- Joined
- Jan 6, 2003
- Messages
- 1,634
RainyOcean said:And how exactly is she supposed to manage not making "expressions of pain"?
I read today they -yes you guessed it - do not alllow any pain control drugs either.
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RainyOcean said:And how exactly is she supposed to manage not making "expressions of pain"?
barfing_pumpkin said:I am very proud to admit that I am the only person I know who managed to make a pair of scientologists look at me as though I was some sort of nutter....
Your trick sounds even more fun barfing_pumpkin.
Travolta dance stuns churchgoers
Hollywood star John Travolta wowed guests at a charity ball when he performed an impromptu Grease-style dance with his wife, Kelly Preston.
The usually private actor, famed for his dancing roles in movies such as Saturday Night Fever, leapt from his seat at the event in West Sussex.
Thousands of people packed the Church of Scientology in East Grinstead hoping to see the Pulp Fiction star.
Travolta, 51, took to the stage to dance to soul classic Stand By Me.
[...]
Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/1/hi/e ... 392428.stm
Published: 2005/10/31 11:32:10 GMT
© BBC MMV
HAS CRUISE CONVERTED THE BECKHAMS?
Former SPICE GIRL VICTORIA BECKHAM has fuelled reports she and husband DAVID BECKHAM are converting to Scientology, after she was spotted reading a book from the controversial religion.
The Beckhams struck up an unusual friendship with superstar Scientologist TOM CRUISE last year (04), leading to newspaper reports at the time the MINORITY REPORT heart-throb was grooming them as converts.
During her trip to Los Angeles last week (ends21OCT05), Victoria was photographed leafing through ASSISTS FOR ILLNESSES AND INJURIES, based on the works of Scientology founder L RON HUBBARD.
Victoria also watched a fashion show with Cruise's pregnant fiancee KATIE HOLMES during her trip. The BATMAN BEGINS actress, who converted to Scientology after she began dating Cruise earlier this year (APR05), recommended the book after hearing of the Beckhams' second son ROMEO's recent health problems.
The England soccer ace and the former pop star also hit the headlines last year when they were spotted wearing the red string bracelets favoured by followers of Kabbalah, a mystical offshoot of Judaism favoured by MADONNA, DEMI MOORE and ASHTON KUTCHER.
However, rumours of their interest in Kabbalah were dismissed after it was revealed the Beckhams had worn the strings in a bid to be trendy.
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24/10/2005 13:44
mmm I didn't think about that! good show! ( make a good movie!)I am pretty sure FBI got the organization infiltrated.
This is all a bit rich coming from Patricia Cornwell, bearing in mind her obsessive beliefs about Jack the Ripper (see this post, for example).ruffready said:Author blasts Cruise's beliefs
Best-selling crime writer Patricia Cornwell has attacked Hollywood star Tom Cruise, claiming his Scientology beliefs are "dangerous" and could endanger the lives of impressionable young fans.
The author said she was horrified by Cruise's dismissal of psychiatry and his claim that mental disorders are imaginary and the medication to treat them is an attempt to suppress people.
Writing on her website, Cornwell [said]:. There's going to be some girl or boy who worships this megastar, who decides, 'I'm not going to take my anti-depressants because Tom Cruise said I don't need drugs'."
I don't.Anome_ said:... I mean, I'm no fan of Scientology or Tom Cruise, but I almost feel compelled to take his side.
Almost.
tonyblair11 said:Did anybody see South Park last night?? Tom Cruise would not come oughta
the closet. :lol:
Sympathy For The Devil
Tory Bezazian was a veteran Scientologist who loved going after church critics. Until she met the darkest detractor of all.
New Times Los Angeles/September 27, 2001
By Tony Ortega
Last year, Church of Scientology operatives received an alarming tip: During the upcoming 2000 MTV Movie Awards scheduled for June 8, a short South Park film parodying Battlefield Earth would feature the character Cartman wiping his ass with a copy of L. Ron Hubbard's sacred text, Dianetics. The tip was erroneous. Cartman would actually be wiping his ass with a Scientology personality test.
But agents of the church's shadowy Office of Special Affairs didn't know that. They only knew they had a public relations nightmare on their hands.
Battlefield Earth had already turned out to be a colossal embarrassment for the church. Its star, celebrity Scientologist John Travolta, had denied there was any connection between the movie, which was based on a 1980 science fiction novel by Hubbard, and the controversial religion, which was based on Dianetics, Hubbard's 1950 self-help book. Despite Travolta's denials, however, ordinary Scientologists had anxiously awaited the film, hoping it would improve the image of their founder and his faith. Instead, it was panned as the worst film of 2000 and one of the worst science-fiction films of all time. The New York Times suggested that although it was a bit early to be making such judgments, Battlefield Earth could turn out to be the worst movie of the new century.
The last thing the church needed was more piling on by the acerbic kids of South Park.
So it turned to Burbank resident Tory Bezazian.
Bezazian headed something called the Scientology Parishioners League, a new organization that Office of Special Affairs vice president Janet Weiland had asked volunteers like Bezazian to form for just such emergencies. In the few months the parishioners' league had been operating, Bezazian and her cohorts had followed up on OSA tips by pressuring television networks, radio stations and newspapers to drop negative content about the church.
Bezazian never knew how OSA agents got their information. She only knew that once she was given a tip, the church relied on her to harangue editors and TV producers until the offending material was removed. During Bezazian's short association with the parishioners' league, the organization managed to convince a few editors to pull material. But in general, the group had little effect. Scientology had suffered so much negative press for so many years that Bezazian and her small cadre could do little to stem the tide.
But she tried mightily. Bezazian called MTV's New York office incessantly. She told anyone who would listen that the South Park piece was a form of religious bigotry and if it was shown it would deeply offend her and her co-religionists and cause them great harm.
The show ran anyway. In it, Cartman drops a load in his shorts when Russell Crowe as his Gladiator character Maximus impales Kenny on his sword ("Russell Crowe killed Kenny!"). But before Crowe can do in the rest of the South Park regulars, John Travolta as planet Psychlo meanie Terl arrives in a Battlefield Earth spaceship to save the day (Cartman: "It's John Travolta and the Church of Scientology!"). Travolta's cartoon persona then asks the South Park boys to take personality tests, handing them the familiar sheets of paper which are many future members' first encounter with the church. Travolta then asks Maximus to join Scientology. The gladiator says he'd rather die first, so Travolta vaporizes him. Meanwhile, still burdened by the mess in his drawers, Cartman finds another use for his personality test.
It was another dim moment for Hubbard's beleaguered outfit. But Bezazian felt her lobbying campaign had been successful. She was under the impression that the original piece had called for Cartman to soil Hubbard's book, Scientology's most revered text. Bezazian believed her calls had convinced South Park's creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, to alter the show. (New Times' calls to Stone and Parker were not returned.)
In the parlance of Scientology, Bezazian believed she had a big win. And it motivated her to take on even bigger game. A 30-year veteran of the church, she would also be entrusted by the OSA after her supposed MTV victory to take on the church's most nagging foe: Internet critics.
Mystery Scientology Theater
They came from within: How War of the Worlds anticipated the teachings of L. Ron Hubbard
by Jessica Winter
June 28th, 2005 12:21 PM
The ominous tagline in early trailers for the alien invasion blockbuster War of the Worlds was "They're Already Here"—but any learned Scientologist could have told you that long ago. As you may have heard, WOTW star Tom Cruise is a 20-year veteran of the Church of Scientology, which reportedly teaches that human beings contain clusters of "body thetans," or spirits, of aliens who died 75 million years ago in an intergalactic purge of overpopulated planets by the evil overlord Xenu. In Scientology-speak, these "BTs" adversely influence our thoughts and behavior, and must be "cleared" through "auditing," a form of confessional therapy. For Scientologists (whose Hollywood ranks now include John Travolta, Kirstie Alley, and Nancy Cartwright, the voice of Bart Simpson), battling creatures from space isn't just the stuff of allegorical multiplex spectacle—it's nothing less than the path to self-fulfillment.
War of the Worlds (opens June 29) is hardly Cruise's Battlefield Earth, but Steven Spielberg's film does make one Scientology-friendly tweak to H.G. Wells's 1898 novel of Martian attack (the aliens' war-making infrastructure has been implanted on earth for millions of years), and it's no wonder Cruise chose the movie as his first production to benefit from an on-site Scientology tent. "The volunteer Scientology ministers were there to help the sick and injured," Cruise told Der Spiegel, like a battle-weary soldier extolling the Red Cross; no word on whether the film's agon incited sympathetic revolts of BTs among cast and crew, though we can all cross our fingers that Katie Holmes's resident aliens, unbound by earthling non-disclosure agreements, will one day pen a tell-all book.
If the founding myth of Scientology sounds torn from the yellowed pages of a science fiction pulp, it's because late leader L. Ron Hubbard (1911-86) once plugged away as an SF hack, contributing to journals such as Unknown and Astounding Science Fiction. In 1940, Astounding serialized Hubbard's book Final Blackout, a topical dystopia of lawless post-war Europe; according to Russell Miller's 1987 Scientology exposé Bare-Faced Messiah, the novel "led to hopeful comparisons with Jules Verne and H.G. Wells." Like any aspiring SF scribe of his era, Hubbard had to shadowbox with the anxiety of Wells's influence, which penetrated not only Hubbard's stories and novels but his self-help methodology—laid out in the 1950 bestseller Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health—and the eventual Church of Scientology's extraterrestrial tenets. (The first published article on Dianetics ran in 1950 in, where else, Astounding Science Fiction.)
In his 1902 lecture "The Discovery of the Future," Wells endorsed the forward-thinker, who "thinks constantly and by preference of things to come," just like the "Clear" in advanced Scientology, who has rid himself of "engrams," or disabling imprints of past traumas. In Wells's
War of the Worlds, Martians labor incessantly, with no apparent need for sleep or sex, and communicate telepathically; the Scientologist has a Calvinist work ethic, keeps his motor clean, and having reached the rarefied "Operating Thetan" levels (Cruise is allegedly an "OT6"), can learn to read minds. According to Hubbard, ailments ranging from the common cold to leukemia could be classified as merely psychosomatic; in Wells, the Martians have eliminated illness entirely. Were Wells's aliens the proto-Scientologists?
One of the more ironic aspects of Hubbard's—and now Cruise's—crusade against psychiatry is that Dianetics simply repackaged the basic Freudian concept of psychic determinism, whereby conflicts within the unconscious spill out into the open through irrational behaviors and psycho-somatic symptoms. Dianetics differentiates between the unconscious or "reactive" mind—"a single source of all your problems, stress, unhappiness and self-doubt"— and the "clear" mind, scrubbed of neuroses, with an enhanced IQ and near perfect recall. (Perhaps Katie will be able to remember exactly where and how she met her fiancé once she's further along in her auditing sessions.) A Scientologist reading of Wells would identify a sadly asymmetrical battle between Reactives and Clears, as wailing herds of hysterical humans respond to alien predation with mass panic while their cerebral, workaholic visitors calmly go about irradiating them.
Wells's narrator observes of the Martians, "The immediate pressure of necessity has brightened their intellects, enlarged their powers and hardened their hearts"—three for three on the Hubbard scoreboard. The Nation's 1950 review of Dianetics worried over "its conception of the amoral, detached, 100 percent efficient mechanical man," because such unaffiliated self-sufficiency "does not exist except in a psychotic state" (cf. Cruise's character in Collateral). Such concerns were apt regarding Hubbard, who would later declare that perceived enemies of the notoriously litigious Scientology organization could be "tricked, sued or lied to or destroyed," and who once wrote that a solution to low scorers on the Dianetics "tone scale" would be "to dispose of them quietly and without sorrow"—a notion Wells, a sometime advocate of eugenics, may not have found altogether abhorrent in other contexts.
On Hubbard's battlefields, you are either with us or against us, but the most grievous attacks are usually launched from within; paranoia is endemic, a perpetual night of a thousand engrams. In conjuring the angry viral ghosts called body thetans and mutating sci-fi into Scientology, Hubbard might have taken inspiration from Wells's shell-shocked narrator at The War of the Worlds' end, wandering a scorched and ruined London: "About me my imagination found a thousand noise-less enemies moving."