A Question Of Guilt P2P Directed By Robert Butler Cast Ron Leibman

Published on March 10, 2020, 7:38 pm — Crime


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A question of guilt 1978 cast. A Question of Guilt, Psychology Today. Loosely based on a true story this sudsy made-for-television courtroom drama tells the story of a rather hedonistic young divorcee who is accused of killing her own child. A question of guilt. A question of guilt bbc. A Question Of guilty pleasures.

A question of guilt laredo. Directed by Stuart Orme. With Cherie Lunghi, Derrick O'Connor, Gillian Barge, Alex Walkinshaw. The brutal murder of a woman appears to be an open and shut case. But while there is a suspect and a signed confession, the lack of a credible motive still nags the investigating officer and prosecuting lawyer. A question of guilt 1978. A question of guilt book. A Question Of guild of america. A Question of Guilt (1978) English Movie. A question of guilt crime scene. A Question Of guilty.

 


 

 

Question of guilt, Übersetzung Englisch-Deutsch.

 

20.11.2011 World War I Serbia, WWI, and the question of guilt. Serbia sees itself as both a victor and a victim of World War I - but not as a culprit. The country considers any blame placed on it as a distortion of facts.

 

 

 


 

 

This movie isn't even classified as a horror but the STORY gave me chills and almost shat my pants! Better than 99% american horror movies in 2018. Well done. Los Movies is a service that allows you to Watch Free Movies Online. Watch movies with English subtitles or with subtitles in many different languages.

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What channel is this on Dish? Plz answer. Is this some sort of amada noxx story. STUDENTS are paid 10 to record the latest blockbusters and upload them to pirate sites, like The Pirate Bay and KickAss Torrents, a representative of the Indian Chamber of Commerce has claimed. The sensational claim comes from an Indian Chamber of Commerce representative. Speaking to piracy blog TorrentFreak, the government official said: The amount is being deposited into their account the moment they upload the film... Who sings this version of mad world. This doesn't look good at all lmao. get it together freeform. Why isn't it on burning series.

Wow Elon Musk is a great actor

You need to watch where they put these commercial little sister who's watching some kid thing on here and then this commercial came up it scared the living crap out of her what is someone did not horror shows and then they saw that you people need to not put that on commercials for Channel unless you know that it's for adults only really not ok you wouldn't put that on Disney Channel or Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network would you be careful next time. Freaking. Fracking. OMG. This is such a great premise and the story looks amazing. Magnolia! On Hitchcocks birthday you release this madness! Awesome. Anybody have any theories as to who killed Molly. Was that Melanie Martinez. Getflix VPN - BitTorrent. R/FullMoviesonSockshare: A place for Sockshare links. Press J to jump to the feed. Press question mark to learn the rest of the keyboard shortcuts. r/ FullMoviesonSockshare. log in sign up. User account menu. Reddit. about careers press advertise blog.

This looks terrible. 말은 모르겠지만 재미있을것같아요 ㅠㅠ.

I am not responsible for what you do and what happens to you! this is for tutorial purposes only

This is basically the Amanda Knox and Meredith story but still looks really good. London pll anyone. This was a great movie.

WOW. SO GOOD. Not going to lie the ending made me cry. Very powerful movie

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Nov 8, 2017 Torrent clients, such as uTorrent Vuze and the official BitTorrent client, are used to download immense amounts of data on the Web, and there's no question that much of it is illegal. The same goes for a movie, a game, or anything else you may want... It was for a brand new movie that was still in theaters. Razor: Becoming a Hero. A Question of Guilt (TV Movie 1978) on IMDb: Movies, TV, Celebs, and more. This movie really shows off the talents of Tuesday Weld. She plays a mother. 25 Best Torrent Sites for January 2020 [Safe & Faster Torrenting.

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A Question of Guilt
7.0 out of 10 stars - 458 votes

 


About The Author Mr Spoon
Resume Wake up and smell the ashes.

Connected tv a question of guilt book. The case of Malaysian Airlines Boeing -777, en route from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur brought down by a BUK anti-aircraft missile on July 17, 2014 would be finally examined in Hague Court on May 9, 2020. During several years the investigation had to solve the question, whether the MH17 flight was downed by Ukrainian Buk air defense systems or by Russian Buks located on the territory of the Russian Federation. According to the data of the Institute for Global Threats and Democratic Studies, that was the Russian Buk air defense system, which had been deployed to Ukraine across a section of the border with Russia that was beyond Kyiv’s control. The investigators managed to fully prove Russia’s involvement in the tragedy. However the party in fault still does not plead guilty. Despite obvious, convincing, and exhaustive evidence of the Russian Federation’€™s guilt, the Kremlin could go for a number of steps to ensure that the country’€™s leadership escapes punishment for the deaths of passengers and crew. It means, the court hearings may prove guilt of performers only, not of instigators of the crime. The findings of the Joint Investigation Team (JIT) show that Buk air defense system was in service with the 53rd Air Defense Brigade of the Russian Army. Its deployment was possible only on the order of high military and political leadership as it is required for transfer of military equipment in situation of no war declared and no martial law enforced. That is, the Russian president and the country’€™s minister of defense are the persons who are not only familiar with all the circumstances around the plane crash but those who are staying behind it. Their guilty in the crime may be decomposed into the following actions: -€“ Providing means or tools (the handover of the Buk air defense systems); -€“ Concealing criminals and means of committing the crime (transporting the air defense system back to n the territory of the Russian Federation, hiding the crew on its territory); and -€“ Attempting to discredit the investigation, spinning conspiracy theories and misinformation in order to confuse the investigation. Thus, court evidence of the MH17 downing by a Russian air defense system delivered from Russian territory automatically gives grounds for pressing charges against Russia’€™s top military leadership. This explains Russia’€™s will to meddle in the investigation and the trial: through falsification of evidence and an active information campaign on misinformation. Thus, court evidence of the MH17 downing by a Russian air defense system delivered from Russian territory automatically gives grounds for pressing charges against Russia’s top military leadership. To escape accusations against its military and political leadership Russia may try to compel that the air defense system was handed over to “DPR” militants, who further operated the launcher. As IGTDS further states, this position looks unconvincing, although the only possible one from the perspective of the urgent need to remove Mr. Putin from under the probe’€™s focus. It is unlikely that an air defense system that’€™s in service with the Russian army could be deployed across the border without persons controlling its use. The fact that after the MH17 downing, the air defense system was quickly taken back to the Russian territory indicates that it remained under the effective control of the Russian military. The case of UK can be used in this regard when the country has been held accountable for its actions in Iraq, and the case of Turkey -€“ for their actions in Cyprus. In both cases the main argument is the proof that the country had “€œeffective control”€ in the territory where the crime was committed. Thus, the jurisdiction of Russia’s responsibility can be expanded to the territory of Ukraine’€™s Donbas. Russia seeks to convince the court of the primacy of circumstances over cause. In other words, they argue that it doesn’t matter who shot down the plane, while it is important to see circumstances that were in place at that moment. This position is legally void, since it fails to take into account the very cause of the aircraft crash, deaths of crew and passengers, and the cause-effect relationship. Here, a similar case is the downing of the Ukrainian passenger jet operated by Ukraine International Airlines, flight PS752, over Iran on January 8, 2020. The cause of the aircraft crash was the strike by an Iranian air defense missile – not some foreign political tensions in the region, liquidation of Qasem Soleimani or Iran’€™s missile strike on U. S. targets in Iraq. Ukraine had not shut down the skies over Donbas, since at that time there was no objective threat to civilian flights. Pro-Russian separatists had been downing Ukrainian Air Force planes using MANPADS, at low altitudes, unable to hit targets flying at altitudes over 6km. The Ukrainian authorities had no information about Russia transferring air defense systems to Ukraine. The lack of operational data on the deployment of Russian air defense systems in Donbas has also been confirmed by Dutch intelligence. On June 19, 2019, JIT revealed they were aware of the four Buk crew members and a captain with Russia’€™s 53rd air defense brigade, who was in command of that crew. However, the investigators stopped short of naming any of them. The JIT also identified four suspects complicit in the Boeing crash. These are three Russian nationals -€ former “€œminister of defense”€ of the so-called “DPR”€ Igor Girkin (aka Strelkov), Major General Sergey Dubinsky (aka Khmuryi), and Colonel Oleg Pulatov (aka Gyurza), as well as a Ukrainian citizen Leonid Kharchenko (aka Krot). On February 3, 2020, a blogger who had been cooperating with the Russian authorities, Max van der Verff, published information that the Rotterdam-based law firm Sjöcrona Van Stigt took over the defense of one of the suspects in the MH17 case, Oleg Pulatov, who is considered involved in transportation of the Russian Buk missile launcher. Partners with Sjöcrona Van Stigt specialize mainly in dealing with money laundering, bribery, fraud, and other types of economic crime. In the comments to the media, Dutch lawyers emphasized that the MH17 case hearings will take years and that they intend to keep a low profile pending trial. They explain their interest in the case by their will to ensure the rule of law. Taking into account the high status of Sjöcrona Van Stigt and its major specialization in economic crimes, its participation in the case could be logically explained by PR purposes. However, their statement on keeping a low profile during the trial begs to explore other reasons for their participation. It is known that the second defender will be Elena Kutyina (a Russian national) from Moscow Bar Association Kovler and Partners, the firm owned by the son of a Russian judge at the ECHR. Kovler and Partners is located in the elite “Alexander House” block, right by the Kremlin. In 2000, it housed Vladimir Putin’s campaign headquarters in his very first elections and later served as the HQ for the Center for Strategic Research, led by German Gref (now president of the state-owned Sberbank). Kovler and Partners represents in the courts the interests of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the Russian Federation and the Prosecutor’s Office. The company that owned Alexander House also owned a land plot that was handed over to the Russian Presidential Administration for the construction of Putin’s residence on the Pacific Ocean coast. The analysis of information posted on the law firm’s website indicates that it is not interested in attracting general clients, only working with a specific group of persons, affiliated with government structures, demanding that confidentiality of such cooperation be maintained. According to Dutch lawyers with Sjöcrona Van Stig, lawyer Kutyina is not entitled to act on behalf of the suspect in the Netherlands – she only provides information to defend him. The MH17 case file amounts to some 30, 000 pages compiled by JIT, including with the participation of independent organizations such as Bellingcat. The source of information which Kutyina will provide as part of defense efforts is obviously different from the JIT material. The interpretation of such information within the framework of the case is limited to Kutyina’s sphere of competence. Most likely, her role will boil down to mediation between Sjöcrona Van Stig and interested persons (structures) in Russia who pay for the Dutch lawyers’ services. Otherwise, it is impossible to explain why would Dutch lawyers need Ms Kutyina. In Moscow, Kutyina plays a judge on a TV show “Family Affairs”, hearing petty cases. She has no qualification whatsoever in the field of war crimes, aviation law, etc. Thus, it is likely that she will participate in the information operation on covering court hearings in a way that would be beneficial to Russia, commenting for the Russian audience, which the Dutch won’t be doing over reputational risks. The connection between the Russian Kovler and Partners **, which defends Pulatov, and the Dutch Sjöcrona Van Stig, is of no doubt. ** The latter will take up the main work on defending the suspects. Sjöcrona Van Stig’s consent to such cooperation with a Russian lawyer can be explained solely by the condition set by the client paying for the services rendered. Kutyina’s participation in the trial threatens reputation of the Dutch firm, since it is obvious that they exercise no control of her communication with the Moscow-based clients and fail to take into account the informational component of the trial. The Dutch firm’s source of funding remains unclear, while information on its website emphasizes operations with wealthy clients. Comparative prices for the services of a company of the appropriate level stand at a minimum of EUR 240-380 per hour. Personal payment for legal defense services by the accused is ruled out. There is no doubt in the connection between the two legal structures representing Pulatov’s defense and the Russian Presidential Administration. It is possible that Sjöcrona Van Stigt may represent in the Netherlands the interests of businesses owned by Putin’s entourage. In the January 2012 edition of Dutch law magazine Mr., there is a photo of Sjöcrona Van Stigt employees posing with lawyers of the Wladimiroff Advokaten law firm at a New Year’s party. Wladimiroff Advokaten was founded by Mikhail Wladimiriroff, a descendant of a Russian emigrant. The company is actively engaged in the issue of Russia sanctions. In the 1990s, Misha Wladimiriroff acted as defense counsel for the Serbian war criminal Dusko Tadic in the first criminal case brought before the Yugoslav Tribunal. According to The Irish Times, the ITFY has also appointed him defender of Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic. Wladimiroff is also connected with the MH17 case. He publicly defended the position that the trial should be taking place in Russia. In his opinion, only a joint trial with the Russians, possibly even based in Russia, is able to put criminals behind bars. In all other cases, Russia will refuse to extradite suspects. This position fully coincides with the Kremlin’s statements voiced in 2014 about the need to try suspects in Russia. Misha Wladimiriroff is the founder of the Dutch-Russian Law Association. Among his clients was Russian national football team’s manager Guus Hiddink. In his office he has Russian icons and paintings of Russian landscapes. Also, he visits Russia and generally speaks positively about the country. All those indicted in the MH17 case are now either in Russia or in territories controlled by Russia. Earlier, Moscow had already attempted to convict one of them for felony and thus remove him from the view of the court in The Hague. There is a possibility that if the court proves that the passenger jet was destroyed by a Russian air defense system, the Kremlin may attempt to arrest and imprison other defendants in Russia. Thus, Moscow will block further investigation aimed at identifying and prosecuting masterminds behind the crime. Source.

America is the capital of criminals. The gunman had killed 20 and wounded 12 with 29 rounds and firing from the hip, the majority being head/neck shots. the best marksmen and anti terrorism peoples would be hard pressed to do this. Leaving 1 round chambered from his 30 round magazine to make for a quick professional reload. 1 other thing that i found weird when a police officer claimed he could of practised this there was no evidence found of the tens of thousands of rounds to do so let alone wear on the rifles. Another strange fact is if you were scared of a shot gun either the noise or recoil, the AR-15 is not far off the money with both.

Connected Tv A Question Of guillaume. Connected Tv A Question Of guilt. Connected tv a question of guilty. Connected tv a question of guilt free. He is 100% innocent 😎👍. Been looking for this for ages. Thanks for loading this!☺. Amazing performance by Tuesday Weld she should have won an Emmy for it. Esp the scene where she takes off her wig and makeup... riveting you can't take your eyes off of her. Connected Tv A Question Of guilty pleasures. I would imagine that alot of people accused of a crime would be chomping at the bit to hire Mr. Avery as their lawyer.

Connected tv a question of guilt images. Connected tv a question of guilt mean. Connected tv a question of guilt cast. Connected tv a question of guilt 2017. There is no question - The right man is in jail. Martin Bryant. This is one of the all time great t.v. movies. Thanks for posting it its entirety. Utterly fearless and network television no less. @cdubsell. Thank-you for producing the facts of Ingrid Cook's interview in reference of the shooter with the weapon in his shoulder. I was right in my view about the BA Cafe, as I could only see a highly trained professional with an eye over the open site, like a counter terrorism team with MP9s.

Conservatives are so homophobic and hateful. Connected tv a question of guilt definition. Connected tv a question of guilt movie. Great movie. Tuesday Weld is terrific. Connected tv a question of guilt 2016. Great film! Family dysfunction and love at it's finest! It's interesting that she didn't introduce her daughter to her boyfriend even though her daughter was grown. Connected tv a question of guilt show.

Connected Tv A Question Of guild wars 2. To photo shop his eyes like they did. PROPAGANDA at its finest. Connected tv a question of guilt quotes. IF he was slightly retarded he'd NEVER be able to kill 35 with headshots! Thats sniper stuff! Why did they get a portable morgue there BEFORE the shootings? Why has he never had a trial? Because they know he'd be proven innocent and then there would be some serious questions to answer? Why do you think the government wouldn't do this? Look at 911? I suppose you think that was the work of a few terrorists? You need to do your research.

Connected Tv A Question Of guilty. Risk losing 30% of how many) of his own special trained force, or let 3 innocent civilians burn to death? He thinks he made the right decision? What is it police get paid to do again? I seen straight through this lying cunt. I hope someone sticks a bullet into this incompetent dog. Connected tv a question of guilt season. Connected tv a question of guilt video. Connected tv a question of guilt vs. Connected tv a question of guilt day. Connected tv a question of guilt 2. Good point. From the info I've gathered it's obvious that Australia is a self governing colony of the UK and non a nation in any way, shape or form. i.e. get into to trouble overseas and you Australian passport is next to useless. A hostile country can simply say how can you issue an Australian passport when your constitution states that you are a colony of the UK. That's why nations like Japan can whale hunt in Australian waters and the US can put bases anywhere it likes.

I mean guys, can you blame a woman for being a lesbian.

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When I was nine years old, my father said to me, “Never forget what you are. ” I remember the moment so clearly, because it was the first time I’d ever seen my father so somber. Normally, he was a man of infinite humor, always attempting to lessen the severity of serious situations through jokes or sarcasm, for our sakes—my mother and I—and for his own. Something happened during his childhood, something so terrible and distressing as to be unspeakable; he died having never discussed it with us or anyone else. Because of this unmentionable thing, joy was something supremely important to him, and I loved him so much for it. When he offered—commanded—that advice of remembrance, with a solemnity so uncharacteristic of him, the scene of the moment was just as much cemented into my mind as the words themselves. I was in my room, sitting on the floor before my CRT television, playing the remake of the first Resident Evil—colloquially dubbed REmake—and engaged in a battle against the undead. My father walked in, quickly acknowledged and dismissed the images onscreen—he had a thing about death, moreso than the average person, presumably born of his past trauma—and sat in front of me. By instinct, and out of respect, I paused the game, and without preamble or comedic intonation he said those words to me. He then hugged me and left, and after puzzling over the incident in my head—in the small capacity a nine-year-old can—I continued playing the game. I thought, a bit later, he had meant it geographically; we lived in a fairly small town, of an appropriately small population. My father loved the place, as did my mother, although they knew, even at my age, that I would leave it someday—permanently, most likely. And I have. When I grew up and moved out “into the world”, my assumption changed, and I thought him to have meant it racially; our town was primarily white, and so I assumed my father intended for me to keep the same circumstances about wherever I settled. I would even admit to feeling a certain “comfort” around people who bear a skin-tone similar to my own, born entirely of that childhood familiarity. Beyond that, race was not something I had ever dwelled on, and was not certain that it would have been very important to my father either. We were born what we are, where we were. But again, as the years went by, I realized that attributing his words to race was incorrect as well. The third—and final—revelation, the truth behind that ominous reminder, was made apparent not long after I met her. The horror that came after her introduction into my life is abominable; only worth recollecting, because to talk about her without mentioning it would be a disrespect to her memory. It’s necessary to emphasize the impact she had on my life in such a short time. I was twenty-three when I met her, a bit over a year ago now. I had a job—though I don’t say this dismissively or regretfully—as a teaching assistant and afterschool tutor. It was a position for which I was paid; although it did start out as a sort of unpaid internship (prolonged volunteering, to expand), but my performance was appreciated enough to become proper employment. My particular area of study was for a literature course, specifically targeting 19th century writers and the genre foundations they’ve laid for subsequent creators in the craft. I had a personal preference for traditional science fiction, horror, and fantasy, but also for the altered and reconstructed variations of those genres, under the umbrella of Weird Fiction. According to the teacher, a Miss Stacey, my enthusiasm and deep interest in genre fiction helped intrigue the class, and offer a counterbalance to her relatively straightforward curriculum. She said, “I’ll teach the classics, you teach the unclassified. I really liked her. But she is not the woman I am here to tell you about. That woman would be met six months into the position. It was after-school on a day I can’t recall as being anything other than just “a day”. I was in the library with a student, introducing him to a few writers of the aforementioned literary period and nature. I gave him—Andrew—a copy of Emperor of Dreams; a collection of Clark Ashton Smith’s more fantasy-focused short stories. Previously, I had given him The Weird, a compendium of Weird Fiction and Weird Fiction-adjacent stories compiled by Jeff Vandemeer. Of the stories, “Genius Loci”, a Clark Ashton Smith tale, was Andrew’s favorite, with T. E. D. Klein’s “The Events at Poroth Farm” a close second. Delighted, I mentioned that I owned several books of Smith’s stories, and offered him one. I met her during our first discussion of the first few stories he had read. She was his mother. Her name was—can no longer say is—Marissa. I had never met her before; my tutelage usually lasted only about twenty minutes per student, as most of them had other educational needs that I could not provide. I was almost always the first the students met with, and I suspected this ordering was intentional, to get my particular studies “out of the way”, so that the Maths and Sciences could be given greater time. I understood it, wasn’t insulted or made indignant by it. Marissa arrived to retrieve her son earlier than usual because he had a doctor’s appointment—which he had innocently failed to mention, and for which I apologized on his behalf—and was in a word, “stressed. ” Not over the appointment, which was just an annual check-up, but because she had waited for her son to exit the school for ten minutes before deciding to come inside and find him. I would soon learn that she hated being late to things, even if her lateness was tolerated without criticism or emotional injury. Marissa was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I had ever met—and would ever meet—and I, for the briefest and silliest moment, felt insulted that Andrew hadn’t told me about her. Like being jovially upset at a friend for not pointing out—or not pointing out soon enough—an attractive woman in public; giving you only a short glimpse of flowing hair as she walked out of view. Curly red—a soft, natural red, not some harshly-dyed crimson—hair fell upon relaxed yet firm shoulders. Freckles, small, light, and scattered, dotted a cutely-round face, in which two brilliantly green eyes were set. She had plump—though not comically so—lips, and a smile that was effortlessly pleasant. It was like looking at a best friend, if that makes sense. Someone with whom you’re so deeply comfortable; someone so immediately identifiable in a sea of people, who in their own ways are also uniquely different. I felt a warmth spill into me from her at that moment. As she whisked him away, I felt myself drawn to her in some inexplicable gravity of attraction, and—in her own way—she must’ve felt it as well, because she stopped then, and turned towards me. She apologized for her haste, and in a gesture of oddly-hasty trust, invited me to accompany them, so that I could continue my work with Andrew. Professionalism would have me immediately and politely decline, as would my own general sense of ethics, but something—her beauty, let’s be honest—compelled me to accept the invitation. I accompanied them, informed her of Andrew’s work in class—phenomenal—and gave a brief history of the writers in which he showed interest. She appreciated the briefing, and expressed her gratitude for helping her son find his “passion”. Hers, she told me, was sports; she had wrestled in high school and followed basketball fervently as an adult. I had played on a few school-sponsored footballs teams as a child and early teen, both flag and tackle, and once had interest in watching the professional sport, but overall the desire to engage any further was lost as I entered my late teens and became enamored by literature, video games, and other things which would then be referred to as, “Nerdy”. Andrew’s physical health was just as impeccable as his educational performance, so the three of us returned to their home. I spent an hour—the longest period ever—with Andrew, discussing the stories he’d read and recommending others based on which he liked the most. His favorite so far was “The Dark Eidolon”, so I recommended “The Colossus of Ylourgne” for him to read after the rest in the collection, since it was not present therein. After the session, I planned on departing; not wanting to further impose on their privacy, and also wanting to get out of there before I did something stupid and unprofessional like ask his mother out on a date. Of course, she asked if I wanted to stay for dinner. And, of course, I did. The rest can be guessed from that alone, and I don’t want to dwell too much on those early, teasingly romantic interactions. They were pleasant, of course, but also awkward; mostly due to my own behavior and hang-ups. I was only twenty-three, and despite the undeniably powerful feelings I had for her, I didn’t initially want the permanence the circumstances would demand of my attention and life. Andrew, though a cool and likeable kid, was still a child, and not my own. But of course, it was an all-or-nothing situation, and I could not have a relationship with Marissa without Andrew eventually being—and me seeing him as—my son. His true father was out of the picture. That’s all that was ever offered, and I accepted it without further information. I had learned with my own father that some things are best left undiscussed, unmentioned, and while not forgotten, forsaken. We lived a wonderful life. As wonderful as a year’s worth of life together can be. Andrew and I got along splendidly—I hadn’t expected any real change—and Marissa and I interacted in a way that made it seem as if we’d known each other for years. That immediate warmth and familiarity I mentioned earlier. She was funny, incredibly honest regardless of the consequence, and natural. She didn’t pretend to be anything she could not naturally, effortlessly become. She accepted who she was, and I never once detected that she behaved a certain way to garner unmerited attention. I felt so comfortable, around her, that at times I found myself laughing at my initial hesitation to join our lives. A year after we met, the horror arrived. It tore her from my life. Of Andrew’s fate, I have no idea. But when it happened, I remembered my father’s words. To this day they still come to me. Remember what you are. I am a human being. No matter what delusions I may suffer, or praises I may receive which would suggest the achievement of some higher existence, I am still a lowly, pathetic, cosmically insubstantial human. I was reminded of this the night Marissa was murdered. The night Andrew escaped, or was taken; I really don’t know. We were watching Infinity War, in our living room (I had moved in with them) on a 70inch TV (a Cyber Monday purchase so affordable as to have been necessary). The size and definition worked together to immerse you so totally into the presentation that, in darkness, the other objects of the room became essentially unseen; visually disregarded and forgotten. I’m not a big fan of the more recent movies, and wouldn’t have thought Andrew would be either, but he loved them, and Marissa enjoyed them to a lesser degree. The movie was nearing its sequel-requiring conclusion, when the screen went blank; bringing about an instant and absolute darkness. I immediately uttered an “Oop”, thinking that I must’ve accidentally turned off the TV. I had the remote, and thought that during my inattentive shifting I had caused it to fall off my lap. But a slight movement of my hand showed this was not the case, as I brushed against the remote resting on my thigh. My next thought was that the power went out, but this theory was immediately disproven by the now audible hum of the fan oscillating on Marissa’s side of the couch—Andrew sat between us. The fan was plugged into the same power strip as the TV and console. Maybe, the game console had somehow come unplugged or automatically powered-off? Third time’s the charm, right? Wrong, again. The explanation for what actually happened, arrived just as Andrew asked, “What happened? ” Marissa’s sudden scream explained it to me. I, sensing that something must of course be wrong for her to let out such a shrill and terrified noise—she had never once done so in the time I knew her—quickly figured out the reality of things as well. That a very unreal thing had occurred. Usually, there’s a white light on the front of the game console to denote that it’s fully on. And on the controller, a blue light signifying the same. Neither was present, which, alone, would have proved true my third suspicion; that the console had automatically turned off. But as my attention was forcibly brought to the darkness, I remembered that while the areas outside the TV were basically unseeable during the TV’s use, you were still aware—albeit dimly—of distance, proportion, and your spatial placement relative to everything. This perception was completely absent in that newfound darkness, and only one conclusion could arise from that situation: we had somehow been rendered blind. So, Marissa’s scream was warranted, and in a way, I allowed myself to express my own terror through her screaming. Andrew caught on, a few seconds later, and panicked as well; repeating the same question he had already asked, with variance of wording and tone. It was hard to remain calm, both due to their reactions—again, warranted—and the circumstances. Going immediately, inexplicably blind was not something anyone would handle well, I’m sure. But we weren’t given time to contemplate how we all simultaneously became so disabled, because the horror I’ve been so ponderous about getting to attacked us. It began as a sound, a massive thud on the roof of the house. After that, different sounds which seemed to spread from the point of impact; like several lines of rope being drawn across a surface. Next, shattering glass—the “rope-sounding” things entering the house. After that, the sound of my own voice shouting, almost autonomously, for Marissa and Andrew to “Get down! ”. Through some instinctual—certainly not visual—perception, I decided upon this course of action as being immediately necessary. This instinct was right in impelling me to do that. As we pressed ourselves flatly against the floor, holding hands and probably looking like those cutout paper-people doing the same, we heard extremely strange things going on just overhead. The rope-like things did some unknowable work throughout the room. We heard things being knocked over or violently entered. The sounds of things be constrained or ripped apart. The tightening of those frantic appendages around objects and each other at various sections, securing whatever controlled them to our house. In that moment I was honestly a bit thankful of the blindness. Because I heard—and this will sound stupid, or silly—in the action of the rope-things a certain sinister element. Or, if this is more understandable, a disregard, not just for our home’s privacy, but of mankind and the things we expect of the world, and even of the laws of life and physics. When the noise settled, and all that could be heard was the straining of those unseen appendages—the fan had presumably been destroyed—I felt around the faces of my family for their mouths; beckoning them to remain silent by placing my “pointer” finger longitudinally over their lips. Andrew, a smart kid, nodded; which I felt. Marissa grasped my finger, and from her hand I felt the fear-induced trembling of her body. I had no plan, then. I only knew that our silence was, for pretty understandable reasons, paramount. It, however, had no such cares, and we soon heard it breathing up on the roof. I grew up in a small town, and had on many occasions heard the calls, shrieks, yelps, and of course, breathing, of various farm and woodland animals. And that thing up there sounded nothing, absolutely in no way like anything I’d ever heard. I only recognized it as breathing based on the rhythm of the noise. But even that, the intake and expulsion of breath, was so odd and unlike anything of this world. The inhalations were tiered, while the exhalations were singular, great, and wall-shaking. Staggered breaths collected air, the oxygen was purposed, and the unnecessary elements were exhaled in a single reverberant burst. It was fucking terrifying. Something else was made apparent. Felt, rather than heard, and only by me. Had the others felt it, they would be here now. That feeling elicited the remembrance of my father’s words, and I finally understood the true meaning behind them. And, I think, the narrative—or at least nature—of his own past. The past he had refused to share with his own family. The feeling was one of an existential insignificance. I felt in that moment like an insect, stunned by the sudden and oppressive shadow of an overhanging boot; petrified, in my own youthful insect way, by the heretofore unimagined, un-experienced phenomenon of outré existences. Just as humans are aware of bears, cougars, and wolves, ants are aware of spiders, beetles, and worms. Both groups are aware of and may even interact with their respective taxonomical neighbors and foreigners. But put an ant in the early days of its life on a sunlit ground, then introduce to it the Titans that are humans, and its dim cognition will freeze; seize up upon beholding something so unimaginable, something so alien to what it is. An ant, and really most insects in general, would dumbly attempt to investigate the human; thinking it not as a potential danger, but as something from which they could derive nutrients without harm. Others may attempt to avoid a foot or finger placed in front of them and continue on their intended way; again, not recognizing the potential doom, and stupidly thinking it to be some moving part of the greater landscape. They, in either case, had not remembered what they were—if they were ever truly aware. I realized, instantly, that the presence atop our house was not something I should investigate. It was not something that I, with my human intelligence, could ever hope to understand or communicate with. I understood that there was no challenging the thing’s decision to rest on our house. I knew, the moment I heard its breathing, and felt the enormity of its being, that my best and only course of action was to regard myself as an insect beneath the shadow of its boot. And hope to God—certainly not the one that created it —that the entity had no traces of human cruelty; that it would not let that boot fall upon my body, effortlessly and utterly stamping out my existence. I could’ve been declared cataleptic, if a physician was there to diagnose me. Marissa and Andrew had not remembered—if they ever truly knew—what they were. Both remained relatively quiet, but neither as quiet as I. Marissa whimpered, almost inaudibly, but that was enough. I heard the untethering of ropes, and the swiftly-displaced air as they shot towards her. I heard them fasten and tighten around her. At which point she ceased to obey my command, and let out an anguished roar—far worse than her frightened scream. I then heard the following sounds, which, as I type this, make my fingers tremble and miss the keys. The sounds of her being ripped apart. In half. Arms first. I don’t know. She was audible for a few seconds. Death wasn’t instant, nor free of pain. I felt her blood rain down on me in that darkness. Shower me with pieces. I heard Andrew shout out a, “Mommy”, which was of course followed by the sounds of other ropes undoing themselves from the house and rushing towards him. Fate, if it exists as an ordered, regulated mechanism, worked fortuitously, then. I mentioned earlier that my initial feelings about joining their family were uncertain; my acclimation to the circumstances doubtful. I thought it would be difficult to see Andrew as he deserved—needed—to be seen. As my son. But at that moment, in the darkness beneath that incognizable entity, with its murderous tendrils plunging towards Andrew, I felt in my animal core that he was my son. It drove me, regardless of own peril, to shout out, “Run! ” A single word bearing all the authority, motivation, and love I could ever offer him. The fortune of the moment, the grisly, morbid chance that worked in my favor, was that Marissa’s final declaration of agony rose over my command, so that I was not heard by the creature. But Andrew heard me, and he felt the gravity behind my words. He may not have known that his mother’s fate was sealed, but he knew that what I had ordered was something not to be ignored or disobeyed. I heard his soft footsteps flee towards the only window of the room. A window I had heard broken earlier. I did not hear Andrew exit. Which, I thought was good. I believed that he had, in that blind, frightened flight, had enough sense to dive through it, rather than clumsily climb out. That’s what I hoped. The window wasn’t far away, and I never heard any sounds from the tentacles that would indicate they pursued him. And, it didn’t take a huge amount of spatial awareness to orient oneself in relation to it. A light breeze could be felt coming from that direction. All of this I tell myself, day after day, because I have not seen, found, or heard from Andrew since that night. The creature seemed to play with the remains it held of Marissa; something about the swishing of air and arced droplets of blood led me to believe that it was swinging the pieces around. Like a child would a doll. Eventually, maybe after a few minutes of this, it got bored, or something else caught its attention, because it suddenly let the pieces fall; they landed with a wetness that I won’t described beyond that. Another a few minutes passed, during which it continued its horrible breathing, while I assume its extensions did things of an assuredly unconveyable—and, therefore obscene—nature. After this period of post-kill elation, or probing, or whatever, I heard it grunt; or express some alien equivalent of it. Then, to my nigh ecstatic relief—and to the relief of the house, no doubt—it lifted off the building. I felt unencumbered by a weight I had not acknowledged when it first burdened me, and I heard the retraction of those infernal ropes back to the main body. My vision returned shortly after; just as quickly and completely as it had left. I’ll make my account of the house’s state brief. It was a mess. Things, as I suspected, were knocked over, broken, and bored through. The ceiling, collectively through each visible area, was caved in. Andrew was nowhere to be seen. Marissa was everywhere. Let your imagine conjure up what it will. But I can assure you that it will never approach the awfulness of the reality. I looked for Andrew, of course. Went through all the official channels, and conducted searches of my own. I was of course questioned relentlessly, both for his disappearance and Marissa’s death, which, in the mind of a detective, were undoubtedly connected. Understandable, considering I was the “new boyfriend”, which amounted to no greater innocence for them than a stranger. At no point did the police bring up Andrew’s biological father, which has led me to my own conclusions about his whereabouts. Form your own, if you’d like. There was nothing that could actually implicate me in her death, nor in Andrew’s disappearance, and the state of the house—most importantly the roof—argued in favor of my explanation; that something had fallen on the roof, and a piece or the pressure of this something had so abhorrently killed Marissa. To my “luck”, there was a large hole in the roof; probably from where a mass of tentacles or some other, thicker appendage had come through. I didn’t suggest at any point to the authorities that this something was not of this world. Even the absence of this something had not served to incriminate me. The months went by, and I still searched for Andrew, even though part of me began to think that he had simply been snatched up once he made it outside. Or had not even been that lucky, and was seized inside the house, silently. Consumed, or taken with the thing for purposes I won’t dare imagine. Now, I only bother to recount the experience so openly because I feel that what happened, what actually happened, should be known. I will still search for Andrew, but that doubt has seeded itself, and will only grow, and if I can’t find him, I at least owe it to him to tell the truth of what happened. To Marissa, as well. The creature’s appearance is still unknown to me, and I still consider that a kindness—even setting aside the horrendous acts it performed. I don’t know how or why it came to our planet, or our dimension, but if it is so mind-numbingly alien as to induce blindness by proximity alone, through solid matter, I would not under any delusions of protection want to behold it. I can’t even say that I hate it, despite what it did. No more than I can hate the sun for being hot. Looking at either is obviously unadvised, and neither can be humanely reasoned with or confronted. And I’m sure that both, if they should be inclined or naturally driven to do so, could eradicate our species. With lashing tentacles or solar flares. I lost the love of my life, and our son. That loss will haunt me for as long as I live. Sometimes, in fits of self-hate and survivor’s guilt, I curse my father for telling me those words of salvation. For allowing to save myself and live on without my family. For, implicitly, making me aware of forces and things which are usually kept from our ken by some grace of God—or cosmic chance. I love you, Marissa. I love you, Andrew. And I’m sorry that we couldn’t spend much time together.


Very very well done, an interesting  study of homosexual interaction.
@FreeMartinBryant Regardless, I own an AR-15 and I can tell you personally that it takes some kind of marksman to accomplish what Martin allegedly did. It's 1quite easy to miss the broad side of a barn at 10 feet shooting from the hip. One thing I'm confused about, in the Indrid Cook interview, she said she didn't get a look at the shooter because the rifle covered his face. He had the gun against his shoulder and was aiming down the barrel! Another great piece of evidence is that, we can.
Thanks so much for uploading this. I've been looking for it for ages. I first saw it as a teenager.
Connected Tv A Question Of guild of america.
There is nothing adequate I can comment without giving away the plot line. SIgh This film could be released in present time and not lose a breath. Thanks for uploading.

Hindi me dalo. How old is this video and it has only been posted in july 2014. I have followed this case for years and never come across it untill now. It is a great video and touched on some really good facts that i did not know but have missed other facts, but if you are keen and interested you will find it all in google search's. What amazes me is Australia's most notorious serial killer (milat) only conspiracies are that a brother and/or sister were involved and that he killed a lot more. Which can not be proved, but the court case had no holes in it. But Australia's most notorious mass murderer's has holes all through it.

Connected Tv A Question Of guild wars. Whats the song at the end. Connected Tv A Question Of guilty gear. Martin Bryant needs to have his day in court with a jury so he can be proven innocent & set free & then compensated for this travesty against him, NOT trial by Lame Stream  Media judgment. Then Australian Constitution Act 1958 & 2000 Section 44 to be reinstated along with others corrupted then prosecute the traitors that changed/removed it & go after the culprits within authority of the government that orchestrated this false flag crime of which 2 of my relatives there were shot.

Apart from the inept musical performance at the end this is a fine documentary. I envy him for kissing Tuesday Weld. What a doll. Connected tv a question of guilt meaning.

 

Connected tv a question of guilt series. Ignorance wins the day, yay 😔. After what happened in NZ. more are aware now that pt Arthur was another govt set up. WE were disarmed deliberately! So much crap us going on and the masses are awake to the control measures that elites, the un and our puppet govts will go to! Time to stand up our lives back. The best line in this movie is when the little boy says, Your feelings aren't dumb. That made me cry. Thanks for this upload! I haven't seen this since it aired in 1978! Also, I would never expect a TV movie from 38 years ago to appear in the HD standard for TV/video that we have today! People really need to learn to manage their expectations. Rupert Murdoch is a big piece of the puzzle. he ties this event with events like 9-11 and other theatrical or semi theatrical false flags.

Iq off 66 this guy should have been in the SAS or the French foreign Legion we need a Royal Commission. Justice must prevail. Connected tv a question of guilt full. The original footage at 33.51 was on a youtube video taken by a tourist and after seeing it I have been unable to find it since. The tourist was in the distance and took the footage as the shooting began. THIS FOOTAGE IS EXREMELY CHILLING. Gunshots could be heard clearly and then silence. The chiiling part that every gunshot heard was another person being murdered (by the shooter Warren Overbeeke) with a single gunshot wound to the head. 20 people killed with 20 gunshots to the head. I found this footage upsetting as one can only imagine whats taking place in the Cafe. However the crime scene footage in the police training video (the complete version) available on liveleaks that shows the crime scene in the cafe brings pictures of what happened in the cafe. Please note the vision in the training video is EXTREMELY GRAPHIC with bodies, blood and brain matter visible. Also many people have heard of Alana and Madeline, 2 young girls who were murdered. It must be advised that if you watch the liveleaks police training video that there is video footage of the 2 young sisters and the images may be VERY DISTRESSING to some viewers- it is very confronting seeing the bodies of the girls when all you have known about it is that they were shot and murdered. Until a Royal Commission happens (which is compulsory in Australia when someone dies in a fire- ie the man in the burnt out car) the truth and miscariage of justice will continue against Bryant- and family members will never get peace. It is almost unfathomable that there has NEVER been a Royal Commision into Australias worst massacre.