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February 26, 2013 in Uncategorized


Let it be known, that I, Nathan Banta, solemnly swear and affirm that the following statements are true.
Born: May 3, 1984 (possibly)

I was put up for adoption before I was born in the state of New York. I have no information on my biological parents as the adoption laws in NYS are ridiculous to say the least. That means I have no family medical history, no lineage, no blood relatives.

In NY at the time of my adoption the fee for my adoptive parents was $500. That’s right. Sold by the government to some people that were in the market for a child.

However, I lucked out and the people that adopted me when I was less than a year old were wonderful people that meant very well and provided a stable home with a hard working dad and a stay-at-home mom.

Over the first five years of my life I lived as any normal youngster in the late 80s. I played outside with my brother (also adopted but under different circumstances and from a separate family), I played nintendo, I came inside for dinner and then went back outside to play until mom would yell it was time to come in for the night. I enjoyed riding my bike, playing baseball, football, basketball, climbing trees, making forts, catching frogs, building snow ramps, playing tag, having snowball fights, and helping my dad around the house on weekends with any project that needed to be worked on.

All that changed one day when my mom sat my brother and I down and explained to us that we were adopted. While I understood the concept, the information did not start to hit me until I was older, around 7. By this time I was in the 2nd grade and I did extremely well in school. My average in every subject was 100% but my “behavior” was less than what was desired by the school.

Fast forward to 4th grade. We move to another school district so my mom could be closer to her family, mainly her mom because she was getting older and was wheelchair bound. I still had a 100% average in all my subjects but my “behavior” was considered to be “disruptive”. I would stand up, sit on my desk, and put my feet on my chair during the middle of class. This however was done during study time and it was a lot more comfortable for me. The teacher that I had made a wonderful suggestion that worked very well. She had suggested that I move my desk to the back corner of the room facing the side wall so that I may still face the class while being comfortable. The plan worked and I was no longer considered “disruptive”.

5th grade. Subjects are split between two teachers. Neither teacher is willing to put up with my “disruptive behavior”. I acquire 24 in-school-suspensions in the first quarter of the school year. A record I am proud of to this day because of how they were acquired.

I wasn’t loud and obnoxious.
I wasn’t swearing and fighting.
I wasn’t pulling pranks and being mean spirited.

I simply said no.

Every task that was asked of me that I thought was bogus, I said no. If the teacher told me it was time to write in my journal, I would throw it in the trashcan. It was mine, my parents bought it. As far as I was concerned and still am to this day, nobody has the right to force me to do anything i don’t want to do. I would proclaim that I would gladly take a big fat zero for the assignment if I thought it was a waste of my time. Who are these teachers that are dictated by a state-run curriculum to tell me what I should learn? The nerve of these idiots.

The school psychologist suggests to my parents, teachers, and principal that I should be tested for A.D.D.
(such is the norm in a public school when any child exhibits “alpha-type” behavior)

My parents take me to see a psychologist who runs some tests. He determines that I do have A.D.D. and prescribes some ritalin.
(this is the beginning of the downward spiral into violent depravity)

Over the next couple of years I’m constantly meeting with a psychologist and a separate psychiatrist while having my medication constantly switched and being put in separate mental hospitals all because of the factors of the medication, the hassle of people constantly telling me what to do, getting yelled at by my parents, getting kicked out of and transferred to different schools, and the perpetual nagging I endured from adults expecting me to be “more mature” when in fact they were acting like bratty little children made me prone to fits of constant rage and violence.

When Alex Jones talks about mass murder and suicide pills, he’s telling the truth. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of destroying the entire populace of the human race and then offing myself.

February, 1998. I was 13. I go outside to play basketball. My mom tells me to put on jacket or at least a sweatshirt because it’s cold out. I respond, “If I get cold I’ll come in and get one.” After about 45 minutes of being outside in the cold I go back in to grab a sweatshirt. Upon walking past my mom she snidely says, “I told you it was cold out there.” This threw me into a rage and I said, “Don’t you ever be a fuckin’ bitch to me!” My dad was not pleased. He stood up and told me to never talk to my mom like that. I told him, “I’ll say whatever the fuck I wanna say and there ain’t shit you can do about!” He got right up in my face and pushed me down on the couch. At this point, the game was on.

I stood back up and shoved him.
He shoved me back down on the couch.
I stood back up and touched noses with him.
He grabbed me by my throat and choke slammed me on the floor and proceeded to choke me.
I punched him square in the nose to get him off of me.

The cops are called. I get arrested.

That’s right. The 13 year-old boy that had to punch a 45 year-old man in the face to get him off of him so he could breathe gets arrested. When I went to court the next day I still had fingernail marks in my neck that were very visible and completely didn’t fit my hand. The judge looks at me and says, “That is irrelevant. You’re 13 you shouldn’t be hitting your father.” My parents are both there in the courtroom and ask the judge if they can take me home now, that they just wanted me removed for the night. The judge replies, “No. I think this boy needs to learn a hard lesson about authority. I’m sentencing him to one year in a juvenile detention facility for 2nd degree assault.” As I’m taken away my parents apologize and say they didn’t know this would happen. I stated as I left the courtroom, “This is what happens when you let others make decisions for you. Every single one of you can fuck off.”

I get brought to a non-secure detention home. It’s a foster style home for convicted children awaiting placement at a facility. The homeowners were nice people but the other 3 kids there were “gangsta” style kids. Heavily into gangsta rap and culture. Two were there for drug related charges and the third was there for breaking and entering. I was there for less than a month before I had to defend myself against the two older ones, both 15, that cornered me in the basement.

I get taken to a second non-secure detention home. This family was as white trash as they come and only did this “public service” as a means for income. At night we were locked in our rooms and could not even leave to use the bathroom. If we misbehaved during the day we were literally fed pig-slop for dinner. I heard stories about the man of the house taking the kids for hikes up a mountain for a “spiritual retreat”, but I wasn’t there long enough to experience any of those. After 3 days I called the person in charge of the juvenile detention program and requested to be moved elsewhere. He told me the only other option was a secure detention facility. I took the offer.

The secure detention facility was located next to Albany county correctional facility and was maximum security. Upon entering, even after a court appearance, I was forced to undergo strip searches. Nothing like having a 13 year-old kid bend over and spread ‘em. The place was full of violent and “gangsta” kids. Fights would break out constantly and the staff members there were well trained in “restraining” children.
(thrown into a full-nelson and slammed face first into the concrete tile floor)
After about a month there I was finally “placed” as it’s called into a facility known as Berkshire Farms.

Berkshire Farms is a campus for convicted children. There are numerous “cottages”, a school, a recreational facility, a mess hall, a nurses station, an administration building, and a nurses station. There were over 150 “students” located at this place. You can only imagine the things that happen there.

I say this with great pride.
I am the only child to have ever been kicked out of Berkshire Farms for fighting.
There is at least 3 fights there everyday and for some reason I am still, to my knowledge, the only child that ever stood me ground so hard they had to remove me. They sent me back to the secure detention facility. I was to remain there until they found a facility that could handle me.

About 3 months later they find a place called the George Junior Republic. A place set up and operated like Berkshire Farms but known as a Residential Treatment Facility for it’s emphasis on mental disorders.

The GJR was where i would remain for the length of my sentence. Many fights. Many times beaten by staff that “restrained” just a little too hard. I distinctly remember one staff member who was an ex-marine telling me, “I was trying to bounce your head off of the sidewalk so you’d get knocked-out.” This was a place that had a sex-offender cottage as well. One kid was there until he was 21 for anally raping his cousin until his cousin needed re-constructive surgery.

Now at this point I’m on a “medication” called Olanzapine. A drug known to cause horrible side effects in people and has had humongous class action law suits won against the company that manufactures it. I would literally be awake for 2 minutes and sleep for 5. I was still getting 100% averages in all my subjects in school, was taking regents courses, and trying to maintain. All while being a 395 lbs. 14 year-old boy from the “medication”. It was the only thing they could think to put me on to make me complacent enough after trying the following:


There were some others but I can’t remember because I was too drugged-up.

Now while at the GJR I got into a fight one day and just as I swung to clobber this kid, a staff member walked in the way and I connected. Instant restriction level of privileges for 30 days. I was forced to sit at a dining room table and not allowed to hold conversation with anybody from the time I got back to the “cottage” from school, until the time I had to go to bed. When I had to return to court to be released, the director of the “cottage” I was housed in filed with the court for an extension. The same bastard judge that sentenced me to a year was more than happy to oblige. One more year added on to my sentence.

During the next year I decided to stop taking the “medication”. This was before the law was passed that if you were in a facility that you were obligated by law to take any medication prescribed to you. Over the thanksgiving break from school I was on the aforementioned restriction level so I couldn’t go home for what was known as a “home visit”. That’s when I was cold turkey off the “medication”. The withdrawal symptoms were horrendous. I couldn’t even keep water down. I was constantly violently vomiting. I remember vomiting up a slab of undigested fat that looked like it was cut off of a pork chop. I had no idea how long it had been in my stomach since I was on the Olanzapine for a year and a half.

After about two weeks I could finally eat again but I could only handle ramen noodles. About a week after that I could stomach the mess hall offerings again. My energy improved and I started to lose weight rapidly. When I stopped taking the Olanzapine I weighed 395 lbs. Two months later I weighed 165 lbs.

I spent the next year playing a lot of guitar and became part of the Animal Care Team, which was taking care of a scorpion, a snake, two iguanas, and a hermit crab that we had in our science classroom. I eventually improved my “behavior” and reached the privileged level and was offered a spot in one of the “privileged cottages”. In reality, I just figured out how to play the game well enough to get the hell out of there.

After I was released in January of 2000 I was to continue seeing the psychologist I was seeing before I was arrested. After one visit she told me I didn’t have to see her anymore. I was playing the game well.

I went back to my normal school, made new friends, chicks were infatuated with me. Things would seem to be going great for the average 15 year-old boy. Not to me. I still wanted nothing to do with the lie that was society. I was still a massive dynamo of rage and hate. I just knew how to play the game better now.

Over the next few years I had gotten arrested for a couple things. Nothing serious until I was 19.

Me and my mom got into an argument. I can’t even remember what it was about. She left the house and called the cops. The cops called my house a half-hour later. I laughed really hard at that. That was around 2:30 pm. My dad usually got home from work around 5:30 pm but that night he had a school board meeting and wasn’t due home until 7:30 pm. He didn’t show up until 9:00 pm. The garage is under the house so the entrance from the garage is a stairway that comes up right beside my bedroom door. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up, “Nate? You home?”, then it was quiet. He stood there for another few minutes before coming up the stairs. I knew he wasn’t alone. When he saw me standing in my doorway he said, “Oh you are home.” He proceeded to tell me that mom was upset and that i shouldn’t have yelled at her.

Exactly one hour later at 10:00 pm there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I know it’s the cops. Anybody worth their weight in salt can tell a cop knock. I open my bedroom door. 1 sheriff’s deputy, 2 state troopers, and a county investigator are standing outside my bedroom door with their guns drawn. My dad is out in the kitchen. I say, “What’s up guys?” They ask, “Nathan?” I respond, “Yep.” The deputy says, “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

I got arraigned and charged with 3rd degree menacing.
Now remember, my mom and I only yelled at each other and to be charged with menacing you must be brandishing a weapon.
I reminded the judge of this to which he replied, “In this case your voice is considered to be a weapon.”

I couldn’t help it and laughed at him.

Now 3rd degree menacing is a class B misdemeanor in the State of New York. Maximum sentence is 90 days. I had not known this when charged with the crime. I plead not guilty because I didn’t think the whole, “voice is weapon”, would stand up in county court. So I went to jail and awaited my court date. Jail was a cakewalk compared to juvy. After having the court date postponed twice I decided to do some research on my charges and learned that a 90 day sentence in a county jail usually only lasted 60 days for the “2/3 good time” rule. My next court date was scheduled for my 62nd day of incarceration. So when I went back to court I decided to change my plea to guilty so I could get out. Only for the simple fact that I knew that if I hadn’t then they would postpone me into oblivion and I’d somehow just “disappear”. The judge accepted the plea and released me but slapped me with a 6 month restraining order from my mom, my dad, and even my brother. I had nowhere to live and no previous work experience.

I got lucky and the pastor of the local church along with the board members decided to let me stay in the parsonage for two months. I had been playing guitar in the church band for awhile and teaching the pastor a bit on guitar as well. Most of the members of the church knew my family. Usually how it is in an area with less than 1,000 residents.

I eventually found an apartment and moved in. I lived there for a year before moving to another apartment where I resided for 6 years. After leaving that apartment I moved in with a friend who had just acquired an old bakery that he wanted me to help him with converting into a recording studio. That was a very fun and productive time.

As of February 2013, I have been in Texas for the past year. It was a major culture shock at first. Being in NY with all the weird creatures that are there is not my cup of tea. I realize this now after being here in Texas. I may not be from here but I can say with all that I’ve been through that this place is without a doubt the last bastion of hope. May the Independent Kingdom of Texas never succumb to the horrors that are the State of New York.

I write this article for the sole purpose of letting everybody know that if you have any doubt of what Alex Jones talks about with psychotropic medication, the prison industrial complex, the whole medical industrial complex, the corrupt government, the literal “new world order”… I just want you all to know. It’s real. I’m living proof of a person that was almost soft-killed and almost went on a mass murder/suicide campaign because of the corrupt and horrible system that’s in place and that has been in place since the mid 90s, all for just bein’ a mouthy kid.

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