turned into Satan incarnate, obsessed with seizing my mothers estate and all assets, even those which were not legally his.

His sadistic narcissistic abuse knew no bounds. (This post is the absolute short Form, to say the least). By the summer of 2002 just months after my mothers death I couldn’t be in contact with my father. Not for his safety but for my own safety. I had numerous professionals implore me to leave.

So on July 2, 2002 I loaded up my diesel VW Jetta and proceeded to leave for Vancouver.

I told only three people I was leaving. Actor Jason Barbek, writer Christine Wrigglesworth and CARDBOARD BRAINS Executive Producer John Gundy.

(I have to continue this in another post this is too hard on me. And forgive me but at this moment in time I can’t be bothered editing.)

And my thanks to whoever quoted T.S. Eliot in the comments section. Eliot is one of my favourites. Now that I am Sixty six years of age I keep thinking to myself: “I grow old I grow old, shall I wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled? Do I dare eat a peach?” 

Additionally, in the comment section about cut and paste etc. Unfortunately I am still confined to my IPad.