Why Do You Want People To Die?

“Why Do You Want People to Die?” A Message to the Leaders of Chaos

Written by a man who’s tired of watching good people suffer while cowards in power play God.

To Trump, to Netanyahu, to the "Plus 1" mystery seat warmers standing behind them, and to every single leader of every nation currently trading lives for pride

Why do you want people to die?

Don’t dance around it. Don’t hide behind diplomacy or doctrine. You know what you’re doing.

You sign orders, approve strikes, tighten sanctions, arm factions, and ignite chaos. Then you turn around and pretend to care when the numbers roll in.

Let me remind you of those numbers:

World War I: 20 million dead.

World War II: 70 to 85 million dead 3% of the world’s population at the time.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Two cities vaporized in seconds over 200,000 civilians, gone.

Vietnam: nearly 3 million dead.

Iraq and Afghanistan? Another million between them many civilians, many children.

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the proxy wars, civil wars, coups, and state-sanctioned murders you back with a pen and a podium.

And here we are.

2025 and you're still flirting with the idea of global war like it’s a goddamn reality show twist.

Tell me what’s the endgame?

Do you honestly believe there will be a “winner” in the next world war?

You’re pushing buttons in a world full of nuclear weapons, drone swarms, AI-operated kill lists, and bio-labs.

If it goes off this time, there won’t be anyone left to write the history books.

You sit in glass towers with bulletproof cars and think that makes you safe.

It doesn’t.

When it all comes down, death doesn’t check your title or your bank account.

Your children, your grandkids, they’ll choke on the same fallout the rest of us do.

And for what?

Because someone believes differently than you do?

Let me break it down real simple:

You want to go to war because someone else prays facing the wrong direction?

You want to kill thousands because their version of history offends yours?

You’re ready to trade sons and daughters, husbands and wives, for oil, for politics, for religious pride?

Look at your families.

Look them in the eyes and tell them, “We’re going to start a war. Not because we have to. Because I want to prove I’m right.”

Then tell them that the people on the other side want them dead too.

Because that’s what war is.

A mutual agreement to slaughter each other’s children until someone runs out of bodies.

And while you burn money on bombs millions of people starve.

Children go without clean water. Veterans sleep on sidewalks. The Earth is dying and you’re too busy playing emperor to notice.

You’ve got the power to change this.

You could turn the tide.

You could say: Enough.

But that requires guts. And from where I’m standing, most of you haven’t had a pair since your campaign donations started rolling in.

So here’s my challenge:

Be bold. Be human. Sit the fuck down at a table and talk.

Don’t do it for your legacy. Don’t do it for your base.

Do it because we deserve to live.

We want to fall in love.

We want to raise our kids.

We want to dance in the kitchen and laugh on porches and feel the sun on our skin without worrying if it’s the last time.

You owe us that much.

Because if you keep pushing, there won’t be a future left to lead.

There’ll just be ashes.

And no one gets re-elected in a graveyard.

So I’ll ask again:

Why do you want people to die?

And more importantly

What the hell are you going to do to stop it?

There. Now let’s see if one of these damn cowards has the balls to answer.

Letting Go

There comes a day when a dad must let go,
When hope runs dry and the ache starts to show.
When dreams of laughter and time well-spent
Fade like smoke from a heart long bent.

He held on tight through storm and rain,
Through birthdays missed and silent pain.
But love alone can’t bridge the space,
When memories vanish without a trace.

So for his own soul, worn and bruised,
He lays down hope that’s been misused.
Not in anger, not in spite—
Just a quiet surrender to reclaim his light.

He walks away, not empty, but wise,
With mist in his soul and steel in his eyes.
For peace sometimes means letting go
Of the dream that never got to grow.

She Set Me Up. Then They Tried to Kill Me. And the Government Did Nothing!

Let me tell you what happens when you trust the wrong person in America.

My name is Curtis. I’m an Army veteran, father, survivor of PTSD, BPD, addiction, homelessness—and I’ve fought harder for this country than most people will ever understand. But in 2023, I made a mistake that almost got me killed:

I trusted Antonella Salvati Spisso.

We met in a mental health hospital. Trauma recognized trauma. She made me believe we had something real. By January, she moved in with me. By February, she tried to suck me into a marriage-for-citizenship scam. She wanted me to marry her ex-mother-in-law so she could stay in the U.S. I said hell no.

Photo of her ex-mother-in-law staged like we were a couple.

That’s when she flipped the script.

Days later, I caught her cheating. I was pissed—I yelled. But I never hit her. Never laid a hand on her. But she took that moment and started building a lie. She told police I was violent. She tried to get me arrested in multiple cities. It didn’t work—because I wasn’t violent. But that didn’t stop her.

From March to October, she continued living with me, eating my food, sleeping in my bed—while lying to police and shelters, telling them I was stalking her. Meanwhile, she was setting me up. She was telling everyone she was in hiding, when she was right beside me every night. She was playing the system like a damn chessboard.

And she had practice.

Turns out, Antonella had a history of prostitution, selling drugs, and abusing battered women’s shelters to get gas vouchers, food, and clothes—even while she was living in my house rent-free. She’d go to shelters and lie about being abused just to get free supplies. I’ve got documented proof of all of it. Every. Single. Thing.

In October 2023, she ghosted me. Disappeared. She knew I’d try to reach out. She baited me. Set me up. And when I messaged her—boom—she called it stalking. Then two weeks later, she sent me a Bible app friend request.

Does that sound like someone terrified of me?

This image was taken November 2, 2023 When she made me a cake for my birthday.

January 2024—I get arrested. But not by real cops. They came to my door pretending to be maintenance workers. No warrant. No Miranda. Just pure setup.

In court? My court-appointed lawyer didn’t show. So I went pro se. Represented myself.

I tore her affidavit apart. Every line was a lie. I have proof. She committed aggravated perjury—and I can prove it line by line.

But in February 2025, the DA and the court-appointed lawyer coerced me into a plea. They dropped the charge to a misdemeanor harassment charge. But the damage? It was already done.

Even with the case reduced, I still can’t get a job. Every employer sees the arrest, not the truth.

Meanwhile?

She’s still free. Still undocumented. Still lying. Still getting away with it.

And since then, things have gotten deadly.

I’ve received death threats, including graphic images of severed heads meant to scare me into silence.

One of the images sent to me after the death threat started.

One night, a neighbor high off the lies about me pulled a gun on me in the apartment complex.

The cops? Did nothing.

While riding my Harley-Davidson, I was shot at. Two bullets hit my backpack. That was inches from being my funeral.

I’ve sent everything documents, screenshots, messages, videos to Homeland Security, ICE, the FBI, DOJ, the Texas AG and you know what I got back? Nothing. Not a single callback. Not one person willing to step up.

They let her commit perjury.

They let her manipulate the system.

They let her frame a U.S. veteran and nearly get him killed.

This isn’t just my story.

This is a warning.

This is what happens when you speak the truth and the system wants silence.

You want to know how people snap? How they lose faith in law and order? THIS. RIGHT. HERE.

I have documented proof of everything. I’m not just shouting into the void I’ve got receipts.

And now I want the world to see them.

Share this. Blow it up.

Tag the DOJ, ICE, the FBI, whoever you think needs to see this.

Because I’ve tried every quiet route.

And I’m still standing. Still clean. Still fighting.

But I won’t stay silent anymore.

The Affidavit of the Damned

You ask how someone becomes a threat? Here’s how.

Start with a veteran—someone who believed in law, country, and the promise that truth still matters. Then watch him get torn down by a foreign national bent on fraud—someone who lied under oath, manipulated the system, and weaponized the courts to cover her own crimes. The agencies ignored the red flags, the threats, the evidence—all of it was handed over. Silence.

They arrested him under false pretenses. Vigilantes stalked him. He was smeared by a lie that could’ve been crushed with one honest investigation. But they let it breathe. Let it grow.

When he tried to survive—find work, stay clean, rebuild his life—they kept the chains on his record. They let the world treat him like a felon while the real criminal walked free.

Want to know how extremists are born? You erase a man. Make his truth irrelevant. Kill his voice. Then act surprised when he starts to scream.

He’s not there—yet. But every ignored call, every dismissed affidavit, every drop of justice withheld pushes men closer to that edge.

This isn’t a threat. It’s a warning.

Because if the truth doesn’t matter to them… someone else will make sure it does.

I'm scared

The fantasies don’t stop. If anything, they’ve grown sharper. More detailed. Like my mind’s running a highlight reel of revenge while I sit in silence pretending everything’s fine.

I scare myself.

I used to worry about dying—now I worry about what I might become. There’s this anger that bubbles up outta nowhere, and it don’t ask for permission. It just shows up. Loud. Violent.

Sometimes I imagine walking right up to the ones who destroyed parts of me and whispering, “Now it’s your turn.” And that voice in my head? It sounds calm. Too calm. That’s what messes me up.

I’m not a violent man. Never have been. But damn if I don’t feel haunted by what I could do. And that’s the truth. I feel like I’m standing on a tightrope with fury on one side and shame on the other. No balance. No safety net. Just me, trying not to fall.

DBT says to ride the wave. Let the emotion crest, then pass. But what if I am the wave now? What if I’ve been in fight mode so long, I don’t know how to just be anymore?

I keep trying to anchor myself—cold water, music, grounding, hell even prayer. But the images come back. The sound of someone begging for mercy. Their eyes finally reflecting the pain they made me swallow.

I don’t act on it. I won’t act on it. But I’d be lying if I said the thoughts didn’t bring a sense of twisted comfort.

So here I am, writing it out. Naming it. Trying not to feed it, just watch it. Hold space for it without letting it own me.

But yeah... I scare myself.

And that’s real.

The Change

Well, journal...

Now that the dust has settled, you’d think the storm inside me would quiet down too. But nah, not yet. I still struggle. It’s different now, though. It’s not the same kind of hell it used to be.

Back then, it was all suicidal ideations. Heavy shit. There were days I didn’t even recognize myself—just this shadow of a man, barely hanging on. I used to feel like the pain inside was so loud the only way to silence it was to disappear completely.

But now? It’s changed. Morphed into something darker, meaner. Now my mind drifts into fantasies of revenge. Not on myself anymore, but on them—the ones who lied to me, betrayed me, used me, broke me down like I was disposable.

I don’t just want justice. I want them to feel it. I want them to know what it’s like to carry this pain in their bones. I want their smiles to crack under the weight of what they’ve done. I want the truth to burn them like it scorched me.

Sometimes I imagine their faces—blank, confused, finally understanding the destruction they caused. I imagine their tears. Their shame. And yeah, it makes me feel something. Not peace, not healing… but something. Maybe power? Maybe control? I don’t know.

That’s where I scare myself. Because those thoughts—those vivid, detailed fantasies—they’re starting to feel... comfortable. Like slipping into a worn leather jacket that used to be too heavy.

But I’ve learned to pause. That’s one thing DBT’s given me: the power of observing without reacting. I can acknowledge the thoughts without becoming them. I can sit with the fire and not burn down everything around me—or inside me.

I tell myself this is just part of the process. I’m grieving the old me. Grieving the trust I gave away. Grieving the pieces of me I’ll never get back.

It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to want justice. But I have to be careful not to let that desire rot into obsession. I’ve clawed my way out of hell once—I don’t want to turn around and go there again.

So yeah, I still struggle. I’m not where I want to be. But I’m not where I was either. And maybe that counts for something. Maybe just putting these words down means I haven’t given in.

I’m still here. Still trying. Still fighting not to become the very thing that hurt me.

Stay Away

If you don’t like what I write in my blog, then do yourself a favor—don’t read it. Just stay the hell away. And let’s get one thing straight: this blog was never about you. It’s for me—to vent, to reflect, to remind myself of where I’ve been and where I’ll never go again.

The fact that you felt the need to make it about yourself? That’s laughable. You were a bad chapter—hell, one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. You showed up when I was at my lowest, willing to accept anything or anyone just to fill a void. But not once, when I was walking right—with honesty, integrity, and faith—would I have had anything to do with someone like you.

Yeah, it’s a harsh truth. But it’s still the truth.

I’m doing damn well now. Getting stronger every day. I’ve built a circle of real ones—people who love me, who I love back. No manipulation, no lies, no games.

So just move on.

Patientce Is a Virtue

For the longest time, it felt like I was fighting an uphill battle, constantly pushing forward without seeing much progress. But now, things are finally starting to fall into place. My VA benefits are kicking in, and that alone is a massive relief. I’ve spent years navigating the system, wondering if the day would ever come when I’d see the support I earned, and now it’s happening. That weight, that uncertainty, is lifting, and it feels damn good.

Work is going great, too. I’ve got steady work, and there’s a sense of pride that comes with putting in the effort and seeing the results. The days feel productive, and I’m building something solid for myself. But beyond all of that, the biggest change isn’t external—it’s internal. I can honestly say I’m happy with myself. And that’s not something I’ve always been able to say.

DBT has been a game-changer. I’m using the skills, applying them when I need them, and not just letting the emotions run the show. When things start feeling overwhelming, I know what to do instead of spiraling. Music, ice water, grounding techniques—it all works when I actually use it. And staying in contact with my therapist has been crucial. Just having that outlet, that professional support, reminds me I’m not in this alone.

Life is brighter. Not perfect, not without its struggles, but it’s manageable, and more than that—it’s worth it. I’m here, I’m standing strong, and for the first time in a long time, I actually believe in the future I’m building.

My surroundings

Well, journal, it's been a better week than I thought.

Met another couple today, and that was just amazing. As we were sitting and talking about motorcycles, hunting, and such, I knew the man looked familiar. Come to find out, when I broke down about a month ago or more, he was one of the people who pulled over and offered gas or to help tow me home. Small world. It’s moments like these that make me realize just how interconnected everything can be, how paths cross in ways we never expect.

Ever since moving out of Roanoke and getting away from the nasty areas of Fort Worth, I've met some damn good people. For so long, I let some ugly people into my life—people who were rotten to the core. I even dated some of the ugliest souls on the planet. And I don’t mean ugly on the outside, but pure ugly on the inside. It’s strange to reflect on those times and recognize how different things are now. Back then, I was surrounded by negativity, deception, and betrayal. I convinced myself that I had to tolerate that kind of company because I didn’t deserve better, but that was a lie I told myself for too long.

What a contrast from the people I used to be around. The truly good-hearted people that are surrounding me nowadays—it sure is a blessing. Feels like God is making up for lost time, bringing the right people into my life when I need them the most. I find myself laughing more, enjoying the simple things in life again, and not having to constantly watch my back or second-guess the intentions of those around me. There’s a kind of peace in that, a sense of security I hadn’t known in years.

A new chapter, and a better one at that. I feel like I’m finally learning what it means to be surrounded by people who genuinely care, who offer kindness without expectation, and who remind me that there are still good people left in this world. It’s a refreshing change, and I’m grateful for every bit of it. Here’s to more days like this and fewer like the ones I left behind.

My voice!

Well, journal,

The freedom and peace of mind knowing that the GPS tracker is no longer around my ankle is indescribable! To come and go as I please without the constant feeling of being watched—it's liberating. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I can truly breathe.

Now, I can start planning my trip to Washington, D.C. My meeting with the Department of Justice is going to change a lot of lives. Some for the better, some for the worse—but it’s what has to be done. The truth needs to come out, and justice needs to be served.

I remember someone from my past once telling me that people from their country are ruthless, that they will do everything they can to stay in this country—whether it's legal or illegal. They’ll stop at nothing. That conversation has stuck with me, and now I find myself in a position where I can be a voice, a force, making it almost impossible for them to exploit the system illegally.

This journey ahead is going to be a tough one, but I’ve already been through hell. What’s one more battle? At least this time, I’m on the offense.

Now it's time to go to work!

Well, journal, my legal battle has finally come to an end! It’s been a long, exhausting road, but now the fight is just beginning for others. With court documents in hand, filled with sworn statements under oath, the truth is no longer just my word against theirs—it’s official. I’ve also been advised to seek the assistance of the feds, ensuring that this doesn’t just get swept under the rug. Now, ICE and the Department of Justice have what they need to step in and take over. Justice moves slowly, but when it catches up, there’s no outrunning it. All I have to do now is sit back and watch the dominos fall.