Meghan, Duchess of Sussex delivered an address to the graduating students at her alma mater, Los Angeles’ Immaculate Heart High School. The nuanced and emotionally poignant speech addressed the pressing issue of systemic racism, which has come to the fore with the racially predatory murder of George Floyd.
Meghan’s poise, articulateness and emotional intelligence are why the British media and spiritually malignant millions across the globe, have made the Duchess of Sussex the most famous lynched, black woman in history. Like the Tudor matriarch of her prior incarnation, Meghan is a survivor and is abundantly gifted to shine brighter and soar higher above those who know nothing but hatefulness.
Meghan, Duchess of Sussex on the occasion of Archie’s first birthday.
One sweet sun-satiated day in May, 2018, Harry & Meghan were serenaded as they blissfully walked down to the river, entered the ferry that will see them uneclipsed, boldly cross the seas of time, like none of their contemporaries. Shine on Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, for you are loved by the most gloriously empathetic human, who embodies the beauty of spirit that was Diana, Princess of Wales. You are exactly where you are supposed to be, bringing inspiration and joy, enabling your light to best shine – as never you could have for being in the archly toxic confines of the royal households and the spiritually dense who vampirically, parasitically abound therein.
How fucking goddamn dare you, Piers Morgan use Kobe Bryant’s passing to try and whitewash the ugliness that is the fiendish lynching of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex that you, Piers, and the rest of British media engaged in whilst whipping your isle of hooligan louts to frenzied hysteria of hatred and racism? Then when Meghan wipes arse with you and takes her leave, which never in a million years you had anticipated, you bring proud black women like Afua Hirsch on your show and subject her to the usual white male asshole brow-beating as you talk over top of her for 70 per cent of the time because ‘you are a black bitch and we owned the likes of you for 400 years and we will tell you what to think even when we both know damn well that we are nothing but racially predatory swine.’
Never once during his twenty-year career did opposing fans, when Kobe and Lakers played away games, scream and make monkey noises as is regularly the case on your isle of drunken boors where you swear up and down there is no racism. How dare you! Leave Kobe the blasted motherfuck to rest in peace. He is far better deserving than to have self-serving tributes as revisionist boors like you are quick to engage in. What you damn well ought to be doing is schooling that porcine fuck, Thomas Markle Sr., in the fact that the daughter whom he claims to love, whom you equally speciously claim never suffered racism in Britain, was subjected to racism by HRH Princess Michael of Kent when she wore the blackamoor brooch to The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace. That’s right, I may be a lucid dreamer but I am pretty fucking sure that this did not occur in some dream to which only my lucidly engaged mind was privy.
Please leave Kobe the hell out of your revisionist BS because unlike your racist isle of louts, only in America could Kobe have achieved his phenomenal greatness and this in spite of America’s own brand of racism. Hell, at least in America, blacks are respected and not culturally ghettoised as in your fair barbaric isle.
Please, Piers go and explain to Thomas Markle Sr. that Danny Baker’s incendiary tweet was not in the least remotely racist but mere jest. Please Piers go and convince your knuckle-dragging readership that were HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex were to have wedded a Jew that you would have engaged in an openly vile antisemitic campaign of hatred towards his wife then deny that it was remotely antisemitic. More to the point, had this been the case, you would be damn well unemployed ages ago. The mere fact that at this juncture Thomas Markle Sr. has come forward to state that his daughter experienced no racism whilst being lynched in Britain, shows how desperately Britons are prepared to throw money at the issue of their alarmingly savage racism to make it go away.
Perhaps, the Cambridges want the predominantly black Commonwealth states to take leave as they tear arse time and again in their faces. Just look at them today at the 75th anniversary ceremony on Holocaust Memory Day, all poised and obsequious in stark contrast to their behaviour at the reception for the African heads-of-states last week at the UK/Africa summit.
Perhaps, Piers, you can explain to Thomas Markle Sr. that though Lewis Hamilton has won 6 F1 Championships, he has only been made an MBE, whereas Ben Stokes was made an OBE. And please do try explaining to him that it has positively nothing to do with race that five F1 Championships later, Lewis Hamilton remains an MBE whereas Andy Murray, no Mamba he, was made a CBE for merely winning twice the championship at Wimbledon. Naturally, never in a million years would Jenson Button have been relegated to mere MBE status if he had won 6 F1 Championships. How fucking dare you, Piers! How are you celebrating Lewis Hamilton as your own Mamba, 6 fucking F1 Championships on?
Like Kobe, this woman Meghan is a true Mamba. She came, she saw and like Kobe, would never settle for petty, lazy mediocrity and that is why she took her leave of the Cambridges and their petty grudging machinations, the racism at Kensington Palace as was outed by HRH Princess Michael of Kent – why do you think that the Sussexes moved to Frogmore Cottage… all the more reason why they should not be paying for your entrenched racism by paying for Frogmore Cottage.
Piers, how pray tell can the likes of you aspire to being Mamba when all you and your isle of bigots are, are mere lazy, colonialist, racist boors, who can never cease being slavishly addicted to your truly deluded idea of superiority and entitlement? Did it never occur to you as you racially preyed on, hunted, lynched and celebrated Meghan’s departure that all of this was affecting The Queen whom you claim to cherish, honour and respect? In lynching Meghan, you were also dismantling The Queen’s proudest legacy, the Commonwealth? Well, she is gone and like Thomas Markle Sr., you never knew Meghan and she will never suffer you nor your BS. Stop trying to absolve yourselves of your ugliness… your racism; it is at the very core of your collective isle-dwelling souls.
Go on, if you had treated Kobe as you treated Meghan, would he have achieved his greatness? Fuck no! Meghan knows her worth, as did Kobe, which is why she took leave of lazy, petty assholes like you – and elsewhere royals, royal households – who could never aspire to being Mamba. How dare you, you small-minded, bigoted fool deny your racist birthright? How dare you presume that you could possibly ever be perceived as Mamba? Indeed, you may yet begin to transcend your mediocrity by doing something so bold and Mamba-like as writing about the Cambridges’ crumbling façade as alluded to by BBC’s Mary Berry’s A Berry Merry Christmas TV special at Christmas 2019. Indeed, I dare you, you failed Mamba twat, write about the vile paedophilia within the House of Windsor, which to deny is just as risible as your winded rants about Mamba Meghan never having been subjected to racism by the British media, royal households, royals or society at large.
How dare you Piers when the very racism you deny is at the heart of why Meghan could not achieve her own greatness in Britain. Unlike the raw spontaneity of sport where Lewis Hamilton, Kobe Bryant, Michael Jordan, Usain Bolt and countless others cannot be hindered and interfered with in real time by the likes of insufferable and ubiquitous racist boors like you, ready to lynch, vilify and criminalise such persons, they unlike Meghan are able to achieve greatness without being hindered, driven out of town and having the mob incited to hatred and lynching them because of your racism and grudge. You cannot warp and interfere in real time events such that you who must always win, must always be superior, come out on top – hell why do you think Simon Cowell is so damn rich? Simon Cowell allows you a guaranteed winner to your liking, of your fragile-sensibilitied likeness every time. No asshole, Meghan didn’t run; Meghan’s greatness belongs in real time, which is guaranteed beyond your isle of bigoted boors – the royals, royal households, Britons at large and most definitely Mamba-challenged assholes like you!
What William wants, William gets; he is the spoilt, over-indulged man-child, who also happens to be inordinately stupid and lacks awareness in direct contrast to his paternal grandmother, HM The Queen – one only has to recall his behaviour during Sheku Kanneh-Mason’s performance at the 2018 Royal Wedding of the Sussexes which validates this fact.
What possible strategic import is Bhutan such that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge had to pay the inordinately handsome King a visit? None! William bothered and besotted, clearly had to make that journey and realise his public school boy fantasy.
Obsessively controlling, this is the only known photograph of HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge with a gun whilst hunting. A carefully stage-managed persona, which airbrushes out anything that could possibly cast him in a negative light. Just like when recently stridently denying that there was any bullying on his (William’s) part of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex or that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge could in any way have been party to the campaign of isolation, racially predatory bullying and collusion with the print medium to slander, vilify and drive the American negro from being within the ranks of the senior royals.
Following TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, everyone fell into line and ignored, isolated, excluded and condescendingly gloated, hissed at Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. The Cambridges, like HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York and his relations with murdered paedophile Jeffrey Epstein, simply do not relate to or engage with blacks. Period. There is no fudging the issue. As such, they would have seen it as a betrayal on the part of HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex to have gone and wedded a black woman, thereby bringing into their midst, the most undesirable of possible wives.
The Cambridges’ bigotry is precisely why that flat-arsed, no-calved freak, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, felt perfectly justified in wearing the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s annual Christmas Lunch in 2017. This display would have been a way of currying favour with the toxic 9s (the Cambridges) who head the court at Kensington Palace.
This is precisely why it was contingent on TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge visiting his shitty little enterprise, there was pea-brained Amir Khan, claiming to all the world that there is no racism in England; however, you can damn well bet that the blithering jackass certainly thinks that there is Islamophobia in England. Matters not how the Cambridges run off to Pakistan and find them more desirable than the predominantly black Commonwealth countries’ citizens, radical Muslims are never going to cease fantasising of putting your skull in the small of your back. So sad to watch the descendants of the world’s greatest empire kiss-arse in a bid not to be hunted by those who will never cease seeing them as the enemy, even in your own land. Alas, such is the cruel justice that is karma.
Here we have another Asian Briton, running off at the mouth and making absurd inflammatory claims as there is no racism in England. That is as absurd as any man anywhere, denying that women experience sexism. If there is no anti-Semitism, no Islamophobia then yes, there is no racism towards blacks. Obviously, no way Muslim Khans, Amir & Saira, would agree that there is no Islamophobia. These Asians as they curry favour with whites, just come off looking as latter day house niggers for stridently denying that blacks experience racism. Just because a Mongolian does not experience anti-Semitism does not meant that anti-Semitism does not exist. Really sick and tired of all these holier-than-though, non-white, non-blacks, stoking racial divisions by denying racism towards blacks exist, simply because it earns then favoured nation status with people they would, in the case of the Khans et al, readily favour the heads of the same whites, they feign defending, in the small of their backs.
Henry & Meghan attending HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace.
Where pray tell were the Cambridges coming forward at Christmas 2017 and stridently defending Harry and his wife and stating that there was no place in their court for behaviour like that of HRH Princess Michael of Kent. Yet, there was William having the clueless Amir Khan, pronouncing that there is no racism in England. Alas, there is no sophistication in the actions of stupid persons. He said nothing about the brooch incident; however, when your brother and his wife are being run out of England, you get a convenient kiss-arse to come forward and deny racism in England.
As fate would have it, it truly would be poetic justice to have HRH Prince George of Cambridge end up marrying one of the many well-heeled and aggressive Indo-Pakistani families that now see opportunity, what with the American negro crashing the gates of the palace. Sadly, of course, George will likely end up converting to his wife’s religion in such a scenario and there would go all those centuries of tradition and history. Just imagine, all the art in Buckingham Palace carted to the courtyard and destroyed like the Buddhist statues in Afghanistan were; thereafter, Buck House become a palatial mosque at the end of the mall Indeed, fitting karma for a history of warring and slavery; more than that, fitting karma for having bullied, racially preyed on and driven out Meghan that undesirable American negro.
You keep on avoiding those predominantly black Commonwealth countries, though future sovereign thereof; you may yet rue the day your bigotry got the better of you. Look at the preceding photograph, both Cambridges are hard-faced and sullen, betraying their desire not to be in the company of people like these, who happen to be predominantly black as they are the leaders of Africa at a UK/Africa summit. All royals with hands clasped as though wanting not to be contaminated by undesirables.
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Just as at Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor’s christening photograph, William had the same look of disgust and loathing for having to be in the presence of such undesirables… blacks.
Both the Cambridges walking into the salon at Buckingham Palace to meet the predominantly black delegation of African leaders at the reception for the UK/Africa Summit with the faces looking hard, vexed and like thunder; apart from the fact that their marriage is a fractious, hostile waste of time, they are also not holding back on their displeasure at having to engage people about whom they do not give two fucks.
All this trip demonstrated, is who William’s advisers are and who he looks up to. There was no import in a future head of the Church of England, kowtowing to any other religion anywhere. HM The Queen has never done it; then again, Israel is not a predominantly black Commonwealth nation. The sad reality is, William could not fathom that to many with a discerning intellect, he looked as ridiculously silly as he found Rev. Curry as he openly ridiculed him to his father during the Royal wedding in 2018 of his brother at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle before his brother’s mother-in-law. William is an alarmingly clueless chump.
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Indeed, there were the Sussexes on the eve of the 2019 Remembrance Sunday service in Whitehall with Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall not turning up; she bowed out at the last minute over claims of being under the weather. Yet, there she was the day following in the balcony in Whitehall next to HM The Queen, looking as prune-faced as ever.
Well before you knew what next, there was Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex emigrated to Canada. Now that’s more like the Tudor matriarch we know and love; damn right said Meghan, ‘Bitch I’m not your dirty tampon!’ Regardless how that sissy-arsed closet case, Piers Morgan loudly farts from the wrong orifice, Meghan is not a quitter. Funny how he failed to have stated that though not the star, Meghan did not quit Suits for all of seven years. Wanna know why pussy-face, because she was not being racially preyed on, disrespected and of all people by persons whom she readily discerned are fucking idiots… to put it delicately.
Just look at the rabid, racially predatory idiot having to soul-search and claim after Meghan has said, ‘Fuck you, I’m out,’ having to run around and defend that they were never being racist. If Meghan had not left, you would not be having this debate, rather, you would be continuing on with the same racialised reportage that got you massive advertising revenue. Well, don’t you worry about it, Americans do not like being treated like shit and they are second to no one. The days of British actors migrating to America and walking off with awards, awards season after awards season are numbered. How many American actors from Julliard end up in BBC dramas or anywhere for that matter on British TV or film? None; it simply never happens!
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Only a self-assured soul who had been highly placed in the BRF in previous lives and one who played just as pivotal a role as the current sovereign, HM The Queen, could be so strong, indomitable and possessed of a true sense of self. Yes, indeed, why suffer through decades of being racially preyed on by royal households, royals both minor and senior? Good of the Sussexes to have gotten out now, in the next decade or two at most, William will likely be sovereign and he and his warring wife are the most ill-equipped persons you can possibly imagine, to carry on the heritage of the current sovereign, HM The Queen.
Ragland, Doria 2/9/56 Cleveland, Ohio.
Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature slave – second life thereat. Doria is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, Doria is in the intellectual part of moving centre.
Doria’s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary, stubbornness.
Doria’s body type is Venus/Saturn.
The fragment Doria is fifth-cast in the second cadence. Doria is a member of greater cadence seven. Doria’s entity is three, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.
Doria’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion a priest who is known to her.
Doria’s three primary needs are: exchange, adventure and power.
There are 5 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.
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As is obvious, Doria is a cadre mate of HM The Queen, her daughter, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor and HRH Prince George of Cambridge. Archie and George are entity mates; however, whereas Archie is the 7th level mature priest, George is a fourth mature king! The senior Cambridges are in no way connected to any of the aforementioned persons at the level of soul; the former persons, though, share a bond, which would never be marred by anything that the Cambridges would do.
How’s that for karmic dessert for the bloody savagery you meted out to Africa and her descendants even to this day and which, like the smug cowards you are, will rant up and down, protesting that it has anything to do with race as you lynched HRH Prince Henry and his wife for being a goddamn American negro straight out of Compton. These people actually get a high out of fucking with blacks and denying to our faces that racism exists. There is no way in high hell that Piers Morgan would bring a Muslim, Muslim cleric or Jihadist onto his show and take pleasure in fucking with such an individual and claim that there is no such thing as Islamophobia – certainly, his open animus towards Afua Hirsch is standard behaviour towards blacks.
In all this high jinks, William and Catherine had not foreseen the ramifications of their grudging, racially predatory behaviour towards Meghan and her husband. Now that Meghan has taken Harry and her family to Canada, there is HM The Queen’s greatest legacy, the Commonwealth, left in ruins as it is a known fact that neither William nor Catherine have any desire to mix with the predominantly black Commonwealth heads-of-states and definitely they are not the least bit inclined to go visit those nations.
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Archie was the catalyst for the Sussexes to make their break for North America. There was Meghan, refusing to play by the rules and when finally she revealed a photo of Archie with his great-grandmother, there were they all looking on adoringly as though he were the messiah. Further, there was of all things a dread-locked black woman in the photograph and the royal baby’s grandmother no less. If that were not bad enough, without access to Archie as the Sussexes denied the royal rota for attacking Meghan, they presented him at court to Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu, the very reminder of white privilege not being a given anymore. There was Archie, a royal baby, being fawned over by that vile attacker of Apartheid as heroic Baroness Thatcher saw him, to say nothing of Nelson Mandela.
Indeed, Meghan is infinitely smarter than the royal rota realised; this is after all, the same soul who proved the matriarch of the Tudor dynasty. No messing with Meghan. Britons with their inferiority complex towards richer, larger, brasher Americans just had to bully, bray and racially prey on the black witch. Too bad, you never thought that black American woman was going to fight back and pull the rug out from under the bullying royal rota’s feet.
This couple, possessed of matching numbers, and toxic at that, 9 and 3 are as culpable in Meghan deciding that the best move to save their marriage and sanity was to hell with the Cambridges’ games and get out. The royal rota is dead and for being in Canada, who could care less what they think?
Now the ball is in the powerful royal rota’s court and the The Sun’s racist editor can go stuff a cock in every orifice as he does the bidding of his vile overlord, whose oft-passed-around, Texan escort wife pretty much sums up the lack of integrity associated with that racist behemoth. Who cares now what Piers Morgan thinks in his daily shrill, race-baiting sniper fire at Meghan and Harry? All this because it has everything to do with race.
The Windsors represent the lionisation of white privilege; more than that, they represent the purity of white genetics. The irony of all this is that almost all European royals invariably descend from HM Queen Victoria, who was directly descended from the very equally black wife as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex of HM, King George III’s, Queen Charlotte.
Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor is the manifestation of Piers Morgan and all racist Britain’s worse fears. There is a royal child, who is directly born to the womb of a black woman. Of course, that black woman would be reviled and become the most lynched black in human history. Indeed, why should she suffer it; it is madness, has nothing to do with her or reality and as the Sussexes clearly love each other, why subject yourself to such toxicity? Why be vilified, lied about, openly hated and ridiculed all because you did not give birth to a child who is of pure white heritage.
This ultimately has nothing to do with Meghan. Meghan, though, was the crucible of their worse fears realised; the moment you breed with non-whites, you lose your very less than dominant genetic blonde and blue-eyed stock, which of course is widely claimed as superior. The obvious love this man, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex has for his wife, Meghan, a black woman and their non-white child is at the heart of the open racially predatory animus these ugly people bear Meghan and her family; yet, these cowardly liars swear up and down that it has nothing to do with race!
Well here’s another obvious lie of yours, on which your civilisation is based: sorry not buying it – Mary did not lay down and give birth to Christ without once having fucked. From that one lie, has sprung a culture of lies where everything is based in lies… right down to trying to deny Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex her humanity. To hell with the royal households, the Cambridges and any other royals who would deny this great eloquent, intellectually and emotionally intelligent woman her rightful human respect.
Since the institution and its rabid racists could never be expected to change, on realising this, fast enough, one day Meghan looked herself in the mirror, smiled and said, ‘I am much too tall to be made to feel this small.’ Meghan decided to be the change that the House of Windsor needed, ‘Come on H, we are moving to Canada, you are finally going to be emancipated.’ Free at last were they of the toxic brother (William) and his equally toxic wife (Catherine) whom, I might add, Harry never rejected.
Let them finally get off their arses and do something remotely looking like work and more importantly, looking like a couple in love… hyperemesis gravidarum my arse! Meghan driven out because singly or combined, the Cambridges were outshone by Meghan, indeed, Meghan and Harry.
Like Charles with Diana, Princess of Wales before them, a petulant, jealous William colluded with his wife and conspired to demonise that black witch. They had never in a million years envisioned Meghan, upping and abandoning them and their BS. Look at William in the above clip; he is winded, embarrassed and unfocussed and hardly ever looks up. Whatever are they going to do? Meghan pulled a move that they had never seen coming in a million years. His culpability in the matter is betrayed by his not once cracking a joke, which is his usual approach on taking to the lectern
Well, there you are centre stage, as boring as day-old porridge and just as sodden as cardboard left outdoors during monsoon season. Go on mousy, go on cock-suck that mic and show us how you have found the voice you never had to lose in the first place. Now Meghan can speak before an audience without having the royal household, directed by the Cambridges, scrub the internet of her speeches, as they did with her eloquent speech to the 2018 British Fashion Awards.
Really you two, what exactly have you won? Now centre stage, the spotlight will be most unforgiving as it ferrets out who you truly are. Your collusion with royal rota is up, the beast needs new blood to feast on… and you are it.
As the seven-headed Royal Rota beast starts attacking itself at the news that TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex have laid down the law, which definitely does not include them, they have elected to declare all out war! Naturally, the American negro whom they spent every inch of broadsheet demonising, vilifying and mercilessly racially preying on, now had to be blamed and attacked. Never having approved of the black, who ought to have been nothing more than a bit on the side, having married a blood royal prince, the first response comes from that pussy-faced bigot extraordinaire screaming like the closeted cocksucker that he is, ‘Take away their HRH titles!.’ Revoking the Sussexes titles is as good as divorce and finally the royal rota and the majority of racists can have a marriage annulled that they never thought should have occurred. Too, all of a sudden, they are concerned about the frailty of the indomitable monarch, HM Queen Elizabeth II.
By the time that HRH Princess Michael of Kent wore her blackamoor brooch to the 2017 Queen’s Lunch at Buckingham Palace, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex would have regularly been subjected to open racial animus from all quarters within the BRF and the royal households. Naturally, the ubiquitous garden variety bigots were all emboldened by the race-baiting narrative being driven by the bemused royal rota. What is their defense for the brooch – Meghan had gifted it to the no-calved freak and insisted that she wear it? Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex makes her Buckingham Palace balcony debut at 2018 Trooping the Colour and she is cunningly eclipsed when it is decided that the four royal colonels who had ridden by horse to and from the palace: HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal, HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge are to stand alongside HM The Queen.
In the following year, again, the four royal colonels were staged, rather than the protocol of precedence, such that TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex were again in the back and eclipsed. More importantly, in 2019, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge were as far away from the Sussexes as possible; this, of course, would only validate the tensions between both of Diana, Princess of Wales’s descendant families.
As whites are always readily indignant when denying the existence of racism, the current feverish quarterbacking, addressing every possible reason for the Sussexes’ decision to forge their own future, covers everything except the obvious – the stinking racism within the BRF and the royal households… to say nothing within the royal rota and British society at large. The obvious assumption is that we owned you people for 400 years. Of course, we damn well have a right to openly hate you, racially prey on you because we damn well can and are damn well right in our perceptions… most of all, our heritage is above reproach.
Copping hauteur and curling one’s hideous, thin lizard upper lip aside, selectively and romanticising the past is all well and fine but the reason for damn well hating Meghan and what she represents, is precisely because were it not for those 400 years of making you fabulously wealthy, Britons would be no better off than Albanians. You can never possibly begin to fathom the degree to which blacks have long ago figured out your own special brand of crazy. Though superiorly armed; crazy the fuck is crazy.
The Sussexes are in the power position, HM The Queen cannot afford the fallout of having the bride of the Commonwealth Youth Ambassador of the predominantly black Commonwealth banished, stripped of royal titles and also removed from her Commonwealth position. Not only does one run the real risk of many of those predominantly black Commonwealth countries leaving, more serious is the threat of the Sussexes doing a sit-down interview with that other Queen, Oprah Winfrey. As it is, Britons come off as the ugly racist boors that sadly they are. Also, if stripped of titles, Meghan HRH Duchess of Sussex would be seen as an admirable American who refused to toe the line and scrape and bow to persons who are bigoted boors, in particular TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Meghan does not have to respect Catherine, she did nothing but traipse after/stalk the oaf with limited communication/body language/emotional intelligence until she got the ring and promptly laid down the law whilst rowing and dismissing him during her first appearance on the balcony at Buckingham Palace on the day of their wedding.
The fact remains that if HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex had taken a Japanese, Muslim, Chinese, Korean, East Indian or Burmese wife, the royal rota and the British public would not have been so feral with open animus towards any such non-white wife. To those owed karma, one is always most resently, hateful and obsessed. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has been a crucible for that hatred/fear but at the end of the day, the Tudor matriarch did not come back to suffer immolation by rabid racial predators. Where’s the thriving in that? And, as she articulately laid bare in her engagement interview, this woman is stratospherically more emotionally intelligent than certainly the Cambridges and all the other members of the BRF, to say nothing of the royal households, combined.
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It isn’t just enough to be a goddamn token; this is not the frigging 1960s. Being brayed at and water-hosed by the royal rota, who are now hand-wringing and assuming zero fuck-all culpability, is no way to live. As Jessica Mulroney so deftly shared on her IG account, “a strong woman looks a challenge in the eye and gives it a wink.” I will go one further; She winks, smiles then speed dials Oprah. No one played Margaret Beaufort and no one plays TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex. Going forward, no matter what the senior royals do, this is the end result of their racially hostile response to Meghan in their midst…. they know who they are and their actions have betrayed their culpability. Positively nothing was done as this woman was being lynched; instead, the royal rota and them decided to play central casting and turn Catherine into a star. Not a damn soul at the Gersh Agency would represent that mousy drab bore. Once the royal rota get over having been emasculated and eviscerated by TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex, they can finally go feed on the ruined façade that’s left of the Cambridges’ marriage.
TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex simply did what no one within the BRF had the balls to do: deal with the royal rota’s out-of-control vigilantism. The royal rota and their legal team have looked at the Sussexes’ declaration and see lawsuits that they can never win and a loss of power, which frankly they should never have acquired. On the day of their glorious wedding, commentators asked how was Meghan going to change the BRF… not being the royal rota’s bitch is damn well how one modernises the BRF. You cannot use the royal rota, as the Cambridges have, to wage a grudge match with the more stylish and popular though less senior royals, the Sussexes. Again, if you are going to play your cunning games via the royal rota, do so at your peril when dealing with an American.
The Royal Rota behaved as they did because they knew damn well that there was little acceptance of the black American within the senior royals’ midst. On the eve of the 2019 Remembrance Service in Whitehall, there were TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex alone minus Camilla, HRH #Duchess of Cornwall who was a no-show, claiming being under the weather. The next day, however, there she was on the balcony in Whitehall on HM The Queen’s immediate right, showing no signs of illness. Just as when she did not want to, Camilla hosted an event in Scotland, rather than attend HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s wedding in October 2018.
No other faction would have exerted more pressure on HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales to alienate the black American than HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. He has never his life long, unlike his brother, betrayed being at ease around blacks. He, along with his inarticulate, insecure wife, went out of their way to make HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex’s wife feel unwanted. Both possessed of 9s in their numerological makeup, proved themselves petty, grudging and prejudicial in the negative manifestations of the immensely difficult to master number 9.
So threatened were they by articulate, accomplished, self-made and emotionally centred Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex that never once was she allowed to attend a state dinner where she would be expected to wear a crown. Once and only once did she go on an outing with HM The Queen. On the official BRF YouTube channel, Meghan’s rather articulate speech whilst attending the 2018 British Fashion Awards was edited to her making the introduction and being thanked by Claire Waight Keller; the entire Internet has been scrubbed clean of her entire speech. By virtue of the Cambridges’ pettiness, all of a sudden in the past year, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge has been shoved forward, making speeches and deigning to appear remotely human and speaking to the media. All indicators are there in plain view, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has been horribly treated by senior and minor royals alike along with the royal households and none of it was clearly ever challenged by HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales who obviously is Prince Regent in all but name. Bullying Charles, his father, to pose with granny and his darling little twinkle toes, the clearly pussy-whipped, oafish William assumed that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex was prepared to endure a lifetime of BS from the likes of someone whom she obviously dismisses as an idiot.
A proud black woman, under no circumstances is Meghan prepared to have her son, Archie Harrison, treated as she has been treated by any royal or hideously racist members of the royal households in an echo of her upbringing around shitty excuses for human beings like Samantha and Thomas Jr. did during her childhood and the moment she became engaged to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex. HM The Queen, knew the importance in Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex being wedded to a senior royal; it cemented the love and respect the blacks across the Commonwealth bear her. Be that as it may, as HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge could not care less what ‘granny’ wants, he would just as readily dispense with the undesirable ‘negro’ in his family as he would all those blacks in the Commonwealth. I am sure that he would consider it a good thing if with the Duchess of Sussex’s treatment and ouster, some predominantly black Commonwealth member states were to pull out. He has never visited any such country and likely never will.
Everything is a damn choice. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex clearly sees little difference between TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge and Samantha Grant & Thomas Markle Jr., they are bigots not worth associating with. Of one thing you can be certain, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will never allow Archie to have contact with his cousins. HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex never treated Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge differently either before or after she joined the BRF. I ceased following Amelia Windsor on Instagram when that little half-wit of dubious beauty on attending the 2018 British Fashion Awards failed to acknowledge Meghan’s presence there in her insta-stories, though there were many other highlights of Amelia’s night at the awards.
With Meghan and Harry’s departure and with the royal rota no longer having direct access to them, it is time for them to start covering the real story in the House of Windsor, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge’s disintegrating marriage.
Yes! That’s how you ride the slithering seven-headed dragon to the hounds!
Ah, there they are, gliding along in Sandringham, trying to cover Catherine’s brushoff of her nuisance husband, William, during BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas Special by having the image of wholesomeness. What affair with Rose Hanbury? BS! Come on, you must be having a laugh! Rose’s husband lives in Paris with his (male) photographer lover, so his being at Sandringham is so much PR pablum.
That’s right, bring in the black woman and she can cover those forever impoverished Commonwealth backwater countries that one has no intentions of ever setting foot in, Catherine & William that is. Too bad, though, that you did not take the time to treat that black woman as nothing more than dirt. Rushing to DailyMail and meeting with its editorial board to keep dumping on that upstart American. Why should the Sussexes have done Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace in 2019 with Archie in tow, only to have the likes of that flat-arsed, no-calved reptilian freak, blackamoor brooch and all, greeting Archie along the lines, “well aren’t you just the most adorable little monkey.”
If you think that HRH Princess Michael of Kent is the only open bigot in the BRF or the Royal household then I am sure you also believe that the Prince of Rome really does care about the little people. Today, 8/1/2020 was a most auspicious and powerful day for TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex to have launched their new website http://www.sussexroyal.com and to have seized power from the British media. Indeed, this master stroke by TRHs is a fitting homage to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex’s beloved mother, Diana, Princess of Wales. They sought to own, victimise, exploit Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex as previously they had Diana, Princess of Wales. Not for nothing was the soul which previously had been Margaret Beaufort, Tudor matriarch going to lay down and get shafted by damn fools – fools too who new arsenal, which they had not previously employed against Diana, Princess of Wales, race.
For 14 long and excruciating minutes, Bishop Curry hogged the spotlight; however, in doing so, he also weaved magic that was likely never intended. Alas, there were in the quire at St. George’s Chapel, the most shrewd strategists you could hope for, American mavericks and a handful of shrewd power players from the Gersh Agency, to say nothing of George & Amal Clooney and as well Oprah Winfrey. This inevitably gave way to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge revealing what a clueless oaf he is, whilst Sheku Kanneh-Mason performed Schubert’s Ave Maria. The same oaf who had to be told how to properly sit in the carriage on the day of his wedding, to the same oaf who neurotically brushed the back of his left hand after his crass wife had rudely dismissed him before the world, which of course the members of the Royal Rota chose not to run with.
This woman, Meghan, showed her true mettle in slaying that smug dragon, the Royal Rota, which somehow assumed that it was invincible and could exploit, rule and demonise the product of 400 years of enslavement and dehumanisation by the very society which ought to be damn well lucky those enslaved descendants are as forgiving as they are and do not perpetually harbour erotophonophilic thoughts of severed, hateful empty skulls. No said Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, I will not be racially preyed on, demonised, vilified and made millions off of as were my ancestors. How she has proven a mirror into which the isle of rabid racist hooligans have had to gaze and runaway screaming.
Retaliate by taking away their HRH status and there will be a number of predominantly black Commonwealth nations that will just as readily throw off that final yoke of colonialism. That is a legacy of which HM The Queen is most proud. She would do it but it would cost her dearly. The royals have stood by and done positively nothing whilst Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex was being fed on by semi-feral jackals of the royal rota.
They were smugly celebratory and began the ousting of the American by the Cambridges’ performance at Royal Ascot in 2019, a performance which clearly had the backing of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. The Royals and their courtiers have myopically assumed that the game and the way it is played, is the only way. Wrong! At Christmas, the Sussexes were further being sidelined by HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales accompanying TRH Duke & Duchess, George & Charlotte of Cambridge to church in Sandringham.
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There are Americans involved and the Windsors laid themselves bare as they sat across the very narrow aisle of St. George’s Chapel’s quire from self-made power money. Who are the Windsors to persons like this, who shrewdly see the value and monetary worth in everything. William to them is just lazy money – he was born into it and beyond that is a fairly clueless oaf. There sat Meghan, serene, confident on her wedding day as she sat opposite some of the most shrewd legal minds going and they knew her… the Windsors are nothing to such persons.
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Now that the Royal Rota has been frozen out and its flame extinguished, they can now focus on the business of gossip. What are they now to do, continue their newfound narrative of praising Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge or revert back to their comfort zone of detesting Kate Middleton?
With this release of http://www.sussexroyal.com TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex have slain a formidable dragon – a hideous though weak seven-headed monster. This heroic move and act on their part has done a great deal to avenge the pain and injury, which this blood-hungry seven-headed dragon (Royal Rota) enjoyed at Diana, Princess of Wales’ expense. HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex with his able and reincarnationally accomplished Queen, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has proven a modern day St. George who together have slain a seven-headed dragon that bullied his mother into her grave. Go on, try publishing a million photos and print your lies about them now… going forward as of this day, 8.1.2020 = 8.9.4 = 3, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex have avenged Diana’s death accomplished in their bold defiance to finally allow Diana, Princess of Wales to rest truly in peace.
Whatever shall the royal rota do now? More to the point, does it really now matter?
What did I tell you? I done been sermonising up in here all these long months and then the coalminer’s kinder done let it all hang out. Getting hot under the collar in the kitchen indeed.
Now you know, with that one move, all god’s coloured queens done sprained their wrists, hyper-fanning themselves and blew their just-so fascinators clear off their weaved heads, on seeing the crypt-dwelling, muggled mouse-cum-rat roar back. Twas bound to happen; sooner or later, every rat will resort to cannibalism.
Did you not think it weird that Catherine went and sat her post-partum steely self between Lord Porchie’s minor meat-loving dolt and Camilla – the coolest older royal after The Princess Royal. As William would have had to get up to bear the rings, it is only natural that Catherine ought to have sat to HRH Prince Charles, Duke of Cornwall’s immediate right, rather than two to his left just beyond his wife, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall despite what protocol dictates.
Catherine is both a warrior soul and a 9 energy body to the core. What’s more, she is a fifth-level mature soul and as there is drama at the mature soul age, it is most pronounced when one is fifth-level mature as that level is synonymous with the fifth role in essence, the sage. Drama is the hallmark of sages, fifthness brings you drama. Finally, the little squeaking mouse had had enough of playing nice, metamorphosed, becoming a rabid rat who readily roared.
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Jo Elvin, Alexandra Shulman, Janet Street-Porter, Lady Colin Campbell, Piers Morgan & Stephanie Powers.
Whatever shall those silly, ninny-arsed fools do now as they have spent the past year, trying to make you and I see nacre where there was none, in what is clearly nothing but faux pearls from Target! No matter how the persons above slander Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex in their bid to suddenly anoint Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as stylish, having found a voice that she never had to lose in the first place, to being future Queen consort et tout ça; it is all frigging lies, which were shattered with Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge dismissing HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge much as she did on the balcony at Buckingham Palace within mere hours of having been wedded on April 29, 2011.
Numbers do not lie and 9 energy-bodied women are all shrewd, rudely dismissive and crass when it comes to letting you know just where they stand; and for being human, there is no reason why Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would act any differently.
These blasted clowns acting as though we have all been somnambulant these past 8 years. I don’t care if you want to rebrand her as being able to turn her piss into wine, she, as her numbers dictate and as she indisputably chose to lay bare during Mary Berry’s Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas – which only came about because palace mandarins decided that since that American, Straight Outta Compton wrote the foreword to the Grenfell cookbook Togetherthen a cooking special for the TV masses it is – is no such thing.
True to her numbers, Catherine just had to let there be no doubt that she ain’t nothing but a damn river rat in true Edward Gorey fashion. And there were her revisionist enablers, thinking that this Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, will really show up the object of their vilifying campaign, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex as so passé. And boy did they ever show her up… Catherine that is!
That’s right Monty, that’ll be two sugars with my Countess Grey.
Regardless, Diana, Princess of Wales’ deeply lonely, all scholar souls ever are, emotionally stunted son, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, does not deserve to be bullied and disrespected. As has been painfully obvious, this will ever cause him to roam as every emasculating woman has caused her partner to do.
Like Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini, who were also task companions, this pair of task companions must also get up to the most vicious nagging and rows imaginable. You can fool no one, most especially older souls than you!
With Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s appearance at court, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge has got reason to live. Life is all competition for warriors; hell Catherine would compete with a damn fly but not before first plucking one of its wings off. That maniacal angst of Catherine’s is why the soul who was Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort, later HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York & Albany and now Meghan, Duchess of Sussex chose to have nothing to do with the fire-breathing, ape-bat shit psycho holding court at Kensington Palace; instead, Meghan et famille quite rightly so decamped at Windsor Castle’s Frogmore Cottage.
Look at the two older children; they are growing up in a household where there is clearly massive strain in their parents’ marriage. There is a lot of discord and rowing afoot and that is readily discernible in the two older children’s faces.
Wanda Toscanini & Vladimir Horowitz.
Horowitz, Vladimir 1/10/03 Kiev<O>5/11/89, NYC
Michael: This fragment was, in his immediate past life, a mid-cycle mature scholar in passion mode, with a goal of growth, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.
Vladimir had a Mercury/Lunar body type.
Vladimir’s was a strong primary chief feature of arrogance and a weaker secondary of stubbornness.
This fragment was second-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. He is a member of entity five, cadre two, greater cadre 14, pod/node 449.
He and the fragment who was Wanda Toscanini are task companions, both now discarnate. The fragment who was Wanda was a fifth level mature warrior.
Vladimir’s essence twin is a scholar and is incarnate on the physical plane, is female, age seven years. There are plans for them to complete the mother/son monad in Vladimir’s next incarnation, which will probably occur during the third decade of the next millennium.
So here was an artisan-cast scholar with a great deal of sage energy, most of which was expended in his personal life. This fragment’s relationship with his task companion was passionate, explosive and mutually satisfying.
This scholar’s demeanour in public contrasted greatly with his behaviour in his private life.
It is interesting to note that this fragment has had only one other life as a practicing musician and that was as an organist at the Chartres Cathedral in the early part of the nineteenth century.
However, this fragment has a long stage history, beginning in Greece during its Golden Age.
This fragment also built harpsichords during the latter part of the eighteenth century and actually built one for Leopold Mozart.
As a highland warrior in the latter part of the seventeenth century, this fragment distinguished himself both on the battlefield and in fashioning bagpipes.
He was an exemplary soldier in many lives and many guises.
However, the place where this fragment was most at home was on the stage or behind the scenes.
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Like Catherine & William, Vladimir & Wanda were also task companions and also the same mix of Scholar and Warrior souls. Both women were/are fifth-level mature warrior souls. I knew a classical musician in NYC in the 1980s and he knew the couple and said they were the most passionate, loud, argumentative and frankly abusive towards each other couple he had ever known. This is not uncommon territory for task companions; by its very nature, the relationship is about spurring the other into action. Warrior females in a relationship where they feel themselves not in control, will engage in bullying to assume power of some sort or power as they so deem it. Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s uncouth display, in public no less, during the Mary Berry Christmas TV special, BBC’sA Berry Royal Christmas, speaks to the great stress that William endures and that Catherine has exercised in her bid to gain control in a position which she clearly perceives as tenuous at best.
Recently, I got taken to task about my observation that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge refuse to tour predominantly black Commonwealth countries. They have recently been to Pakistan and have also to date visited India. Along with that, they have visited Singapore and elsewhere. The argument was from my dinner partners that, perhaps, the Cambridges do not tour such countries because they are poorer et al. If only that were true. Nigeria is the third most populous Commonwealth nation after India and Pakistan and though Nigeria’s GDP is higher than that of Pakistan’s, the argument that they don’t do poorer Commonwealth nations do not hold up, when they have hopscotched over Nigeria and toured less populous Singapore whose GDP is also less than that of Nigeria’s. Again, I hang tough, their combined numerological 9s, are precisely why the Cambridges have to date chosen not to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation. That certainly does speak volumes about them and in particular William and his enabler in that regard, Catherine.
Demonise TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex and their family all they want, whilst portraying the Cambridges as the embodiment of wholesomeness and regal class. Be that as it may, the Cambridges have been fractious where the Sussexes never have been. No matter how the print medium race-bait the public into loathing the Sussexes, theirs comparably is a happy marriage and that at the end of the day, is why Catherine, rather than Meghan, seethes at having to be touched by her spouse. Catherine is a toxic 9 writ large and no amount of sugar-coating ya-ya from the DailyMail and its racist trolls will ever be able to gloss over the froideur Catherine exhibited at Mary Berry Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, towards HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.
That is no mouse, it is a damn river rat! So you know, two rats will have a million offspring in a mere 18 months, most of which will be cannibalised to keep themselves fed and nourished. So very wise of the Sussexes to stay clear of that rabid, to say nothing of haunted, toxic and dense-energied lair where the Cambridges hold court, Kensington Palace.
Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has the most masterful numbers. She does, indeed, have master numbers: 11. Look at those eyes, the eyes of Queen Mother, to HM King Henry VI, grandmother to HM King Henry VIII and great-grandmother to HM Queen Elizabeth I. She has staying power, thanks to those double 4s and with an attitude of 3, she is renowned for being most articulate and a skilled communicator of the message.
4 – focussed, solid, self-made, resolute, inner-directed, reincarnated with an agendum.
3 – attitude of 3 – gracious living, the great communicator, when one speaks others listen. There is only win-win, failure is never an option for these persons. Incidentally, Ben Mulroney is an attitude of 3, which is why he is a gracious interviewer – non-confrontational. Also, I have noticed that a lot of persons who planned a life in the public sphere tend to have 9 and 3 in their make up, as in both HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and his lovely wife, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. Incidentally, these three persons, Ben and the Cambridges would have been very relaxed in each others company and true to her 9 energy body, Catherine would likely have made a dig at her husband along the lines, ‘He certainly has a great head of hair…’ As it is perfectly naturally for straight men to be attracted to each other, they would not be human if they did not, both men would have been pleasantly warmed by the other’s make-up with their similar 9 and 3. Catherine and Ben both are 9 energy body; they would have found each other more than passingly fascinating. Catherine is a warrior which means that she will always be steely; as for Ben, don’t know his overleaves but I am guessing that he is more so on the expression axis rather than not – an artisan or sage soul. In my experience, whereas 9 women can be extremely rude and dismissive, 9 men are reserved and not given to readily passing judgment.
There is also the matter of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge being in perseverance mode, which is as unrelenting a foe as you can ever imagine, on top of which she is a warrior. This woman was born to be Queen Consort and that’s the end of that, there will be no Camilla rewriting the script. Interestingly enough, both Diana, Princess of Wales’ sons are wedded to very strong women – as well they should be. In both cases, both couples are entity mates, which is as good a partnering as one can hope for. Meghan, however, with double 4s and master number of 11 is here to rule as when previously she had as Queen Mother and Tudor dynasty matriarch.
Not only is 11 a master number but it also leaves all such persons lone wolves, regardless how popular they are. This explains why Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will faster-than-a-sneeze dispense with persons when need be. And yes, she has every damn right to be done with the blasted dreck that do not know the meaning of family: honour, fealty, discretion. I am, where the master number 11 is concerned, just such a person… 2.1.8 = 11. Of course, like Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge that attitude of 1 means that I am more inclined to be shy and reserved than ‘on’. At least that was the rule when Merlin was incarnate and we were together. Now, more of the 11 comes to the fore and I simply give two-fucks and sound off loudly and most articulately.
Recently, owing to a host of prickly transits, to say nothing of the mercury retrograde, I have found myself beset with some entanglements that have provoked the less polished side of my Venus/Uranus conjunction. This all began around the time that I wrote the blog about that blasted tarbaby frog finally showing his true colours. I had no less than 8 French Canadians getting up in my business, demanding that I delete aforementioned blog and that these were the indiscretions of youth. Bitch please! After having lived in Montréal for seven years with the best task companion/comrade-in-arms an equally seventh level mature soul, though, she a warrior, we gave as good as we got. Of course, said warrior became my wife at Palais du Justice on Bob Marley’s birthday in 1999. Today, we remain the best of friends and she now he, has a fully beard than I have ever sported…. alas, I digress. A couple of weeks ago, I was being regaled by my sister who lives in Nevis about my mother’s cousin whose funeral it was that day. She died at age 107 and was attended by quite the turn out with le tout Nevis’ elites in tow. Though I have never met, her great-granddaughter was part of the descendants who eulogised the grand dame; that great-granddaughter was Mel B (Scary Spice) of Spice Girls fame. I have though several times met my fathers cousin, the inimitable and truly regal, Cicely Tyson, wife of Jazz genius, Miles Davis a man who did not gladly suffer people who hate him or his race…. as well he damn ought to have.
As I entered the little school in my neighbourhood, a spry spirit who always is good for a laugh, beamed on seeing me as he sat on his scooter with equally situated mates and inquired, “And who will you be voting for?” to which I shot back, “You can damn well bet it won’t be for no blasted motherfucking, cocksucking tarbaby-arsed frog!” raucous laughter peppered the air as I went in and voted conservative for the first time in my life. Enough of that sissy-arsed twat, who is nothing more than Modi’s pappishow with his displaced femme au foyer, fag-hag frau, Madame Plotte-Visage herself, who looks more and more each day like Tammy Faye Bakker. You don’t like black people… go fuck yourself… god only knows, you did not invent Jazz!
Days earlier en route home with my little suitcase in tow, I got up off the bench to take the Wellesley 94 bus eastbound to my art-filled lair. The bus pulled in and queerly parked such that the back door was a good three feet away – I have never seen the appeal of metric… nothing beats knowing whether you are dealing with 9.5 or 10.5 inches! Though my suitcase was too heavy, I was prepared to step off the platform to make for the rear doors, yet, the doors did not open. Finally, I joined the Dravidian male who had been waiting to board the rear doors as well. When I got to the front door, noisily pulling my suitcase, I looked up stunned as the doors slammed shut just as I was getting ready to board. The doors then opened after the driver looked at me with a smug smirk creasing her lizard-lipped face. I got in and as ever, I said thank you. As I progressed towards the double seats by the rear door, the bus suddenly broke, causing me to lurch forward. Taking it all in stride, I opted not to assume anything by this trio of events which most blacks would see after the third incident as being racially provocative. Up the couple of steps I got with my heavy suitcase; this only made me realise my advancing years as suddenly the urge to pee came on. I had switched from Bleu par Chanel a couple of years back when senior leak suddenly meant that after five minutes Bleu fades and gives way to god forbid that most malodourous of bouquets: loud-smelling, dribbled piss. Now it is Christian Dior’s Sauvage as the scent lingers and dissipates any provoked thoughts of raunchy water sports.
Having made my way to the back seat, there were all told less than a dozen souls on the bus. On arriving at the first stop from the station, the driver got up at Church Street. I thought that there must be someone wheelchair bound, trying to board, hence she got from her seat to assist. As I was otherwise engaged in thoughts libidinal and what I’d like to do with that burly mesomorph at work, whose woman just upped and left him, I remained focussed on artisan channels 3 to 5 instead. Just then, I noticed the bus driver step up the two steps and make it towards me, seated at the centre of the bus’ long back seat. Leaning her, her nasty-looking perm straight out of the 90s, she gruffly barked at me in a manner that suggested that couth had ever been foreign to her. “Look, everybody has bad days okay. There’s no need to swear at me.” I said nothing, looking instead past her as the thought occurred to me that the bus was being driven by duppy incarnate. Since my name ain’t Shaneequa, I remained calm and looked up at a face warped uglier by rage, which I also found uncomfortably too close. I was hemmed in. “Get off my bus or I call the police!” As I chose to say nothing or move a single muscle, she got even more incandescent with irrationally unprovoked rage, “That’s it get off my bus now, I’m calling the police!” As she turned to walk away, it gave a good look at her flat-arsed, no-calved god fugly hideousness and I got up and began making it for the bus’ front doors. As I slowly strode for the front doors, I expertly memorised her bus ID and every detail of slender hipped, extra-vertebrae-looking alien body and realised that she was likely trans; either way, just then a definite non sequitur. For once, I said nothing on exiting and as I really needed to pee, thought of hailing a cab when noticing another bus directly in back of the scene of my misadventure. I got aboard, said hello to the driver, a guapo Filipino and grabbed a seat on the even less populated bus. Also, I memorised the ID information associated with his bus. On exiting the bus, as per usual, I said thanks and exchanged pleasantries. As soon as I got situated at home, with Buster on my lap purring away, I took to the TTC’s site and chose the tab that allows for filing complaints. In exquisite detail, as well you are I shared what occurred and confidently knew that at no point would any of the bus’ cameras capture me saying anything to the female driver. She is, as per her contract, never to leave her seat nor confront a passenger. I have never seen her since.
Well in the grip of Mercury retrograde, I strolled into one of many little joints which I love frequenting as I like chatting with the proprietors and in the process, giving them my business. On close to a decade of frequenting this particular store, where I picked up a lottery ticket or two, my bike was leaning against the row of sugary treats, I turned just in time to see an old weathered hag out on Yonge Street beadily gawking in and cutting her hateful eyes at me. Possessed of some right afforded her by god only knows fuck-all whom – the blasted motherfuck, she bounded into the store, well into her ninth decade and looking and smelling of ill-health and poverty, “Get that goddamn bike outta here.” I was wearing my helmet with lights attached front and back in broad daylight as one does. Without so much as missing a beat, I launched into her with a ferocity, she likely had never before encountered, which is why she felt perfectly entitled to take such liberties. “Get your fucking ugly arse out of here, go the fuck to Wal-Mart make your way to the back of the store and tell them I sent you to put a down paying on your fucking casket as you are obviously too fucking poor to afford to die all this time…” Never having had her racially predatory behaviour challenged before, she stood there suddenly catatonic. “Go on, here you go, start that fucking down paying today…” with that, I tossed the few coins in my pocket at her feet and barged on in full throttle loud, vituperativeness. “Pick it the fuck up, high time your fucking ugly, broke arse and casket were lowered into the ground. Come in here opening your motherfucking lizard-lipped mouth, barking at me. Pick it the blasted motherfuck up and crawl the fuck in your casket.” She tried to weakly say something to which I kept up my defense against being racially preyed on, “Shut up and die, go on… scoot. There’s no need for your fuck-all ugly, broke arse, smelly cunt hanging around… get the fuck off the planet.” Never ever during a mercury retrograde will this venus-uranus leo hold his tongue when being racially preyed on. Faster than the loudest sneeze, I rammed my fist up her rotting arse, yanked and ripped at her calcified soul, pulled it out, wiped arse with it, then slapped her silly in the face before making her gag on a soul being held hostage by her useless maudlin existence. I have become so less inclined to tolerate this perpetual abuse which we as blacks endure on a daily basis yet pretend as though it does not exist. There are, though, times when you need to protest. Back in 1988 after meeting Wayne Robson’s firstborn, as I moved south down the west side of Bond Street to go visit Merlin at St. Michael’s Hospital who was suffering his first bout of AIDS-related pneumocystis, I screamed at the top of my lungs at an old Caucasian female who on noticing me began hurriedly crossing to the east side of Bond, “I don’t want your fucking handbag…” Never ceases to amaze the arsenal of behaviour that non-blacks project onto us as they get their racially predatory fix: sniffing, outright ridicule, dragging feet, yawning, bumping into you, blowing cigarette smoke in your direction… those are the passive racially predatory acts. More often, it is like that act in the convenience store, so racially obsessed that one feels oneself perfectly entitled to project that ignorance in a malicious, accusatory, bullying manner towards blacks. Indeed, ever notice the inordinate number of overweight blacks; they like all persons who were sexually preyed on in their early years more often than not develop eating disorders.
With Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s lynching daily in print media, social media and just about everywhere else, I have become increasing intolerant of any and all such BS. Do not because I am black start, apropos of fuck-all nothing, braying about how much you hate and can’t stand that Meghan bitch as if the blasted fuck these arsewipes know the woman. Out of the blue someone whom I thought had long made the only logical move viable to her sorry arse and crawled into her casket, called up trying for the nth time to get me to start today and join that pyramid scheme of hers for which she is ever travelling to some rah-rah seminar and on the cusp of getting rich yet still ain’t and needs you to join this very day; this, I can assure you, is about as appealing as trying to get me to bed some moneyed old fuck with a micro penis and bad breath. Nah… I’m all about the dharma.
Last summer everyone called up, demanding to know if I were not going to the Raptors championship parade. Hell no! Crowds you say… not happening. The day of the parade, I kept being called up by excited friends, asking me if I was watching and wasn’t it phenomenal. Very matter of factly, I declared to one, “When these fucking Goys do Yom Kippur, they certainly do know how to go all out.” Of course, after having explained myself days later at a dinner party, the point was well taken. This is a country with soft ethnic cleansing of blacks: negative immigration and population growth, a entrenched history of employment discrimination, which sees blacks being ghettoised in casual positions in the work place, especially at crown corporations (government-owned) – I have worked at two: Canada Post and the Toronto Convention Centre; in the case of the former, I arrived in Montréal from Vancouver to find myself the first full-time black in the work place; as fighting is nothing but foreplay in my books, I organised a lone Haitienne and got her to file a Human Rights complaint which she won. This resulted in back pay and all the mostly Haitian blacks awarded full-time and back pay where they had served as casual for 5, 10, 15 years. Naturally, the messenger/lightning rod always comes into someone cross-hairs. At one point, where they tried firing me the local union president told me to go to hell and go back to Canada; thus, I ventured into my firing interview with a lawyer in tow – had never happened before and was not then fired after multiple frantic calls to Ottawa to find out how to deal with him. Before being fired, that blasted porcine pequiste fucker decided to avail himself of my tax dollars by running in the federal election, thankfully he did not win but when he tried two years later, I wrote to Jack Layton who had frequented our Cabbagetown home in the 80s when we lived next door to a rather parvenu and highly snobbish Alfred Sung and informed Mr. Layton that if he did not withdraw that vile racist, my lawyer and I would go to the media and expose him – the letter of course was cced to all the other federal party leaders. In the end, the Bloc Quebecois thanked me for the letter and ran a black Haitienne in the riding from which the union head was summarily dropped and that Haitienne, Ms. Bardot won her seat, only to be replaced in Papineau riding by that blasted, racist tarbaby-arsed frog… but I digress. Two million persons cheering on black excellence when this is a country that actively eradicates any participation of blacks in its cultural fabric – hello JazzFM where you would be dismissed as stupid for thinking that Jazz is black culture. Sure, there are window-dressing blacks in the TV medium but they are not the norm. Not a single prominent Canadian protested and demanded that the vile racist politician resign when his blackface past emerged. Naturally, his people stridently argued in his defense. Would that these ungrateful fucks who hold the country to ransom would finally fuck off and leave. No one outside of Québec, who does not work in the government, is remotely bilingual. Seven years of living in Montréal made one thing perfectly clear: theirs, by its sheer ubiquity is nothing more than a northern confederate flag… and they certainly are possessed of unapologetic xenophobia. The only people deserving of having a party in the Canadian parliament, which not all Canadians can vote for, are the First Nations and Inuit peoples.
Back in late 1982 whilst Merlin and I held up in the Trockadero loft in Manhattan’s Chelsea on Sixth Avenue below 23rd Street, I got in one evening after looking at rehearsal of the Nanette Bearden Dance Company, to find Merlin having dinner and strategising with Jim Henson. As they shared the same agent, Joyce Ketay, they were prepping and throwing around ideas for how to thematically film the series, Fraggle Rock which would be shot in the coming new year in Toronto at CBC’s studios. Merlin had made his favourite dish a chicken paprikash which John Hirsch had taught him. Joining them, I dug in to what was my favourite of Merlin’s prepared meals. I will always remember Jim saying, “first you start with a compliment and then you hang back and listen, listen to what’s said but most of all, what is not said…” Sage advise that I have always followed. What I love about us artisan souls is that we always reveal our nature and the fact that we input on five channels whenever we speak. Listen to Naomi Campbell in her acceptance speech for the CFDA Icon Award. Straight out of left field in the tenth minute, she remarks, “God my lips are dry… sorry.” No other soul but an artisan soul would shift subjects so abruptly so seamlessly and carry on without so much as missing a beat. This quirk of ours, mine, Naomi, Meghan and every last artisan soul who has ever breathed, makes for a master tactician and someone not easily understood or shaken. With a destiny number that proves master numbers like Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, she is a 11 – she is a diamond through and through and why HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales refers to her as Tungsten.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Almost instantaneously, as the Moon transited Leo in my third house, my lungs besottedly drank the warm and dank, dark air. Thus I effortlessly drowned into sleep. Whilst wintry winds howled outside the window, this cold early Saturday morning – November 18, 1989 – my lucid focus seamlessly shifted into the dreamtime.
I readily knew that I was dreaming.
Here, just as moments earlier whilst awake and meditating, Merlin was uppermost in my thoughts. I could sense his presence. The shift from one dimension to the other was seamless. Lucidly self-aware, I was immediately come to in a dream that was set in the bedroom where I slept.
I was in bed with the artist Olaf Nordstrom – a source of loving support at present in the waking state. I was lying in bed, leaning on his bony chest, as he sat up in bed. It was obvious from his body language that he did not want to be in bed with me. I felt a still and quiet vibration to this dream. The moment was truly serene and peaceful. This was not a sexual or post-sexual interlude. We were both reflective. It was obvious that we were on the cusp of something momentous. It was the sort of vibration that signalled that something extraordinary was about to unfold.
Olaf behaved as if he was uncomfortable being there – it was a grave moment. He wanted to be there, however, to merely lend his support. It was obvious that he was wary of my clinging. Clinging, however, was not my intention. The moment together was brief – just a preparation for things to come. With that we parted. It was time to get up and participate in the events of whatever was to unfold.
This dream was possessed of inordinate lucidity; its every detail and nuance my faculties absorbed with acuity beyond the norm.
In the second dream, this cold Saturday morning, I found myself in the familiar territory of the Cabbagetown streets where we lived. I went into a store which does not exist in the waking state. It sat just south of the Pet Menagerie store, on the east side of Parliament Street, between Amelia and Winchester Streets.
It was a tailor’s shop that carried rather high-end fabrics. I was there to pick out some fabric because I had a definite idea of what I wanted to wear to Merlin’s funeral. I knew that the only way, to get the look that I wanted, was to make the outfit myself. The kindly, gracious salesman was trying to get me interested in a rather conservative plaid fabric but it simply was not to my liking. My aversion was not because it was plaid; rather, the tone was too sombre.
He was not insistent but let me know that it was appropriate. However, I would have none of it; I simply did not like the fabric or the colours. I simply was not going to have it. Unable to make up my mind and not wanting to make a decision about fabric, as there were so many ramifications to what it all meant, I left the store stepping into the light of day. It had been a very dimly lit, nicely wood-panelled, stately shop.
Once outside, I became acutely aware of Merlin. I was now returned to the yard of Cabbagetown’s 20 Amelia Street, where we lived, and Merlin was present with me. Thoughts of Merlin, on leaving the store, had me immediately posited in the front yard of 20 Amelia Street where I happily joined him. We were watering the lawn even though it was wintertime. Next door at 18 Amelia Street, where at this point Club Monaco designer Alfred Sung no longer lived, there were lots of potted plants hanging from the lone, purple-leaved, sugar maple tree.
Merlin was telling me to water the plants. He then began telling me, rather matter-of-factly, that I had to start taking care of the apartment – I had to make it a home again. Merlin asked me to start preparing things. He meant that this was not the time for procrastination. Of course, moments earlier in the prior dream, I had been procrastinating when down on Parliament Street to pick out fabrics to wear to his funeral. By avoiding the matter altogether, I had chosen instead to forego the purchase. As Merlin spoke to me, I became so aware of him that I completely became self-aware – both in the dream and in my sleep whilst in bed at 20 Amelia Street.
I was standing there very intently looking at Merlin. He, too, was very intently looking at me. Whilst we were unflinchingly looking into each other, I thought aloud with quiet resignation, ‘Merlin has died.’
I knew, too, that Merlin had heard my thoughts in the dream.
At that moment my sister Pandora da Braga, with whom Merlin enjoyed the best relations of anyone else in my life, suddenly became a presence in the dream. She never fully became physically manifested but her energies became overwhelmingly strong. Her energies were just to my rear as she played a loving and supportive role.
Suddenly, introspectively, I recalled a dream which I had had earlier in the week. With everything moving so quickly, in the waking state – with little time to collect my thoughts, let alone overlong time to record any dreams- it had slipped by unrecalled on awakening. However, now it was not merely being recalled, it was being relived in its entirety. I stood there and as I recalled the dream, rather seamlessly, I actually entered the dream which was being reanimated as it was being holographically recalled.
Within the reanimated dream being recalled and relived, I was again on the lawn at 20 Amelia Street in the warmth of the Sun’s rays. Just as in today’s dream, I was on the front lawn facing due north and the house with 18 Amelia Street on the left to the west. As Merlin and I were visiting in the outer dream of today, I had turned my body. Being in the same physical position had triggered the recall and reanimation of the dream from the past week.
To my left, I saw an incredibly ancient-looking, wise being who progressed across the lawn. The slowness of his progression was so measured that one’s experience of time, in the reanimated and recalled dream, progressed outside of time itself. It was simply magical to experience the progression of the very ancient and mystical being. The millennia-ancient figure progressed across the lawn, of 18 Amelia Street, heading towards our home at 20 Amelia Street. The being was male and small in stature; he was hobbit-like. His head was large, disproportionately large, compared to his tiny, frail-bodied frame.
He could not have been more than four feet tall. His head was absolutely massive. His forehead arched up and was high like an African’s. Too, his head was elongated in the back, reminiscent of Pharaoh Akhenaten’s skull. More striking than the majesty with which the august being progressed outdoors, towards our home at 20 Amelia Street, was the look of his face.
It was simply magical. From beneath the translucent skin, soft yellow-white light escaped revealing his very visible aura. Nothing but pure love, along with the same nonjudgmental look that ever peered back from Merlin’s eyes to mine, radiated from this being. The love radiating from the being towards me was awesome, immense – intense. The great being’s progress was purposeful. He was on a mission; he was unstoppable. The process had begun.
I was struck by the uncanny resemblance, which the face of this being bore, to the planet-being in the skies of Sandy Point, St. Kitts in a momentous dream during September 1983. It was a dream whose potency and beauty would lay unfathomable for years to come. The being progressed as though levitating mere millimetres above the rather zingy, extra-green grass of the lawns at both 18 and 20 Amelia Street. Though he did not pause as he progressed, the radiant being did turn and look at me. As though he was familiar with me, he acknowledged me by slightly nodding. However, he continued on towards our home.
He moved past me as I stood there, still and silent, drinking in the majesty of the experience. At soul-centre we were familiar to each other. I knew him. He knew me. I stood, alone and awestruck, in the front yard being refamiliarised by the vibration of his beauty as the effect of his potent powers spatially affected the dream. As he moved past, I was reminded of the film The Dark Crystal, by Jim Henson – with whom Merlin had worked, directing two episodes of the Fraggle Rock television series in its inaugural season. This movie would for several months, after we saw it together in New York City, be our favourite film.
Thereafter for several weeks, whenever we looked at each other – even when not being intimate, we had hummed at each other as the rival beings in the film did when communicating. The being here was much like the good beings in the Jim Henson film The Dark Crystal. The being progressed up the few stone steps, to the wooden veranda at 20 Amelia Street, and began making his way inside the house. As I watched him ascend, from the lawn to the veranda, it was clear to me that he was levitating. Though it was a dream and I too could have levitated and flown, he though had a power which surpassed mine.
This august-souled, mystical being clearly originated from a dimension which vibrationally and spiritually was of a higher plane than the astral, where the dream occurred, and the physical in which I am incarnate. Indeed, the same physical plane from which Merlin was rapidly taking his leave – it was that discernible. The moment the mystical being entered our home, being lost to view, I came to from the inner holographic dream which was a recall and reanimation of a dream that I had experienced within the last week. As I came to, I was about to go indoors to see what had become of the being that had clearly entered our home.
It was then, having returned to being fully focussed in the outer ‘shell’ dream of today November 18, 1989, that I saw Merlin anew. He was standing at the front door looking out at me. I stood there, in the front yard, transfixed whilst the bright daylight bathed my body throughout. The look on Merlin’s face was purely transcendent. He was perfectly still and perfectly radiant. Merlin stood in the midst of a nimbus of dazzling, blue-white light. As he lovingly glowed out at me, this splendid light only intensified.
Merlin was transformed and as his face lovingly lit up, at me, the light grew to more completely envelop his body. Whilst lovingly glowing at me with the warmest, most familiar knowing smile, Merlin slowly brought his right hand up with the palm facing me and more completely smiled. The radiance of his smile soon became lost in the glow of his aura’s light. The nimbus, enveloping his transformed body, radiated even more intensely at that point.
I was blown away. Arrested, I readily knew what I was experiencing; I could feel it. I knew that across dimensions, in the waking state, Merlin had just died.
However, as is my wont, I protested. I dropped the hose which was still bleeding its nurturing water onto the frozen, wintry lawn at my feet. I stood – paralysed. Determinedly, I then bolted for Merlin. I headed up to the veranda as my lover, as my mentor, as my friend stood transcendent in the doorway to what had been the most beautiful sense of home ever experienced. “Merlin!” shrieking in protest, I yelled out his name.
(Detail of oil on canvas by my sister Pandora of Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery where Merlin is buried.)
Suddenly, the thunder of my protesting breath abruptly drew me from sleep. I sat upright in bed, my arms outstretched and beyond, after having crashed back into my body and no longer astral-projected. From the foot of the bed both cats – Zora and Whoopi – knowingly, silently looked up. I was arrested by the frozen horror-struck face staring at me from the mirrored closet doors across the room.
In the near-darkness of the bedroom, a few rays of early morning light made it past the blood-red, velvet drapes heavily hung at the windows. Those rays starkly cast light on how horribly desolate my life now was. Merlin was gone. His spirit had taken leave from this world. It was that discernible as my world, my very universe, had experienced a massive vibrational shift.
I had been abruptly displaced from the astral plane. I had been lucidly dreaming a dream within a dream. I was being told so long as Merlin, transitioned from incarnate to astral plane habitué, bade farewell to our magically glorious union on the physical plane. I was heartened by the peace and knowingness in his transcendent face because I knew that it was a, “See you soon…” parting, for now.
I knew that there would be dreams aplenty up ahead. Just as he had pledged, he would magically weave in his indelible promise to me, before departing from the physical plane. There was such a cold silence, a stinging finality to the moment, as I sat there in bed. After having looked back at myself, silently waiting, I placed a call to the eighth storey nursing station at Wellesley Hospital.
I was immediately aware that the tone of the nurses, with whom I was by now long-familiar, had changed. In very little time, it was official… Merlin had indeed passed. Truth be told, it was not a surprise; I could sense it on awaking. He simply was not there. As always, I had reached out to sense him on awaking – his energies – just blocks away at Wellesley Hospital. Now, there was nothing.
Then, as if needing further proof, I thought about Merlin calling each morning. He would do so, to lovingly say hello and thereby, to lovingly wake me up. Merlin would then lovingly ask for a call-back, after I had audio-recorded the dreams. Merlin had, thus far, not called. Once again, I saw the stillness of my reflection across the room. I knew then, really knew… Merlin was gone.
As only Preston Sturges could have envisioned, at last we have got ourselves a remake. Would you believe it, a long-running romcom at the Buck House Theatre stars two rather convincing incarnations of Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda in Sturges’ The Lady Eve. In this eight-year production, Charles – the slow, doltish oaf is played to uncanny perfection by the follicly challenged Duke of Cambridge. In the role of Jean: acerbic, sarcastic, bitchingly fierce is the chain-smoking, bulimic, coalmining kinfolk, Catherine – the fair, suddenly and compensatorily beloved… to say nothing of reconstituted Duchess of Cambridge. Look at them deplane; make no mistakes about it, they are hissing at each other. Now as then, Catherine is just as dismissive of William as she was for all the world to see, within two hours of having said, “I do” at Westminster Abbey as they stood on the balcony at Buckingham Palace; yet, body language and lip-reading experts – so beloved by trash like DailyMail – were strangely never consulted. They rowed and she hissed and dismissed the dim-witted oaf, within mere moments of finally having made him all hers.
My what an uncanny resemblance she bears the Duchess of Cambridge. Of course, she was conveniently dispensed with by Catherine after recently marrying. Naturally, such a move would nicely cover the obvious reason for her having been sacked as she was yet another of William’s conquests, right under Catherine’s nose. He is a scholar soul and it is 99.99% probable that he was bedding Catherine’s staffer; it would of course be a way for him to act out the fact that he has no power in their dynamic/marriage. She is a warrior and he is a scholar. Catherine’s first number is 9; her energy body is all about being number one… Perfection is hallmark. All energy body women who are 9s have these traits in common; they are rude, blunt, callous, will openly editorialise in front of anyone and everyone. They tend to have a mannish quality to them for being so fiercely competitive and of course, this is why she is known as sporty Kate.
As a warrior, Catherine has zero percent of the allure and mystique that all artisan souls innately do. As much as William is unbridled in his open animus towards Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, none of it would take place if Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge were not intimidated and challenged by Meghan. The vile media lynching of Meghan is purely for the sport and empowerment of Catherine. Nonetheless, she can run out there and cock-suck all she wants every mic in sight, Meghan will always stratospherically soar above her. All artisans come prepared: to know the structure of a thing, anything… is to know its weakness and therein lies an artisan’s power. William is stupid and Catherine is wooden and a mousy little dud for whom a mic is but kryptonite.
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Go on, Meghan, start graciously, articulately, engaging in a display of that most rare of assets that you possess in spades… intellect. During her ITV documentary with Tom Bradby, those were the eyes of an eagle, capable of flaying your very soul without so much as a second thought. She knows, understands and controls the camera and its power. She was born to be exactly where she is. That interview presented someone far more emotionally intelligent and complex than we have ever seen representing the House of Windsor to date. She was even more subtle and complex than Diana, Princess of Wales during her Panorama interview with Martin Bashir. Truly, it is artful stagecraft what this woman does. Like Diana before her and every artisan soul, she is completely misunderstood. Where most souls have a plan B, all artisans know that there are 24 other letters in the alphabet for a reason; you need plans A to Z. During that interview with Tom Bradby, Meghan showed strength, vulnerability and shrewd unbridled power. She spoke to all her detractors both in the media and within the firm. These are the palace mandarins who somehow think that she is not following the script; these tools who somehow think that just because the Cambridges are in the direct line of succession, therefore no one must outshine them.
In a scene that was truly incredulous, to say nothing of tedious, there was Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge being vocal – rather than articulate – and speaking to the media for the first time after 8 years of marriage. There, too, was HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge having to idly standby as never before he had and listen as she takes the spotlight. This is the palace mandarins’ feverish re-branding of the wooden, mousy broodmare. Yep, William looks pleased as punch at having to listen to his bullying wife takeover… seriously. Like Charles before him with Diana, Princess of Wales, William has no intentions of living through a marriage with someone more popular than himself. I feel sorry for the Cambridges because as much as they are hamstrung by their 9 energy, they are also at the mercy of the palace mandarins who tell them that this is what they have to do. They are being galvanised into action where previously they had not been. It is ridiculously risible to suddenly have Catherine out there, making speeches and engaging the media because as Meghan deftly demonstrated in her one-on-one interview with Tom Bradby in the gardens of the residence in Capetown where they stayed, she is a commanding master at self-expression, possessed of a most winning personality and is clearly nine-parts intellect.
Here is Catherine, sporting a hairstyle in which she essentially is wearing blinkers; this betrays how controlled and reined in she was, going into the marriage. Of course, she has remained that way, to some degree, though she has definitely remained the dominant partner. Catherine knows that her husband basically is stupid and uses her 9 energy to keep him in line and feeling imperfect – that’s what 9s do. His out, naturally, for being a scholar soul is to seriously play the field as he damn well pleases.
She is desperately having to perform and as a 9 body-energied person, she knows only too well how utterly imperfect she is at speaking up and being articulate or rather attempting to be articulate. She is all about grinning and condescendingly making mere mortals aware of their every imperfection – that’s what 9 energy in the first position does. Of course, 9 in the second position leaves William predisposed to being discriminatingly prejudicial in the negative expression of that number. Certainly, this has been validated by the fact that in 8 years, they have yet to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation. I can assure you, if they were to, there is no way Catherine and William would be donning the national costumes of the locals in say Nigeria, Kenya or South Africa. What makes this even more bizarre is the fact that William proposed to Catherine whilst holidaying in Kenya, yet the couple have never once seen a reason to return to Kenya on tour and giving a speech about what a special place the country holds for them as a couple. Truly bizarre.
A few weeks back, in part of her childhood mental health campaign, which it goes without saying, is truly both admirable and commendable, Catherine sat clasping her hands whilst a little black girl in London on a charity visit was presented to her. She smiled and she did that thing that all 9s do; she perceived the little girl as imperfect in some way and never once reached out to her beyond a guarded smile and never once touched her. She would sooner have petted a dog in that situation than the black girl. Meanwhile, there was she leaning in, touching, stroking and doing all that which 9s do when they have decided that you not that imperfect after all.
As captured above, Catherine at Royal Ascot 2019, on the eve of the announcement of the dissolution of the Fab Four Royal Foundation. She was smug, obstinate and celebratory of her/their coup (the Cambridges). I have known five persons with the same numerology, one of them even born on January 9th, though different year. They are all as though carbon copies of each other for 9 when negatively expressed, leaves such afflicted women toxic and given to being obstinate, shit-disturbing and jealously petty. No matter what you may think, the architects of the current hysterical animus towards TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex are none other than TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Catherine is a warrior soul and they are fiercely competitive by nature; a warrior would compete with a rock if said warrior felt that its place as number one were remotely threatened by said rock.
So there was Catherine with her whimpy almost regurgitated can’t-find voice, giving her first TV interview in the 8 years that she has been married. By so doing, she has given the plot away; we now know how truly shallow and grudging the Cambridges are. Good god, you are future King and Queen Consort, leave the American whose gift of speech and eloquence, you will neither match nor surpass. Just for being heirs does not mean that the Cambridges must be the most popular or that a lesser royal must not be seen to have more mass appeal than the über-flaneur quintessence of all things bland, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. None of what William has done has been done without being prompted by 9 energy body Catherine.
I would not in the very least be surprised if Catherine were to turn up to the 2019 British Fashion Awards and deliver a speech, thereby further reminding the heavily sage and artisan soul audience what a mousy little yawnfest she is. Of course, she has never graced the awards before but that Meghan did and was such a success, you can bet that the Cambridges will insist that it is Catherine who should rightly attend the awards. Catherine is like one of those gorgeous actresses from the silent movie era who when the transition to talkies occurred, proved such a fright that there went her career. What possible interest does she think, eight years on, could anyone have to listen to what she has to say. During the CNN interview with line-toeing Briton, Max Foster, Catherine’s; voice faltered and sagged, the longer she weakly carped on. You can bet your last pound sterling that William laid into her about how poorly she performed.
No matter what these two do and how they get the world to hate Meghan and Harry, one thing will never change: the Sussexes are a couple in love – their marvellous adorable son is a true testament of that love. This is why they hold hands and are so openly affectionate. Charles was not in love with his clueless new wife, which is why they never held hands or openly expressed their love, which in either case is perfectly human behaviour after all. Too, we know from their rowing on their wedding day that Catherine dismisses her husband as a fool and he has steadfastly rebelled by ploughing anything that moves.
The more these two, the Cambridges, sat by idly and said and did nothing as Harry and Meghan were lynched in the media, the more they exposed themselves as the grudging architects of the mob scene. This truly primitive stoning of the Sussexes, is the work of a couple of 9s, who happen to be not just entity mates but task companions at that. All this nonsenseabout Catherine having found her voice and her new regal style are like being black and having to watch frauds like Diana Krall be lauded as Jazz greats. One also ought to be damn well wary when it is embittered souls like Alexandra Shulman suddenly singing Catherine’s praises as fashion doyenne after 8 long boring years. This is the same Alexandra who was ousted at British Vogue by Edward Enninful, which likely means she has more than an axe to grind as the fashion bible has become more inclusive and reflective of British and world society.
Harry channelling his past-life inner Snoop Dog; pass the Courvoisier!
If Harry were to have remained a bachelor for another decade, none of this sudden need for the Cambridges to express public affection and for Catherine to have developed a fetish for cock-sucking every mic in sight, would be taking place. Joy Elvin, Alexandra Shulman all lauding the old sodden driftwood as never before, is a right case of the emperor’s new clothes. Well darlings, just as Hollywood was not impressed by her in 2011, so too were Elvin and Shulman nowhere to be found singing La mouse’s praises. Go ahead, no matter how she preens and engages in mindless, mousy drivelfests before every available mic, including one proffered by a biased Brit, CNN’s Max Foster, ain’t nobody gots time for that cold, leftover side order of chitlings.
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This is the beauty of the artisan soul’s mind on display. After a winning tour de force presentation of self, in which both TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex lay their souls bare with absolute candour, the upshot of which was that William, architect of the Duchess of Sussex’s lynching in the media, especially at that vile rag, DailyMail, was made to do a mea culpa turn in the media, expressing concern for their mental well-being. This coming after the British tabloid rags never ever once mentioning what a formidable asset Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is to the firm with her stellar intellect and the fact that this woman is the most articulate, camera savvy, emotionally intelligent member of the British Royal Family that there has ever been. This showed in spades in her engagement interview in November 2017 with the BBC and again, in her interview with Tom Bradby at the end of which, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex turned around and launched their lawsuits against the media – as well they damn well should! How could you go on and on ad nauseam about this woman and never once mention what an articulate asset to the BRF she truly is.
It is the goddamn elephant in the room; they never ever can criticise this woman’s intellect or her commanding stage presence – the gift she has for communicating the message. And then there is Catherine… Ha! Then when they were all wondering if Meghan was too fragile and mentally exhausted comes the One Young World Summit at Royal Albert Hall and like Diana Ross, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex comes through moving to the stage from the audience in a bit of stagecraft that had triumph written all over it. Indeed, this was the same Royal Albert Hall where last year, thanks to the race-baiting gutter journalism at the DailyMail, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex were booed as they took their seats. This past week as she confidently strode through the audience at Royal Albert Hall, the message was plain and simple: they don’t call me Tungsten for nothing! Just when you thought that you had that woman figured out, she goes and pulls a fast one – exactly as every other artisan worth their salt would.
Just like Andrew’s minor meat proclivities, the Cambridges were exposed for the pivotal and venal role in the Sussexes’ lynching in the media that they have played. There was William having to appear in the press, expressing concern for the Sussexes’ well-being. Of course, for so doing, Catherine and William were readily exposed for their role in the media lynching of Sussexes and in particular, Meghan. How anyone can find fault with someone as gifted at communicating the message as Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, truly is beyond me? Regardless how they jeer and celebrate, like Catherine at Ascot in 2019, they will never eclipse the light that is the Sussexes’. I have often wondered if the Cambridge’s vindictive campaign were not rooted in the past. Who knows, perhaps, Catherine – who is the real power behind the sabotaging of the Sussexes – was King Richard III, who was maligned and pilloried by Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, the former Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort. Then again, perhaps, William had been Richard III and as the Cambridges are task companions, it would be so like the dominant partner, warrior soul Catherine, to mete out justice as she sees fit. This is mere conjecture on my part as I have not done the past-life overleaves of either senior Cambridge – similarly, I have never seen the need to do the overleaves of the Cambridges’ children. The Cambridges are not a couple in love; William settled in the end when no aristocratic woman would want to pass a life, having to babysit his damaged – to say nothing of oafish – persona. As Catherine is the power partner in their task companionship, they both merely chose to have William reincarnate into the House of Windsor’s direct line of succession so that she, if indeed she were Richard III, in the past, have access to the throne and avenge herself of Meghan, who was then Margaret Beaufort.
Then again, maybe Catherine was no such person in a past life and simply possessed of a spiteful persona that is more than a little prejudicial – their recent dress-up parade in Pakistan certainly would not have been indulged in when visiting any predominantly black Commonwealth culture. In any event, as Diana, Princess of Wales is likely soon to reincarnate, I am sure she is finding all of this drama rather intriguing and the Cambridges truly venal. Either way, as Andrew eventually has been exposed, so too will Catherine and William be fully exposed for what they are.
That face of hers when not fakely grimmacing that fuck-you smile is such a hard, miserable sight; it truly captures who really is behind the Sussexes’ lynching and all because, one must not be more popular than moi. Well damn girl, you only had 8 years to open your damn mouth and say something remotely intelligent, to say nothing of charming.
Though the neighbouring apartments at Kensington Palace were prepared for the Sussexes, quite rightly Meghan and Harry saw fit to move to Windsor’s Frogmore Cottage and set up their offices at Buckingham Palace. Regardless the cultivated face the Cambridges show the public, at heart centre, they are a very petty, mean-spirited partnership. The Cambridges embody the negative aspects of their 9 energy to the max – prejudicial and hypercritical… to say nothing of hyper-cynical; these are not persons that one would want to be around overlong. Though Meghan has been described as a con and a fake, hustler, social-climbing blah blah blah, all for being black and accomplishing the unthinkable, the true Lady Eve is Catherine, who with her mother, preyed on blithering William like a famished eagle a mere lamb.
Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul. 