Alright…last one. This is part four of the reasons why we need to abolish this fear of being called “judgemental” in 2024. Because all it’s doing is silencing those who should be speaking up, while enabling those who need to hear the Truth.
In this thrilling conclusion, I’m going to explain why you shouldn’t be afraid or look down on the Christians who YOU THINK are holier than thou. These might be the very same people who have a hand in saving your life.
Sure, some can be annoying. Some people don’t know the meaning of discretion, time and place. And when you really do love your sinful behavior, when you just want to relax, take it easy and not care about how God feels about every little thing…these Christians can be infuriating. I get it. So, let’s talk about it.
Here, we sit down for a candid interview with the Author of a provocative action thriller called “The Perennial War of Paramours”.
Based in the Tampa Bay Area, Rock Kitaro reveals his inspiration for the story, how the culture of 2017 shaped his ideas, and a little bit about his background as author. It was really interesting to see how he started out as a Screenwriter and carried what he learned in the film industry over to the Publishing industry. Check him out!
Last week, I flew to Colorado to attend my cousin’s graduation. With God on our side, it was definitely one for the books. And honestly…just what I needed.
Ever since she was a baby, my little cousin Allyssa has always been one of the most cherished persons in my life. Sometimes, I don’t even like to refer to her as my “cousin” because she’s something much more.
Recently, Jason Whitlock received a letter from a woman where she criticized him for talking about the problems in the Black Community, but not coming up with solutions. So, I had to get some thoughts down. Because I don’t believe for one second that she’s actually looking for solutions. She’s looking to shame Jason into silence so wickedness can continue.
What I’m going to say is going to sound shameful by today’s standards. People will think that I’m an awful person or I’m a self-hating Black. But I’ve been holding it in for a long time. So here goes.
I’m not a fan of today’s Black Culture…and by Black Culture, I’m talking about the stereotypes, the mainstream lifestyles, behaviors, and mindsets promoted by today’s black entertainers and cultural leaders.
When I heard the lady’s criticism of Jason Whitlock, I literally stopped everything while getting ready for work to record a video about it. I had to.
Kevin Samuels used to say, “Y’all want a Boaz, but y’all not Ruth!” After reading the Book of Ruth for the 3rd time and taking the criticism into consideration, I had some thoughts here.
Points Discussed:
What Happens when People Do What’s Good in their Own Eyes
The Levite’s Concubine (Gibeah’s Crime) and how Women were Treated
Boaz as a Role Model for Men
Ruth as a Role Model for Women
Marriage and Divorce
A Biblical High-Value Man
Ruth MADE THE FIRST MOVE!
As always, I encourage everyone to read the Bible for themselves. Don’t just rely on the pastor or what someone told you the Bible says. Go to the source. Read it for yourself. Use your own mind to make conclusions about what you believe. God bless!
For those who don’t know, I’m Rock Kitaro (Tennie) an author, essayist and a good-natured provoker of thoughts. I’m the unpopular opinion, currently publishing essays at StageInTheSky.com.
This was from my first live stream. It started out as me just testing the studio equipment…but rolled into a beautiful sermon of sorts. I honestly felt the Holy Spirit wash over me with this one. None of it was planned. None of it was written out. I usually mess up my words, which is why I edit them in videos of my essays, but for this Live Stream…it was incredible. I had to be careful because it’s the first time I spoke my honest thoughts about subjects that could get me in trouble while showing my actual face speaking the words. But that just goes to speak of how wicked this world has become…when saying the right thing, doing the right thing, and doing what’s good in God’s eyes can get you fired.
Topics Discussed:
Going all-in in Christianity
Do Christians Today Know what Christ Taught?
How I went from Rejecting Religion to Reading the Entire Bible
How the World’s Ideologies (Feminism, Leftism) Conflicts with Bible Principles
Strong and Independent, Trying to Find a Wife
Attacking Popular Movements (BelieveAllWomen, Submission)
I’d Rather Get Something Done than Hang Out with Friends
Allow me to begin by saying, as a Christian, I believe the Gospels should be taught with love and kindness. Not guilt, ridicule, or a confrontation.
What prompted me to write this essay is to conclude an internal conflict regarding faith. A new challenger has emerged. An Atheist. During a recent debate (argument) on my boss’s radio show, she challenged me to learn more about the views of Sam Harris and Christopher Hitchens in order to understand why Atheists don’t believe in God.
She said, “I’ll read something of the Bible that you suggest, if you check out a video by one of these Atheists.”
My boss egged her on and encouraged me to accept the challenge. The thing is…while she openly admitted that she knew very little about the Bible or what it meant to be a Christian, I actually have been through my Atheist Phase. I already knew a lot about Atheism. Allow me to explain…
Here, we’re introduced to the prestigious King Mark of Tintagel. Morgan interrupts his annual conference, begging the king to send an emissary north to rescue Gawain. While King Mark is sympathetic, there’s one person who stands in Morgan’s way.
23-year-old Tristan is the Champion of Cornwall, the strongest fighter in the kingdom and an unspoken big brother to the youngsters. In Tristan’s own words, “I’ll not risk the lives of my men based on the whims of a mistempered brat playing at alchemy!”
Of course, Tristan should have known better. As if Morgan’s about to accept “no” for an answer.
Chapter 2 – The Lion of Dumnonia by Rock Kitaro
“Aria” by Susumu Hirasawa –
“YOU, SIR, ARE A COWARD!”
“I DARE YOU TO SAY THAT AGAIN!”
“EVERYONE SIT DOWN! NOW!”
“YOU CAN’T REASON WITH THESE MEN! THEY’RE NO BETTER THAN ANTS WITHOUT A CAUSE!”
“I GOT YOUR CAUSE!”
“ENOUGH!!!”
All class and decorum went out the window hours ago. Spit flew from beards and bugling eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their skulls. Ambassadors from over thirty volatile kingdoms had convened at Tintagel Castle. It was the final week of August. For eight years, this “Council of Gold Clovers” congregated in an annual attempt to resolve differences with diplomacy. With the honorable King Mark presiding, the initiative was supposed to spark hope for a greater future.
However, as of late, the council had turned into nothing less than a competition of who could talk the loudest. Empty words and false promises were passed out like playing cards in a pub. Their resolutions were always unrealistic and there was a running joke that the only reason why people kept coming back was to gorge themselves on the food.
The throne room was large enough to shelter an army of 2,000, yet for some reason it felt congested. Over 150 disgruntled knights, barons, and chancellors had broken from their assigned tables and were now separated in conspiring huddles as if anarchy was in the works.
The day started with everyone dressed in their second-best suits, but by noon, they all looked like sweaty peasants from having stripped off their outer garments. Collars and capes of all colors were discarded like dismantled decorations. Spilt wine lined cracks of the floor. Daggers were driven through tables. It was as if a tornado had ripped through the room and the look on King Mark’s face was priceless.
Mark, the King of Tintagel, just sat there on his gold throne with his head held up by his fists. The black banners hanging above his dais displayed the sigil of fifteen gold coins in an upside-down triangle.
Four knights in full metal armor stood behind the king with their hands resting on the pommel of massive swords. Sixteen servants waited in the wings, ready to tend to the king’s every need. Unfortunately, what the king really needed was some sense of civility, not these animals looking to exert their dominance.
In spite of his position and the veneration bestowed upon him, King Mark’s appearance was far from impressive. He was nearing fifty, shorter than most with a potbelly, bristly hair, and a thick black beard that concealed whether he was smiling or not. Perhaps King Mark’s most endearing feature was his sympathetic gray eyes. He was relatively soft-spoken and hardly yelled, even on the battlefield.
To his left was an empty chair reserved for his wife. However, the queen passed away decades ago and King Mark had yet to remarry. The chair to his right was occupied by the Lord Chamberlain, Sir Cador, a no-nonsense taskmaster. Cador was also Duchess Igraine’s cousin by blood and a strict but doting father to the sixteen-year-old Constantine.
The bickering was unbecoming but everyone knew the topic of discussion would produce such reactions. The main grievance on the tip of everyone’s tongue was the ceaseless terror by the Hibernians.
Unlike Britannia, which was fractious and split with a myriad of formidable warlords, Hibernia was a singular powerhouse of unified clans just beyond the Celtic Sea. It was home to some of the deadliest warriors the world has ever seen. She was a seafaring nation, ruled by a matriarch whose fame and reputation was almost revered and worshiped as the pharaohs of old.
Her name was Iseult, Queen of Hibernia. She benefited from the division and strife amongst the British, fighting for the kingdoms that paid the most. In her web of lies, Iseult orchestrated a number of political murders and framed rival generals, effectively pitting them against each other like pawns on a chessboard. The blood money was steady revenue that made Queen Iseult one of the wealthiest women in the world. She’d promise loyalty and discretion but at heart, the Hibernians were loyal only to Hibernia.
During Iseult’s near thirty-year reign, Cornwall has remained Hibernia’s main rival. Back in the day, King Mark had some powerful allies on his side. Big names like High King Uther, Duke Gorlois, King Leodegrance and even the sorcerer Merlin. But due to a series of unfortunate events, Duke Gorlois was murdered, Uther died, Merlin parted ways, and Leodegrance had to defend own kingdom against legions from an usurping King Vortigern.
Hoping to capitalize on the chaos, Queen Iseult launched a massive siege upon Tintagel Castle. King Mark prevailed in his defense but it cost him dearly. Two thirds of his army was devastated and thousands of villagers loss their homes in the crossfire.
That was nearly sixteen years ago. Queen Iseult’s hatred never faded. Systematically, she’d send hunters across the sea to kidnap sons and daughters from indiscriminate villages. They were brought back to Hibernia and forced to slave labor.
Bereaved parents fell to their hands and knees begging the courts to do something, anything to bring back their children. It was a reoccurring nightmare. To date, all sixteen rescue attempts were crushed at sea. The one vessel that managed to reach Hibernia’s shores fell prey to a massacre that was so barbaric it was omitted from the scrolls.
Thus, the Council of Gold Clovers debated. They argued. They pointed fingers and accused one another of cowardice.
“Are your knights not brave enough?”
“Where’s your courage?”
“Where were you when my daughter was swept off in the night!?”
“Insolent cur!”
“Arrogant knave!”
“I dare you to say that again!”
“You sir, have no class!”
“To hell with you and your antiquated, highborn sensibilities!”
“Let’s see your tongue wag after I’ve split it with my ax!”
“I have five arrows thirsting for your blood!”
“Then draw!”
“Don’t tempt me!”
“LET’S HAVE IT!”
It was all the same with no end in sight. Duke Guinea slammed his fist on the table every time he felt someone was “missing the point.” The loud bang caused Sir Cador’s shoulders to jerk forward like a pit bull on a leash. King Mark would notice and smirk. The mild amusement was about the only perk King Mark derived from the meetings.
An unexpected knock began to crawl over the overlapping conversations. Initially, no one heard it but its persistence began to annoy the competing speakers. The double doors croaked open.
To the king, Morgan was a sight for sore eyes. As soon as he spotted her in that cotton pink dress he was immediately filled with joy. The cluster of old men glowered down at her as she weaved her way to the throne. She wanted to present herself as a young lady should, humble and modest. But no matter what, she couldn’t stop herself grimacing at the nauseating stench of wine and sweat.
Morgan le Fay has a vision. In the middle of a storm, she sees Gawain shackled and bound aboard a slave ship. At last, he’s coming back to Britannia. It’s been four years since she lost him and now she wants him back. But what can a teenage brat known for her mischief do? Who will believe her after all the craps she’s pulled in the past?
PVRIS – Chandelier (Sia Cover)
Chapter 1 – The Vision By Rock Kitaro
“It feels like I’m sinking. There’s a swarm of bees in my stomach. The trickle in my ear is nauseating and for some reason these stupid flashes of light blur the lines every time I come close to making something out. Honestly… It’s all beginning to get very aggravating.”
…
A tempest unleashed hell over the vast turbulent seas. It should have been pitch black, but blinding cracks of lightning stretched as veins for miles. Gale force winds howled like demented ghosts over the abyss. Stone-black waves with white crests moved like snowcapped mountains swaying in restless aim. Torrential rains made visibility poor and the dark clouds appeared to be getting closer and closer as if to smother the earth in her sleep.
It was madness to be caught in such hazard, and yet, there! Cruising down the valley of two massive waves was a single frigate carrying the fate of over seventy souls.
A brave crew of twelve wrestled with the riggings. A bearded captain and his second-mate manned the rudder from the wheel deck. They were approaching the Isle of Man, a massive iceberg of an island responsible for more shipwrecks than serpents or sorcery. Navigating through the veils of heavy rain in the middle of the night should have been next to impossible. Yet, there they were.
Prayers whispered below deck as teeth rattled and toes curled. Deafening blasts of thunder kept everyone wide awake. No one wanted to be asleep should the ship capsize or ram against any number of protruding rocks that breached the surface like siege defenses. Falling overboard or being swept out to sea spelled instant death. It didn’t matter if they held hands or clung to floating chunks of wood. In this deluge, drowning was inevitable.
There was royalty on board, a princess accompanied by three of her maidens. Oddly enough, while the maidens trembled with trepidation, the princess remained poised with a hardened sense of determination. She wasn’t about to let herself drown. Even if the ship did sink, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that she’d find some way to survive. It’d make for a good story and maybe even convince her people that she was more than just some dainty little girl.
Out in the main hold, disgruntled soldiers with broad shoulders and thick beards sat with their backs against the wall. They spat and grumbled all sorts of blasphemies, begging for the worst to be over. Cold water leaked through the cracks, extinguishing all hopes of lighting fires. It was so dark that they could barely see the hands before their eyes. Tormented horses neighed as they struggled to break free. Someone needed to calm them down but no one was willing to risk getting crushed.
And there, past the horses, past the sacks of grain, and gold, and shields, and armor…was a single slave, shackled and chained upside down to the ceiling as if he posed a formidable threat to his masters. Every time the ship jerked, his shoulders would bang against the wooden hull, causing him to wince with intense pain but he never screamed. Nor did he cry out for mercy or ask for help. He was so young, but strong and full of pride that he kept buried deep down inside.
This young slave was dressed like a soldier but marked by a patch of mustard brushed across the chest of his tunic. After slamming against the hull once more, the slave finally opened his eyes. His long hair was brown and curly like that of a Saxon. His skin was olive as if he hailed from the Italian peninsula but those eyes… In his eyes she saw a myriad of herbal hues, mostly jade with a burst of auburn.
Water dripped to his face but the young man didn’t blink. He peered through the cracks, slowly hypnotized by rolling clouds that made it seem as if the ship was already submerged. Lightning struck. He saw it and immediately felt the boom of thunder rattling his core, detonating a migraine he tried so desperately to shake.
It was then that hopelessness crept in. Whatever dignity or confidence once engrained in this young man had deteriorated to the point that he could only think of one thing, one person, a single source of bliss that carried him far away from the pain and sadness. As his jaw slacked and the cool air tickled his parched throat, the young man whispered.
Stage In The Sky 