The Pro(fessional)s & The Con(artist)s.

The Con(artist)s Exposed

Thank goodness for the wonderfully charming Archie Manners, he waved a wand of truth and exposed the industry of charlatans, who parasitically income stream from the lives of the royals.

Archie Manners 19.5.1993 Rooster 1.6.1 = 8

Aristocratic magician Archie and his business partner are responsible for outing the archly pretentious con artists, masquerading as experts. With a couple of 1s in his numerological makeup and that empathetic 6, Archie being a true aristocrat doesn’t give a living crap what these persons think; they are frauds.

Con(artist)s

Ingrid Seward, Editor-in-Chief Majesty Magazine

Ingrid having been caught in a boldfaced lie would later turn to being mindful not to cause offense. I do know several blacks who after subscribing to Majesty magazine, promptly cancelled, owing to Ms. Seward’s appearance. For many Black Americans, the royals were a new phenomenon and many of the upper middle class African-Americans were wowed by the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex in 2018. I can assure you, though, after the Oprah interview, the royals have fallen out of favour with many. The blackamoor brooch also came to light during the time of the Oprah interview and that was a definite deal breaker.

Angela Levin

After having sucked up to Prince Harry for the biography that she wrote, this vile woman has just been keen at every opportunity, to raise her rear right leg and piss all over all things associated with the Sussexes. She is what my darling Merlin would seethed and dismiss as ‘that Semite’. Himself, a Jew of Polish heritage was ever embarrassed by Ashkenazi persons whom he always found alarmingly racist towards Blacks; this they, somehow, felt was perfectly justifiable because for merely being Jewish, they were above reproach. For this reason, such persons were ever dismissed as ‘Semite’ as they were not fit to be identified as Jewish. Merlin would actually toss something at the television or leave the room when such glaring bigotry occurred on television. This woman is alarmingly mealy-mouthed and ever ready to vilify both Sussexes.

Victoria Arbiter 5.4.1974 Tiger 5.9.3 = 8

Poseuse extraordinaire, with a second/mindset number of 9, she goes where the prevailing winds do and the American negro does not belong in the royal family. Of course, her diaper-wearing father outed himself as an absolute turncoat fraud in Archie Manners’ brilliant exposé.

Richard Fitzwilliams 14.10.1949 Ox 5.6.2 = 4

The pompous, South African born jackass is outed. Who cares what these persons think or say; they simply project onto the monarchy whatever their miniscule bigoted agendum happens to be.

Dan Wootton 2.3.1983 Pig 2.5.8 = 6

Just look at him, über nez brun figurative and otherwise. He is a nasty little White male bigot, who not surprisingly hails from another shitty little isle, this one at further reaches of a time and place when empire mattered. Naturally, his fiendish racial animus towards the Sussexes is so intense that he will haul out that porcine turncoat in Mexico, who masquerades as a caring grandfather, whenever he and the other fifs of Fleet Street decide to fabricate and gloat at another salvo at the Sussexes; I can just imagine the perished kiwi fruit, drawing hard on a bottle of poppers whilst getting off.

Thomas Markle, Duke of Mexico @ Trooping the Colour balcony 2022

Just imagine the gales of laughter as Dan Wootton and his sizeable troop of cum-farting, lisping bigots on the isle of racist boors get their clueless-as-fuck mascot, somehow, past Buckingham Palace security to stand on the balcony. There, the gargantuan Duke of Mexico can be favoured over the Sussexes and stood between HM The Queen and HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. At some point, in true Jerry Springer style, Thomas can then confront the Duke and Duchess of Sussex whilst on the balcony and demand to hold his favourite grandchild, Archie. Like true colonial bigots, the likes of Dan Wootton et al would think it priceless to have that uppity negro upstaged and put in her rightful place.

“…”They owe me,” Markle said in the documentary. “The royals owe me, Harry owes me, Meghan owes me. What I’ve been through, I should be rewarded for. My daughter told me when I reach my senior years, she’ll take care of me. I’m in my senior years now. I’m 75 years old, so it’s time to look after daddy.”…”. Thomas Markle.

Just imagine the infinite broadsheet coverage with this priceless click bait fodder, earning each article in excess of 15k comments. I can just imagine them plotting to have the Duke of Mexico join the procession back up the mall to Buckingham Palace in a convertible golf cart. Can you just imagine that clueless despicable man, a veritable albino Idi Amin and no less hateful, looking smug as fuck as his Poundland medals noisily dangle off his left moob. Old age security is more than enough to keep that vile turncoat, living baronially in Mexico.

Dickie Arbiter

And to think that this man was actually in the employ of HM The Queen. It is a complete disservice to HM The Queen to have persons with such obvious racial animus and bigotry in the royal households. When HM The Queen took those oaths, wherein she devoted her life and reign to being one of service, she meant it. She is also head of the Church of England, which would not exist were it not for the Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort, who is now incarnate and none other than, Meghan Markle, Duchess of Sussex herself – there are no coincidences. Were it not for her, the Tudor matriarch, the Queen would be governed by the Pope. Indeed, were HM The Queen like the racist boors who vilify Meghan, formerly Margaret Beaufort (Tudor matriarch), all the Governors-General would be royals. In such a paradigm, one would have, for example, India Hicks, Governor-General of the Bahamas and say, James Ogilvy, the Governor-General of St. Kitts & Nevis rather than two members of my extended family having thusly served HM The Queen. In my entire 7 decades, one was not brought up to think of, nor seen HM The Queen as ‘White.’ She has always just been, The Queen and she has never for a fleeting moment reeked of either bigotry or racial animus. Trust me, being able to spot White bigotry, is an almost built-in matter of extra-sensory perception for Blacks the world over.

Lady Colin Campbell 17.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Not surprisingly, this woman/gender ambiguous’ numerological make-up contains a 9. This placement of 9 is that of the over-the-top, archly bigoted, pretentious, snob. It is all about who is good enough and being the ultimate defender of the flame and an aggressive gatekeeper. For the record, what tacky cereal gives away junk like that crap on her head? I will say this, hers/theirs are eyes usually resident at sanitoria. Vraiment étrange…

Episode 3 of Keeping Up with the Aristocrats. From the 11:30 to 19:19 is Princess *cough, cough* Olga’s birthday party at her country dump. Present were all the usual royal sycophants and pretentious parvenus about whom the truly aristocratic do not give two fucks, which most definitely includes nez bruns real and figurative and the vile racist attacker of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, the Poundland aristo, lui-même. She/they hangs on to that bargain basement nothing title of lady as though it were Princess Royal. Sweetheart, nobody gives a living fuck and by pompously clawing on to the shitty nowhere title, risibly illustrates how desperately parvenu, which is to say readily dismissible, this one is in Britain’s rigid classist society. During minutes 40:10 to 45.53 of the same episode, Olga attends an evening gathering hosted by the Chatelaine of Renishaw Hall where also present were Ivar Mountbatten and his handsome husband. Naturally, the ‘lady’ *cough, cough* did not make it beyond the stately home’s entry gates. No matter how much she/they affect(s) the grand airs, those who matter would never suffer this crass, put-on in their midst as was made readily evident during the gathering at Renishaw Hall. Olga, an ancien/passé princess will be welcome among aristocrats and orbital royals like Ivar Mountbatten but not in your life would Ivar Mountbatten and his husband be around snobbish boors like Lady Kissy Kissy Boosh Boosh and the sycophantic opera fags, who readily gravitate to such extra-orbital netherworld spheres like famished flies on shit.

April 14, 2022

On the Poundland aristo’s YouTube channel on April 14, 2022, the very day that the Duke & Duchess of Sussex visited HM The Queen at Windsor Castle. Not once did this woman/gender ambiguous make passing reference to the fact that, through her/their impeccable royal source(s), there would be imminent activity by the Sussexes that would have everyone talking but to protect her/their royal source(s), she/they could not say further; however, by the end of the week, she/they and her/their royal source(s) will have been proven correct. Thursday, April 14, 2022 was the very day that the Sussexes made worldwide news and what do you know, thereafter was the Poundland aristo, fuming and flaring her/their ferret-like nostrils with indignation at the vile Sussexes, visiting HM The Queen, a visit which she/they never once could claim that she/they had alluded to in her/their vlog on April 14, 2022 or the vlog prior. From 21:00 to 23:20, it is perfectly clear that the uncouth Poundland aristo has no inside royal source(s) and that as she/they was/were sat engaging in decidedly libellous palaver, the Duke & Duchess of Sussex were in Windsor, visiting with HM The Queen. Nonetheless, there is the Lady of dubious gender, declaring at 21:40 ‘My understanding, is that The Queen would not be that thrilled to receive them.’ She/they, then dripping with racist innuendo, like her/their zero-nacred Poundland jewellery, until 23:20 blithers on, dismissing Meghan, and by inference Blacks, as inelegant country folk set loose in a costumier’s.

April 16, 2022

In this video, after the Duke & Duchess of Sussex had been to visit HM The Queen in Windsor, the uncouth gossip is left to scratch and claw and throw more defamatory grenades in a bid to cover the fact that the vlog of two days prior, April 14, 2022, there was no mention of the Sussexes’ visit to see The Queen, because she/they hasn’t/haven’t got a fucking clue and is an absolute racist and fraud – neither she/they nor her/their alleged royal source(s) know sweet fuck-all of what is truly going on. As for her/their royal source(s), there are more royals in England than any country on the planet; when this racist woman/gender ambiguous says royal, she/they never does/do say British royal family. Truth be told, as there are royals from every royal family on the planet in England, this means that the ratio of royals to chavs in England is 1:1. As she/they continue(s) her/their defamatory campaign of courting Meghan’s litigious wrath, she/they at 16:00 to 16:40 implies that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex has a cocaine habit; this she did whilst impersonating Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and excessively sniffing and snorting back and forth from one nostril to the next. All the while, this woman/gender ambiguous racist creates a petition to invite Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex to ask HM The Queen to place his Dukedom in abeyance; so intense is this woman/gender ambiguous’ racist obsession with Duke of Sussex’s wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Sooner or later, the Sussexes are going to take legal action against this fraud and they have all the video evidence and more that they need. Keep digging with the use of the little people having been whipped into hateful frenzy – the same little people about whom she/they does/do not give sweet fuck-all on any given rainy Friday afternoon. Always, it is readily convenient and credible to pin Blacks with the label of being drug addicts in one’s racially predatory obsession.

Back in summer 1986, I took over a friend of Merlin’s gig as dresser on Cats at Toronto’s Elgin Theatre. At the time, the person was experiencing burnout as many friends and theatre associates of theirs were dying of AIDS. What was supposed to have been 3 to 6 weeks maximum, turned into almost a year. Friends made during that time, still work in the showbiz world here in town and matured into TV/film careers. Not one of these persons ever said a damn thing negative about Meghan Markle when she worked here in Toronto, filming Suits. She smokes as does Prince Harry was the extent of what different sources related. If there was a drinking or drug problem, it would most definitely not have been overlooked. Also, if you have a drug problem, it is either rehab or simply being written out of the show, neither of which occurred. Also, if Meghan, Duchess of Sussex were the bully as alleged by royal household staffers and the tabloid medium, it would have been an issue on Suits for which she would have been dismissed. An actor working on the set of a long-running TV series, is not dissimilar to being a royal in a royal household; Meghan was not suddenly going to be difficult when she was accustomed to being deferred to on the set of a hit TV show. Meanwhile, the Poundland aristo seriously engages in defamation of character for being inordinately racially predatory of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Like her/them sitting there on the day that the Sussexes were visiting with HM The Queen in Windsor, April 14, 2022, about which she/they knew sweet fuck-all, she/they also does/do not know anything about Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s life, when she resided here in Toronto. Stop fucking goddamn inciting gullible bigots to racially hate Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and Prince Harry; this is precisely why the doyenne of Renishaw Hall would never think of having that vile, gossiping charlatan in her home.

Lady Frederick Windsor & Prince Harry Duke of Sussex

Let me make it abundantly clear, this woman/gender ambiguous and all Meghan’s detractors would know to keep their rabid tail between their syphilitic legs if Prince Harry had married either a Jew or a Moslem. One simply does not giver offense to either demographic. For one, fear of retaliation, economic or otherwise of being accused of either anti-Semitism or Islamophobia would have this Trench town racist, keeping her/their foul and defamatory thoughts to herself/themself. As one does not give offense to either demographic and in the case of the latter, as fatwahs and their consequences are very real, she/they would think twice of putting either Castle Booring at risk or ending up like Nick Berg did.

HRH Princess Michael of Kent in blackamoor brooch, Christmas 2017

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex never played the race card, that was quite nicely played for her by HRH Princess Michael of Kent and then she had the fuck-all temerity to show her flat-arsed, no-calved pretentious face at a Black woman’s wedding, having sported the blackamoor brooch six months earlier, which is no less offensive to Blacks, especially so African-Americans, than a swastika would have been had Prince Harry like Lord Frederick Windsor, princess flat-arse’s son, married a Jew. So thank you for sitting there, looking all smug as fuck, sporting your blackamoor brooch because never could it be convincingly argued that Meghan was making specious allegations of racism, pulling the race card when even before walking down the aisle with Harry, there was the dumbass, advertising what gleeful fun one was having being racially predatory boors towards that Compton hustler. Blasted flat-arsed, pretentious sow.

At the heart of Britons’ arch racist animus towards Blacks is the sticky business of karma. They owe massive karma to Blacks for the empire building wealth that they amassed for the enslavement of Blacks and in its aftermath, the absurd injustice of slavery profiting Britons being compensated for their supposed lost income stream whilst the discarded enslaved got nothing. And so they hate and deny and will never ever admit to having been racist or being racist. Yet, somehow, they and indeed all non-Blacks seem to think that despite their unbridled racist animus towards us, we sent out an SOS, asking them to come relieve/rape us of Black culture, which is inherently musical, and thus they grudgingly squat the fuck all over Jazz as though, somehow, invited. Let’s, however, digress no more…

The soul which, formerly when incarnate, was Margaret Beaufort, Tudor matriarch, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother of HM Queen Elizabeth I, has been reborn, Black and on re-entering that dynastic family for being Black has affected the karmic chickens of slavery, Black exploitation and rape of Africa and its people, coming home to roost. By her very presence, she has lanced a bilious flood of racial dread, which White Britons bear Blacks for the karma they damn well know that they owe Blacks. No matter how you protest, just remember that within your midst are persons who will never assimilate and who are singularly focussed on subjecting you and your society as you subjected Blacks. Keep hating Blacks and being singularly focussed on Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, serving as a vessel for your uneclipsed racism, of which your sleeper enemy is keenly observant and quietly figuring out how to deal with and successfully subject the threat of your existence; all the while, you prove yourselves blissfully unaware of the bigger picture karmically.

Eamonn Holmes 3.12.1959 Pig 3.6.3 = 3

Remind me again that England is merely an island and its residents frightfully small-minded, alarmingly racist and violent in the extreme.

“Why wouldn’t they just throw him over the balcony and her with him.” — @EamonnHolmes

So blinded by hate is this porcine, homo-repressed boor that he thinks nothing of threatening a senior heir and successor of the Sovereign’s, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex with death along with his wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. A threat issued of physical attack on Harry, is an attack on the Crown, HM The Queen. This man is beyond absurd. This whole tempest in a teapot has been completely taken out of context on that side of the pond.

NBC’s Hoda Kobt & Prince Harry

Firstly, in his interview with NBC Today’s Hoda Kotb, Harry when making the remark, did so in reference to the fact that his beloved ‘granny’ had been recently side-lined by Covid. Obviously, if greater care had been exercised to protect The Queen from being potentially exposed to Covid, she would not have fallen ill with Covid and Harry would not have had to make the statement. Secondly, by his remark, Prince Harry was making a none-too-veiled reference to disgraced Prince Andrew, escorting HM The Queen to the thanksgiving service for The Prince Philip at Westminster Abbey. Thirdly, Prince Harry was specifically referring to HM The Queen’s private secretary, Edward Young and her dresser, Angela Kelly. But far be it from the blind little bigots, always looking to ferret diabolical meaning where none was intended.

Prince Andrew Escorts HM The Queen at Westminster Abbey

Why pray tell was the little embedded-dicked, closet case, not preying on Prince Andrew. Obviously, it must have been a case of predators’ honour that the pussy-whipped fucker issued no threats against Prince Andrew when he had the gall to escort HM The Queen at The Prince Philip’s thanksgiving service at Westminster Abbey in March, 2022. Lord only knows, Prince Harry has not had to cough up millions to make the embarrassment of minor prey go away. But here comes little racial predator 70 million and two from the isle of sycophants, storming the palace gates and looking to lynch the racial traitor and his runaway slave… mais oui. Vas chier… fif de madame grosse fesse.

Tom Bower 28.9.1946 Dog 1.1. 3 = 5

First number of 1 is that of the bully; they are conceited in the extreme and, of course, no Black woman should be marrying into the royal family for the likes of this man. End of discussion.

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex whilst attending the Invictus Games in the Hague, April 2022, took time to join in an arts and crafts session. Straight away, the little negative twits were only too happy to gloat and ridicule because look at her, she has painted the flag upside down. Truth be told, when a nation is invaded/under attack, it is customary rather than raising a white flag of surrender, to instead raise the nation’s flag upside down as this is a call for military intervention from neighbouring nations/allies. Meghan painting PEACE on an upside down Ukrainian flag, was in fact correct.

Tina Brown 21.11.1953 Snake 3.5.5 = 4

Back in April 2011 at the beautiful royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, Tina Brown as guest commentator for ABC’s coverage of the wedding, as a Briton, she was featured. However, when the Beckhams were spotted in the line to enter Westminster Abbey, Tina Brown in a bit of classist shade dismissed Victoria Beckham with the ludicrous observation that the elegantly soignée Ms. Beckham regularly went jogging in Hollywood thusly attired. This sort of loose-lipped put-down does little for her credibility especially after the fiasco that was Talk magazine, which for being bankrolled by that sleazy creep, Harvey Weinstein, naturally never featured a Black American on its cover. Not surprisingly, there were Britons on the cover of the pretentious, to say nothing of otiose, rag. There was Tina Brown, trying to make Liz Hurley happen… and decades later, it still hasn’t happened. Who else but a racially smug Briton would be editor-in-chief of an American magazine and never feature a Black American on the cover of an American magazine, Talk.

Nothing is more dangerous than sophisticated racists because they are so indignant when called on their racism; it is almost as though you would be mad for having to question something that is patently untrue to such persons. There is no racism; there is no damn need to change anything. Alas, there was Tina Brown, having been dispensed with by ABC, decamped to CBS where at the royal wedding of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex where Oprah was a guest, the very same displaced Briton was having to offer her tired-arsed, third-tier opinions to Oprah’s best friend Gayle King – as if her opinions matter to the people who were never good enough to have featured on her shitty little, loser magazine’s cover. Some people.

There is positively sweet fuck-all that Tina Brown can say that is credible… she and her opinions are of negligible worth. I might also add that 3 and double 5s just spells over-the-top fabulist. But damned if that is going to stop her from cashing in on the racial lynching of Prince Harry for having married a goddamn American… a Black American. It was not acceptable when King Edward VIII brought Wallis Simpson to the court of St. James and it definitely is not acceptable for Prince Harry to have brought a goddamn Black woman into the very heart of the British royal family. Indeed, the Sussexes are the bitcoin of new income streams for bigoted hacks in the age of social media.

Her book will be biased and inclined to attack the Black Duchess and bow and scrape to the Cambridges. She will not touch the racism in either the royal households or royal family. What Meghan is experiencing, is what all Black women experience. Where Black men are gunned down with alarming frequency by police relative to White males, and their respective percentages of the American population, is horrific. Black women are deliberately denied, feared, hated, overlooked and bypassed because one can – only one Black woman has won a best actress Oscar in its 94 years – Halle Berry. Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson’s senate confirmation hearings were appallingly vicious; there is positively no way that a Jewish woman would have been so abused during the same process – think back on Judge Kagan’s confirmation hearings. Justice Elena Kagan’s intelligence was never questioned nor was she subjected to the ridiculously petty lines of questioning Justice Brown Jackson was. Will Tina Brown highlight HM The Queen’s dresser’s, Angela Kelly being outright rude and dismissive behaviour towards Meghan or that of HM The Queen’s private secretary, Edward Young also was towards Meghan?

Again, let me make it abundantly clear, if Meghan Markle were White, Moslem, Jewish, Chinese or East Indian, absolutely none of this Salem revisited would be upon us. They, the media, have created a car crash and simply wanted Meghan and Harry to buckle up and take a ride like Diana, Princess of Wales did. One simply does not give offense to the aforementioned demographics; however, it is always perfectly justifiable to be irrationally exuberant in one’s racially predatory animus towards Blacks. The way to get around being labelled racists or to take ownership thereof, one simply attacks the accuser with new-fangled derogatory terms like ‘cancel culture’ and ‘woke.’ Indeed, the racist justifies their right to be racially predatory by protesting against Blacks (Black Lives Matter) calling them on their racism.

Piers Morgan 30.3.1965 Sheep 3.6.9 = 9

The 60s to 90s were a time of raid and neo-colonisation on the part of Britons on American media and culture, including this odious, little White male bigot, seizing power at CNN and acting as though by virtue of his Britishness, he was somehow welcome or entitled to squat all over American TV/culture. Honestly, when can any of these ungrateful people look at their sojourn in American and claim that Americans were rude, xenophobic boors towards them. Nonetheless, these charlatans have had it way too good, crossing the pond and becoming latter-day buccaneers as they have raped American culture and grew more fantastically rich than they ever could for staying relatively obscure on their shitty little isle of vile xenophobes. Of course, bigots like this pretentious snob – he has two 9s in his numerological make-up – think that Americans aren’t civilised enough to enter the ranks of their archly classist society, though smelling loud of that cheap eau de toilette called the American buck. Incidentally, for having two 9s, he was so infuriated at being called on his bigotry by meteorologist, Alex Beresford that he got up and stormed off the TV set and lost his job. This was his meltdown response to Meghan & Harry’s appearance on the Oprah interview. That vile unethical boor ought never to have been afforded a green card, let lone been on American TV, after his complicit, reprehensible actions when at the now defunct, News of the World tabloid rag.

What these bigots have never been able to accept, is that Meghan is as intelligent, eloquent and articulate as she is, especially as this completely shatters their perception of Blacks/Black Americans. Meghan, of course, by comparison showed up Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge for the sodden cardboard that she is for lacking in charisma, gravitas and eloquence but she gurns and dresses superbly. Speaking of dressing, it was mighty queer that Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge wore an off-white dress to Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s wedding. If that is not a display of her first number of 9 and the fact that she felt so threatened by Meghan’s force-of-nature magnetism that she would be the only woman exclusively wearing off-white (white) to the royal wedding of the woman whom it turns out she made cry, rather than how it was speciously reported by Camilla Tominey in the launch of the campaign to banish the negro from the kingdom isle of racist boors.

I will say this, it is my observation that most – though by no means all – Whites with 9 in their numerological make-up are usually prejudiced towards Blacks and most such-focussed persons, are intensely racially predatory towards Blacks rather than not.

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Royal Ascot, 2018

The one constant in all the media frenzy and predatory obsession with the Duke & Duchess of Sussex is that no one ever discusses the latent, blatant racism to which the Sussexes have been subjected. They will write volumes and cash in; however, had Prince Harry married a White American actress named Cressida Bonas with the same pedigree as the real British-born Cressida Bonas, positively none of this nightmare would have unfolded. Indeed, the print medium would long have turned on Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge in favour of the blonde, favoured wife of everyone’s favourite, Prince Harry. As Diana, Princess of Wales so eloquently stated during her BBC Panorama Martin Bashir interview, “the best way to dismantle a personality, is to isolate it.” Naturally, each of these opinionated White income streaming royal experts will never cast light on the racism to which the Sussexes have been subjected; instead, it has been rendered non-existent and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex is never referred to as Black. To focus on race would be empowering, humanising Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, which serves no purpose when on a campaign to totally annihilate a Black woman.

Pro(fessional)s

Hilary Mantel 6.731952 Dragon 6.4.4 = 5

Now for the Pro(fessional)s. Hilary Mantel, whose exquisite Tudor trilogy I have enjoyed, has been a staunch supporter of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. She has wasted no time in calling the British print medium on its unbridled racism towards the Duke & Duchess of Sussex for their interracial marriage. She speaks truth and calls out the ugly racism for precisely what it is.

https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-51703856

https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/meghan-markle-was-too-good-to-be-true-says-dame-hilary-mantel_uk_5e5e3f2dc5b63aaf8f5d0bf7

https://www.thesun.co.uk/fabulous/11094609/meghan-markle-prince-harry-royal-family-uk/

https://www.pajiba.com/celebrities_are_better_than_you/hilary-mantel-sees-racial-element-in-criticism-of-meghan-markle.php

Roya Nikkhah

Times of London royal editor, Roya Nikkhah is as classy as it gets. Consummate professional, she does not engage in either sophistry or gossip. Sophisticated. Professional. Elegant. Precisely as any respectable journalist should comport themselves on or off the page.

Katie Nicholl

Royal biographer, writer and editor at Vanity Fair, Katie is professional and strictly factual. Never gossips and keeps her mostly American audience educated on all things royal.

Emily Nash

Hello Magazine UK’s royal editor has always been pitch perfect and warmly professional in her coverage of the royal family. She speaks with the same care and tact of each royal family member, regardless their public persona and the whims of public opinion, which can be biased in the extreme.

Kate Williams

Scholarly, professional, passionate, inordinately knowledgeable, she is a font of insights historical and current. Articulate, she has an engagingly warm voice. She has an actual career and unlike some, she doesn’t need to prey on the Sussexes in a bid for a new income stream.

Nicholas Witchell

Here we have BBC’s royal correspondent, Nicholas Witchell in a marvellously edited video, which was a none-too-veiled threat to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge who expressed his displeasure with the BBC and even went so far as to not have the BBC host, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s Christmas Carol Service in December, 2021. The BBC really do not care what William thinks and were not shy in telegraphing their refusal anytime soon to sycophantically bow and scrape in his direction. There is much that they can do within their medium, which would not much benefit TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Certainly, the BBC releasing the Cambridge’s rowing at the 2019 A Berry Royal Christmas special was a none-too-subtle salvo from the BBC to the arrogant future Sovereign.

Gyles Brandreth 8.3.1948 Rat 8.2.6 = 7

The éminence grise of royal biographers, he was also an actual friend of The Prince Philip. Look what’s not to love, we are both rats, have two numbers in common (8 & 2) and both of Jewish heritage. That 2 is responsible for his collection of smart, witty jumpers. That 2 and its placement would have left him singing louder than anyone else in the theatre, ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ at the end of Spamalot. 2, no matter where it is placed, means that one is always rooted in one’s joyous child-ego state and why damn not! More than anyone, he would be aware that regardless of the tabloid medium’s racially predatory animus towards the Duke & Duchess of Sussex, the Windsors are a family above all else.

Tom Bradby

Mr. Bradby knows the real score and empathises with the Duke & Duchess of Sussex and the politics of the royal households and royal principals behind the racially predatory campaign against the Sussexes. That PR war against the Sussexes was/is chiefly waged in the tabloid medium. The Cambridges are passive-aggressive boors; they do have their own secrets, which sooner or later will be outed by William’s fourth number of 5, catching up with him.

Tom allowed, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex – that soul formerly incarnate as Margaret Beaufort – to start flexing her chops and going to town on the cowards, who dared fucking with her. The Tudor matriarch did not return to play pushover.

Chris Ship

ITV royal correspondent, Chris Ship like Emily Nash has a keen awareness how Britain LLP looks before the rest of the world. He is adroit, professional and purely objective.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex at the Invictus Games in the Hague, 2022

Camilla Tominey

Though she launched the opening salvo in the campaign to banish the interloper negro from the isle of racist boors and royals, that Meghan made Catherine cry when it proved to have been the reverse, Camilla has clearly had a road to Damascus change of tune. Recently, she has uttered words like Black Lives Matter as it has begun to dawn on Britain LLP that theirs is not the most rosy of images beyond their isle of rabid bigots. Her opinions on the Sussexes have become more nuanced and professional and, I dare say, she is even beginning to approach the professionalism of Nash, Ship et al.

Robert Jobson 23.3.1964 Dragon 5.8.1 = 5

Always adroit, I was impressed by his indignation during a round table discussion immediately after the airing of the Oprah interview, featuring the Duke & Duchess of Sussex. Stridently, he argued that whoever had raised the racially insensitive matter of Archie’s skin tone, ought to be stripped of their royal privileges. This, though impressive, struck me as odd because what was even more offensive was HRH Princess of Michael of Kent wearing that blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace. Surely, by that maxim, she should at the very least have been evicted from her grace & favour apartment at Kensington Palace.

Russell Myers

First became aware of him on the same roundtable discussion after the Oprah interview, in which Robert Jobson participated. He is nuanced and keenly aware that optics are more important than being on the isle of bigoted boors’ bandwagon.

Beautiful Lovers: Duke & Duchess of Sussex

As HM The Queen made it perfectly clear at The Prince Philip’s thanksgiving service at Westminster Abbey in March, 2022, Prince Andrew is her son and she is along with being a grieving widow, Sovereign. The call is hers to make. She has remarkably honoured her promise to be of service, all well on the cusp of an eighth decade. You don’t like that she wants her favourite grandson, his articulate wife and their kids on the balcony at Buckingham Palace at Trooping the Colour during the Platinum Jubilee celebrations? Tough! The call is hers to make and if you truly do not like it, you can damn well crawl the fuck in your casket. It is no damn business of yours. Sooner or later, the government is going to have to put an end to the press, holding to ransom the British royal family. The royals of Sweden, Spain, Norway, Denmark and everywhere else in the world are not terrorised by the press, chiefly so the tabloid press. The British press have made a business of ruthlessly directing the royals in a generational pantomime that has caused, death (Diana, Princess of Wales), anguish and drug abuse (alcohol) re: (Princess Margaret), predatory racial harassment (Duke & Duchess of Sussex). All the while, they have turned a blind eye to Prince Andrew’s unsavoury proclivity for lamb, veal and other minor fare, to say nothing of the hissing toxicity that is TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge’s marriage.

Bitches Brew Miles Davis

Provided to YouTube by Columbia/Legacy Bitches Brew · Miles Davis · Wayne Shorter · Bennie Maupin · John McLaughlin · Chick Corea · Joe Zawinul · Dave Holland · Harvey Brooks The Complete Bitches Brew Sessions ℗ Originally released 1970. All rights reserved by Columbia Records, a division of Sony Music Entertainment Released on: 1970-03-31 Associated Performer: Miles Davis feat. Wayne Shorter, Bennie Maupin, John McLaughlin, Chick Corea, Joe Zawinul, Dave Holland, Harvey Brooks Associated Performer: Miles Davis feat. John McLaughlin, Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea & Joe Zawinul Drums: Lenny White Drums: Jack DeJohnette Congas: Don Alias Shaker: Jumma Santos Producer: Teo Macero Recording Engineer: Stan Tonkel.

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Go On, Put A Doily On It…

Must you prey on us? Good god someone put a damn doily on it, already!

This past weekend, I looked at the 2021 Oprah Winfrey interview with Duke & Duchess of Sussex; you are always bound to find some new kernel with each viewing. Et voilà, there it was; not once did either the Duke or Duchess mention, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall. So, I fast began reviewing the evidence.

During their first royal engagement after their 2018 wedding, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales says something to footman and soon enough the Sussexes are ushered from the Buckingham Palace garden party, where Camilla famously waves off Meghan, Duchess of Sussex by rudely waving her right hand in a slapping gesture. HRH Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex looking both surprised and upset, soon departs the event with wife and that’s that.

Camilla all along has been given a pass. What she has never been able to do, is sink her talons into Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. For one, Catherine, bless her, is a warrior soul and with the toughest Michael overleaves imaginable. For another, her task companion, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is not only his mother’s son but he is deeply protective of his wife, who is the more dominant partner in their soul connection. I do believe as much as it was to shield the new-born HRH Prince George of Cambridge from HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, it was also TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridges’ desire to be nowhere near Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall.

Windsor, Camilla HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947 Pig 8.6.9 = 5

Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat.  Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth.  A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre. 

Body type is Lunar/Venus. 

Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance. 

The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven.  Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129. 

Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior. 

Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power. 

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.  (July, 2017) ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

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Like HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall is a scholar soul and like William is also a mature soul. Camilla is the same soul age, mid-cycle mature as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Camilla is on her third life at mid-cycle mature, though this soul age, which only ever occurs during the mature soul cycle usually takes one, two at the most incarnations to complete…. obviously, there are exceptions to everything. Third-level or third life at any soul age is more likely where one creates karma. Like Catherine, one of Camilla’s primary needs is power. Unlike Catherine’s powerful overleaves, Camilla’s overleaves are pretty straight forward; slow and steady wins the race. As such, she has done every shady underhanded thing imaginable to be the one wearing the Kohinoor crown at Charles’ coronation.

One of the rare photographs of Diana, Princess of Wales and Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall in 1980. Diana was the threat, the enemy; a mere lamb to a famished eagle was Diana to Camilla. Camilla’s numerology is remarkable and apart from 8 in the first position – greedy persons who expect their partner to serve them the world on a platter, she has 5 in the fourth position. Indeed, she would eventually emerge a full-blown blemished flower, tarnished by sexual scandal. Hundreds of years into the future, Camilla will be known as the most powerful royal woman of the 20th century. Without doubt, it will have been because of Camilla why Charles will be dismissed by historians as the Tampon King. Both Camilla and Charles have 5 in the fourth position, which always introduces scandal of a sexual nature into the picture. That 9 of Camilla’s speaks to her unmatched ambition to bulldoze anything in her journey to end up Charles’ Queen Consort.

Windsor, Charles Prince of Wales 14/11/48 Rat 5.7.2 = 5 London

Charles Windsor is a seventh-level mature second-cast warrior.  Charles Windsor is in observation mode, with a goal of acceptance, and attitude of pragmatist, moving part of intellectual centre.  

Charles’s body type is Mercury-Saturn. 

Charles’ primary chief feature is stubbornness, secondary is self-deprecation. 

His casting is virtually the same as Robert Bateman’s: entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404 but he is a second-cast in a fourth cadence, entity four, cadre four, greater cadre 16, pod/node 404. 

He has an incarnate warrior essence twin with no plans to meet and a discarnate priest task companion, who exerts considerable influence on him. 

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Charles is rather interesting; he is an older soul than his late father, his mother, HM The Queen, both his wives as well as both his sons and their respective wives. Thus far, of the overleaves of royals channelled by yours truly, the only immediate relative of his who is close to him in soul age is Archie, who is also a seventh-level mature soul; however, Archie is a priest soul, which is an exalted role. Charles has been seen as ahead of his time on environmental issues because he happens to be an older soul. As I am also seventh-level matures-souled, artisan and on third life thereat, it is always deeply satisfying to dream of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. He is always very gentle, hobo-like and utterly without airs, which are indicative of his being an older soul. He is almost always in nature and shamanic to the core. Incidentally, Charles paints as it is a function of his casting position in cadence – second/artisan/creative – this is Michael overleaves rather than numerology. As is obvious from his numerology, Prince Charles would be affected by sexual scandal during the course of his life.

Incidentally, Camilla & HM Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother, a mature slave, are both souls from pod 129. Charles is in pod 404. William and Catherine are in pod 208. Diana, Princess of Wales in pod 380. Prince Philip a mature warrior soul in pod 408. Here is where it gets interesting, HM The Queen, Duke and Duchess of Sussex, both their children Archie & Lilibet along with Prince George of Cambridge are all in pod 418 and they are also all if not entity mates at least cadre mates. That is a pretty strong contingent with an immutable bond. Positively no one will ever come between HM The Queen and Prince Harry.

Simon Dorante-Day 5.4.1966 Horse 5.9.4 = 9

When there is a 5 involved, there is truth to the rumours. Both Camilla and Charles have 5 in the fourth position. There is no way that HM The Queen could have sanctioned a marriage of a seventeen-year-old HRH Prince Charles to Camilla Shand. She was a commoner. Charles is the heir to the throne and could not be having a shotgun wedding to an obviously pregnant commoner before he is even twenty years old. Coming so soon after the scandal with her sister, HRH Princess Margaret and in the 1960s, there is no way that a marriage was possible between Charles and Camilla. There had been no long courtship and all of a sudden within 9 months of their marriage Camilla gives birth; the amount of planning for a state wedding of the future Sovereign, ruled out the wedding. Goodness, Camilla would have been in her third trimester by the time of a wedding. Canada was too close to America with a tabloid leak possible. New Zealand too small and South Africa too controversial. Australia large enough and remote enough. The obvious resemblance to both HRH Prince Charles and Mark Shand, Camilla’s brother are not coincidental. Do you think that after having to give up her son with the future Sovereign, her maternal instinct would not have had a vested interest in Diana, Princess of wales, who was 14 years her junior and utterly clueless? Diana was prey and no predator can ever resist prey whose offspring would prevent her from her rightful title of future Queen Mother.

Throat singers are openly ridiculed by Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall whilst on tour with HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales in Iqaluit, Canada in June, 2017. To their right in the video is Governor-General David Johnston, who looked understandably embarrassed. It is simply astounding to me how this woman could have been afforded so many passes time and again for being so damn despicable. Sweet baby Black Jesus, can you just imagine how Meghan, Duchess of Sussex would be mercilessly lynched in the British tabloids if she were to have behaved so disrespectfully to the Inuit, Canadians, the Commonwealth, the Governor-General of Canada, to say nothing of HM The Queen. But there she is, the Rottweiler to have ensnared the future Sovereign and leaving him for all history to be dismissed as the Tampon King.

True to her innate scholar soul inclination towards prejudice, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall has given the plot away over the years. She has taken to using her handy little prop – the small white parasol if only so that her hands are always occupied such that she doesn’t have to lean in and god forbid kiss or shake hands with anyone who is an otiose, undesirable… an untouchable – you know the usual sort that one can expect an aversion from bigots: darkies, brown people, golliwogs, the whole lot. Trust you me, I have been in London for Trooping the Colour and it is way too damn hot with all that exposed crushed red clay or limestone, especially so when air conditioning is almost unheard of in England. Alas, there she is each year without her trusty little white parasol to ward off golliwogs et al. God only knows, the very admirable, superior statesperson of impeccable diplomacy, HM The Queen was never given to traipsing about the ‘colonies’ with parasol in hand to ward off the untouchable darkies, golliwogs et al. Truth be told, Camilla could not be attempting to preserve her dubious, renowned beauty parasol-armed as she prefers when amongst the colonies, teeming with darkies and golliwogs, whom she ever seems intent on being rid of ASAP.

Alice Keppel 29.4.1868 Dragon 2.6.2 = 1

Numbers like these present a woman of inordinate confidence, charm, style and when she entered a room, she owned it. It is the mark of a superior courtesan; she could seduce anyone. Hypnotic and bewitching, her effect would have been magical.

HM King Edward VII 9.11.1841 Ox 9.2.7 = 9

A snob to the core; this man appreciated nothing but the finest – double 9s. For him, there could have been no finer, ravishing, prized mistress than Alice Keppel. His mindset of 2 would have left him completely besotted by her magical aura; their passion would have been consuming and sizzling.

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales arrives minus Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall to HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s October, 2018 wedding at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. Where Alice Keppel, Camilla’s great-grandmother, failed to have bagged her prince, once finally having gotten that ring, Camilla did not have to play nice… if ever she had. Prince Andrew disproved of her and as she is not an older soul, Camilla would have wasted no time in saying sod off to Andrew and his daughter’s trifling nuptials.

Camilla is a pragmatist and having survived the British tabloids and secured in the knowledge that she had given birth to Prince Charles’ firstborn, she could not have given a damn. There was an engagement at a school the day of Jack and Eugenie’s nuptials and she was not going to change her itinerary. Royals lined up at Galilee Porch for sending off of Jack and Eugenie, yet nowhere was Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall to be seen. She is a future Queen Consort, Andrew is a damn Paedophile and currently, her predatory focus was dispensing with that damn Yank golliwog, who was too charismatically like Diana for her own good and Camilla’s liking. Scholar’s are very good at sabotaging others.

HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales presiding at the handover ceremony of Hong Kong to China in June, 1997. Naturally, Charles was then divorced from Diana, Princess of Wales, who a month later would attend the funeral of murdered fashion designer, Gianni Versace and herself violently killed a month later in Paris.

Charles, November 2021 in Barbados for the handover ceremony as the Bajan government removed the Crown as head of state and became a republic. Just as at HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s wedding, Camilla could not be bothered and chose to be a no-show. She who is future Queen Consort, could not have cared less as this was just some otiose castoff island full of golliwogs. Besides, the ceremony was at night and since she could not be shielded from bloody golliwogs with her ubiquitous parasol – honest to god what beauty pray tell could she be protecting – to hell with them, she will not be going. Contemporaneous with the blackamoor-wearing bigot HRH Princess Michael of Kent is Camilla; a fact which should not be overlooked in how the Sussexes were racially preyed on in the various royal households. Charles and his wife Camilla are the direct representatives of HM The Queen; it was an important event and it was not as though she, Camilla, was back in London on a ventilator for suffering severe Covid. Indeed, it is not as though the failed broodmare had to stay behind and nurse Charles’ latest issue.

Well, ain’t karma a bitch! So having murderously driven Diana, Princess of Wales to the astral plane, Meghan, Duchess of Susssex to California, Camilla’s hope of having her son with Charles sequestered in Australia all these years, recognised and made heir presumptive, the ungrateful bugger had to go and marry and breed with a damn mongrel golliwog! If you think that for one second Camilla has not been a vile witch towards Diana’s beloved sons, just look at her response to throat singers in Iqaluit and HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s wedding. She doesn’t look like Plotte Visage Queen Consort for nothing!

First the baby, then the ring 40 years later… hardly worth it, was it?

Do Nothin’ Till You Hear From Me – Ella Fitzgerald

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Why No Spencer Colouring?

More and more, the hideous burrowing larvae at this rotten artichoke’s core becomes exposed. Respect is earned and never a birthright. When incarnate anywhere in the physical universe, the most important asset to possess, is intellect. So you don’t like blacks, and who pray tell are you to the people for whom Jazz is culture, high art and everything?

So never mind Archie’s skin colour; what about his hair colour? All along the Sussexes have cleverly hidden from view Archie’s hair colour, indeed his true identity; he was photographed being returned home from preschool, wearing a large toque. Also, at Christmas 2019, he was photographed with his proud pa whilst on Vancouver Island, wearing a toque to coverup his flaming Spencer mop. He was filmed on Oprah Winfrey’s interview with his parents in a manner such that much of the colour was edited from the film, making it appear as if filmed in black and white.

Royal fans expressed their annoyance over not seeing Archie's face again after Meghan Markle and Prince Harry released a new picture of their son to celebrate his second birthday (pictured) in May this year
This photo of a pregnant Meghan in March 2021, was another example of when the Duke and Duchess of Sussex decided to not show Archie's face to the public
Last year, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex opted to share an illustrated Christmas card - leading to some disappointed fans calling for the couple to show Archie¿s face (pictured)
However, in 2019, the couple appeared more than happy to show their son's face, making it centre stage in their festive greetings image
On his mental health series The Me You Can't See, co-created with Oprah Winfrey, Harry showed several new images of his two-year-old son, seemingly showing his front
While on Ellen, Meghan decided to share one showing Archie's back
Prince Harry and Archie pictured in Canada in 2019. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex's son's face can be clearly seen in the photograph, shared in an end-of-year review by the couple in a 2019 clip
Prince Harry (pictured) has once again showed how well he's embracing his relaxed LA lifestyle by going barefoot in a trendy Christmas photoshoot
Heavily pregnant Meghan Markle pictured taking son Archie to school (photos)

Last Christmas’s card was an illustration where the colour was a smeared auburn. Archie was filmed in sepia holding ballons which yet again, left his identity ambiguous. Then after having dropped the race bomb on the Oprah Winfrey interview, Archie’s shock of red hair is finally revealed. Just as Meghan executed the most elegant display of controlled anger, during which time in her sit-down interview with Oprah Winfrey, she never once mentioned Prince William, she went one further and subtly taunted Prince William by having HSH Prince Alex Lubomirski reveal to the world Archie’s true ‘colour’.

George Edmund McCorquodale - Genealogy
Meet Prince Harry's cousin Louis Spencer - the man who will inherit Diana's  childhood home - Mirror Online

Not only does Archie have the Spencer redhead gene – like his cousins George McCorquodale and Louis Spencer Viscount Althorp – but unlike William and his three offspring, Charlotte having the same hairline and forehead as her uncle King Felipe VI’s two daughters, Charlotte unlike Archie is not a redhead. Archie’s freckled mother, Meghan Duchess of Sussex, has the redhead gene as well as his father; and both Archie’s maternal grandparents are likely carriers of the redhead gene.

William being the obvious Bourbon lovechild that he is, only has the Spencer redhead gene; he did not inherit said gene from his father, King Juan Carlos of Spain – notice King Felipe VI and his offspring do not manifest the redhead gene. Sadly, William’s bullying, emasculating wife, Catherine, does not have the redhead gene to pass on. So in the end, Archie by being born, further revealed William for the Bourbon lovechild that he is.

Just look at all this staged tomfuckery, passing for good old-fashioned, wholesome family togetherness…. mon blasted cul!

There’s a “good person” alright.

Indeed, on recently watching the Oprah Interview during the holidays, I realised that by conspicuously never once mentioning William, Meghan thereby outed him. Elegantly, Meghan unmasked Catherine for the monster that she is by clearing up the lies of just who made who cried. Of course, it was Catherine, she of the 9 energy body with a task companion husband, William, who has a 9 attitude – toxic specimens to the core.

Sarah Ferguson reveals who really invited her to Prince Harry and Meghan  Markle's wedding | HELLO!

The tabloid medium vilification of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, speaks to William’s grudging, petty, malicious nature. At the time of William’s wedding April 29, 2011, the media spun the story that Sarah, Duchess of York was not invited to William’s marriage to Catherine because HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh did not speak to Sarah and did not want her present. Seven years later, HRH Prince Philip was still alive, yet Sarah, Duchess of York attended Harry’s marriage to Meghan because Harry wanted Sarah present; it was after all his wedding and not HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh’s. Of course, if now what we know of Andrew, Duke of York’s sexual proclivities and legal troubles were then rumoured, William damn well would have seen fit not to have Andrew attend his wedding in April, 2011.

Princess Beatrice and Dave Clark out in London. | Princess Beatrice and  Princess Eugenie Have a Night Celebrating a Very Different Queen! |  POPSUGAR Celebrity Photo 8
Did Queen Elizabeth Forbid Prince Harry From Marrying Long-Term Girlfriend Chelsy  Davy?

It was William who told American, Dave Clark that he did not approve of him and would not be permitted to wed, HRH Princess Beatrice of York. Indeed, conveniently enough, as he wished not to be overshadowed at his wedding by Harry, Chelsey Davy was told to get lost. Indeed, she could attend the wedding, just not as the fiancée of Harry’s. This is how controlling and petty William is… indeed, how all 9s are. All true to his numerology and second number of 9, his mindset, William is snobbish, prejudiced, interfering and obstinate.

The Middleton family showed their support for the Duchess of Cambridge this afternoon as they arrived to watch her host a Christmas carol service at Westminster Abbey
Pippa Middleton Wedding: Spencer Matthews with William and Harry |  PEOPLE.com

In another of William’s moves, there was Pippa Matthews at 2021’s Carol Service at Westminster Abbey; however, she was not accompanied by her spouse James Matthews. William would never want him there, since Matthews senior, David, is legally accused of sexual assault, involving a minor, in France. To say the least, it was also obvious that William has never suffered his wife’s brother-in-law, Spencer Matthews as he was flatly dismissed at Pippa’s wedding to Spencer’s brother Matthew in 2017.

Jamaican- British author Lady Colin Campbell, 72, was briefly married to Lord Colin Campbell - the son of Ian Campbell, who was married to Margaret
Meghan Markle 'did not contact father for his 76th birthday', claims  half-brother - Mirror Online
Piers Morgan Cleared for Criticizing Meghan After Oprah Interview - The New  York Times
The Queen and the royal family have a reason to celebrate! | HELLO!
Mrs. Kingston, Lord Frederick Windsor (9 & William confidant), Princess & Prince (9) Michael of Kent.

True to form, William has used an arsenal of fellow 9s to do his dirty work of sabotaging and bullying Meghan out of the picture. Little did the Bourbon dolt know against whom he was dealing. From Lady Colin Campbell, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, Piers Morgan and Thomas Markle Sr., they all did his dirty work whilst he hid, like the wizard of Oz not too well, out of view. Without doubt, they have all been sanctioned by William, in his obsessive animus towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, as they are all possessed of 9 (save Princess Michael of Kent) as are he and Catherine. Everyone of these nines, like all nines, are the most blasted conceited boors imaginable. Quelle fuck-all joie indeed. Good god, who in their right mind but a toxic 9 energy body (just like Catherine) like Thomas Markle Sr. would be obsessed with sabotaging and slandering their own child? Remind me again when Doria Ragland was out vilifying her own blood. Everyone of these people, Thomas, Lady Colin – that blasted big-handed, dick-tucking, Trenchtown jaggabat, Piers Morgan, both princely Kent males et al, are merely manifestations of both William and Catherine’s well-guarded true nature in all their 9 toxicity.

Chief weapon in William’s arsenal is the listless, inarticulate, talentless, gurning, hyper-competitive ghoul, who will stop at nothing to try and outdo Meghan, especially since Meghan so elegantly outed her by stating that, she is a “good person” (ha), as in William most certainly the fuck is not. Stay tuned, like all racially predatory, obsessed-with-blacks white females, look for Catherine next year to release a Jazz album… Lawd Jesus! Of course, this little mad turn of hers, even more risible than Diana, Princess of Wales’s dance with Wayne Sleep, had been pre-taped because god only knows, there must have been 2 million and 9 takes to get the blithering off-key errors edited and enough gurning captured. This staged bit of madness only deftly illustrates how utterly small-time Catherine truly is, to say nothing of shit-disturbing, petty and sabotaging. So, Catherine, you lamely banged on a keyboard, well, so too my dear could Michael Jackson’s chimpanzee, Bubbles, who also gurned throughout.

HM The Queen tells off Prince William.

Of course, as the BBC currently is at war with William and Catherine, trust royal correspondent, Nicholas Witchell to take a swipe at William as HM The Queen does not let slip the opportunity to tell off William as they were gathered last year at Windsor Castle. This was a report by Mr. Witchell on Christmas Eve 2021, which included at the 01:19 mark an outtake from HM The Queen and family on the steps at Windsor Castle during Christmas 2020. At the time, last Christmas, this was not aired; however, if you are going to come out and act as though you are already sovereign, the BBC is swiftly going to put you in your place as damn well they ought to.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 50955911-10241995-Prince_William_looked_in_good_spirits_as_he_enjoyed_a_night_out_-a-15_1637837089080.jpg

Naturally, the unflattering clip, which brazenly lays bare HM The Queen’s dismissive rage at that damn incompetent fool Bourbon dolt, was beautifully edited and immediately followed by a glowing review of the Sussexes’ Christmas card for 2021, which was released the day prior as was their card for 2020 also released on December 23. With 2 & 5 in William’s numerology, sooner or later infamy and dark secrets of a sexual nature will be whispered about; however, as with BBC’s interview with an implicated Prince Andrew, the BBC will not think twice to ruthlessly go after William.

Prince Philip's coffin lowered into Royal Vault in never-before-seen TV  moment - Mirror Online

That’s right William and Catherine, you may control the narrative vilification and slander of Meghan through the sleazy tabloids; however, you will never win in war against the BBC – they are real journalists, who will not think twice, just like HM The Queen to put you in your damn conceited place. Sooner or later, William’s body will be lowered through the floor at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. Starting that day, history, which is callously unforgiving, will cease being sparing with the truth of just who this stubborn, controlling, pernicious, interfering and petty human, William, was.

Meghan and Harry in new royal split from William and Kate | Metro News

There was William sat such that he could have an unobstructed, hawkishly predatory view of Meghan so that later, back at Kensington Palace, he could lace into her about every blasted thing that she said and did as a mature scholar soul with a chief feature of stubbornness and an attitude of 9 can be expected to do. Naturally, it is precisely because of William’s volatile toxicity why Meghan made it perfectly clear to Harry that they were going to have to move to Frogmore Cottage rather than live next-door to the perpetually rowing Cambridges with their toxic 9 numerology.

If equally self-toxic Catherine can’t stand William, why indeed should the Sussexes have moved in next-door to them at Kensington Palace, let alone remain in the kingdom when HM The Queen does not have another 20 to 40 years on the throne.

Provoked, the BBC will not pussyfoot in a fight with William. Respect is earned and with no discernible intellect, you can bet your bottom dollar that the BBC will not be threatened by a bully to say not of a damn fool. Sycophants do not abound at the BBC. As royals happen to be human, the BBC is keenly aware that William too shall pass and as such is no threat to the fourth estate, of which the tabloid media are not members.

Blind with prejudice of a people, how can a fool ever be expected to perceive the beauty of all humanity. Go on, sit there openly ridiculing before the entire world and time itself a very people, you damn Bourbon fool; history is never kind to those who know nothing of truth. Jazz is the very essence of a people about whom you know nothing and can never be expected to perceive their humanity.

Diana-Princess-of-Wales-Nelson Shanks 1994 oil on canvas

I share here the above dream, which was dreamt in July 1997 of Diana, Princess of Wales. It was the eve of my move from Vancouver to Montréal and a month before Diana’s tragic death. At the time of the dream, which was set on the astral plane, Diana was clearly resigned to her fate. Also, as is obvious from her concerns for William’s safety in the dream, as she was imminently about to pass, Diana was worried that anything should happen to her firstborn, William. Naturally, if Charles were not William’s father, there was a real danger that Diana’s firstborn could altogether be removed from the picture. The moment, mere weeks later, that I heard of Diana’s car crash, I knew that she would perish; I knew then the meaning of the above dream.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 50955911-10241995-Prince_William_looked_in_good_spirits_as_he_enjoyed_a_night_out_-a-15_1637837089080.jpg

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Losers Do Not the Narrative Control!

What does it say about the loser Bourbon bastard and fraudulent claimant to the UK throne that the courts do not give a rat’s arse how he plots and schemes. HM The Queen is still very much alive and in charge. More than that, the one thing that Her Majesty is not, is stupid. She knows damn well that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex not only has been wronged by the Cambridges, she also knows that if push does come to shove, Meghan would not lose sleep, doing another Oprah sit-down interview and dispensing that H told her that it is not on him a DNA test needs to be conducted – Harry and the James Hewitt narrative were merely a diversionary tactic.

Indeed, not only did the Mail on Sunday lose, for a second time, in its ongoing racially predatory campaign against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex; however, William and Catherine’s need to interfere and fuck with Meghan spectacularly backfired. Never mind that that snivelling, turncoat, little cocksucker, Knauf, thought to win jousting favour with ‘big willy’ but, alas, someone mightier than the Cambridges picked up the phone and put an end to their little shit-disturbing BS. Of course, Charles would have done no such thing but in a week that saw the guttersnipe Bourbon dolt out partying sans the hoochie mama, Bucklebury cannibal with choice bottomfeeders, the verdict was rendered and a nice resounding fuck you it also was to the Cambridges. Stupid people can ever be expected to do stupid shit and make an arse of themselves chaque fois.

Rihanna and Prince Charles attend the Transition Ceremony to a republic in Bridgetown, Barbados. - Credit: MEGA

In a fortnight that saw HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, shook the hand by Rhianna – a Queen in her own self-made right, representing Barbados tell him and Sovereign’s closet Queen heir to fuck off, chiefly owing to the way that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex has been treated by primarily the Cambridges, HM The Queen is understandably wary to have to suffer any more haemorrhaging of Commonwealth member states of which she is symbolic head whilst she remains Sovereign. Days later, before Prince Charles could get settled in from returning from Barbados, William and his attempt to sabotage Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s suit against the Mail on Sunday spectacularly failed.

As part of the quietest revolution in royal public relations, Prince William’s Time To Walk podcast avoids the usual marketing hype. It’s just a man walking alone chatting with an imaginary companion

The Sunday following Meghan, Duchess of Ssusex having wiped arse with both Mail on Sunday and the Bourbon cutthroat boor, there is nothing short of a full offering of the rebranded bastard dolt as vulnerable, mentally sensitive and an all-around, great regular sport, getting down and singing along… mon blasted cul. He even did a podcast with Apple – that’s right, the same Apple with whom Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex had previously appeared in a mental health series with Oprah. And what pray tell was wittle pea-brained Billy’s podcast about – why raise your rear right leg and piss for joy, mental health… no shit! Just like his commoner emasculating, Bucklebury hoochie mama, carrying a briefcase, his Kensington Palace PR lackies demanded Apple come at the snap of a finger. All this reinvention of the square wheel that is lumpy cold, abandoned porridge, William, was all up in the kingdom’s face, looking as listless as limp lettuce with no less than 6 articles wasting valuable column inches on the DailyMail’s front page. So out come Tina Turner, god knows he would not have favoured someone black. Then there was specious crap about AC/DC; that’s right, right there in your faces big Willy is telling you, he just loves his lapdog Knauffie and you just don’t get it… an isle of gullible dumbasses, indeed.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9606099/SARAH-VINE-Prince-Harry-playing-foolish-game.html

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-10275769/SARAH-VINE-rare-insight-Prince-Williams-charming-character.html

What’s more, the same sycophantic Sarah Vine praises William for discussing mental health issues with Apple, after having criticised Harry for previously doing same with Apple on the same subject in collaboration with Oprah Winfrey. You simply cannot make this boldfaced disingenuous posturing up. What all this reveals, is how blissfully unaware and frankly stupid both William and Catherine are. Somehow, these two meanspirited, shit-disturbing, prejudiced, small-minded clowns fail to realise, in Knauf coming forward and running to the court on their behalf, that it reveals who all along, have been the architects of Meghan and Harry being treated like shit in the tabloid medium.

The unmasked Bourbon Boar – the true face of the Boor who relentlessly hunts Meghan.

Just look at that face – that of the pernicious, bigoted, alcoholic, chain-smoking bully, who on the cusp of the courts decision in Meghan’s case against Mail on Sunday, was out gallivanting sans the self-toxic vampiric used up broodmare. No doubt, he and his nez brun lackeys were out fiendishly anticipating the court’s imminent decision that would see the escaped, cowardly runaway slave, resoundingly losing against Mail on Sunday. One of the reasons why William ever clasps his hands in public, is to hide the nicotine stain on his fingers; of course, he also clasps those hands because they are a control mechanism to keep the tightly choreographed and scripted spectrum bully from ever betraying the fact that he is what he is – just a damn, dumbass Bourbon bastard.

Britain's Prince Charles is joined by Barbados President Sandra Mason and Barbados Prime Minister Mia Mottley as they prepare to depart from the Presidential Inauguration Ceremony, held to mark the birth of a new republic in Barbados at Heroes Square in Bridgetown, Barbados, November 30, 2021. Jonathan Brady/Pool via REUTERS

Days later, there was HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales being side-lined as his mother, HM The Queen was removed as head-of-state by the newly installed President of Barbados on November 30.

Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex speak onstage during Global Citizen Live, New York on September 25, 2021 in New York City.

Still, a few days later and the emasculated, cowardly Bourbon bastard suffered yet another defeat at Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s hand as the court on December 2, ruled in her favour in her suit against Mail on Sunday. Suck on that, the obsessed, pernicious couple with two 9s between them, who do nothing but bitch, whine, complain and weed out any dark impure specimen from their court.

After the service, the Duke and Duchess beamed as they walked out into the cool London air

Mere days later, December 8, which had been planned as another celebration over Meghan, which of course did not materialise, there was Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, in a red version of the black Catherine Walker that she wore to HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh’s funeral on April 17, 2021. That red was to send up the red Carolina Herrera dress worn by Meghan, Duchess of Sussex almost a month earlier in New York City when Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex presented military awards at the Intrepid, moored on the Hudson River in mid-town Manhattan’s West Side.

The Duke And Duchess Of Sussex Visit Canada House

The date, December 8 was chosen as it was on January 8, 2020, the eve of Catherine’s birthday, that the Sussexes announced their intention to step back from Royal duties. Naturally, the Cambridges seethed at the timing of the announcement as it was seen as a retaliatory slight for HM The Queen’s 2019 Christmas Day Message. That Christmas, 2019, message many were expecting to see the Sussexes with Archie; however, as the Australian and South African tours had proven so successful, plus the fact that William was incandescent with rage at Meghan’s interview with ITN’s Tom Bradby whilst on tour in South Africa as it eclipsed the Cambridges’ fuck-all boring tour to Pakistan, the Bourbon y Bucklebury racially predatory duo would exact their revenge.

Britain’s Queen Elizabeth. Photo: Reuters

Naturally, the Cambridge’s retaliated by having the 5 Sovereigns featured with the only happy family featured, being Catherine and her brood of trifling coalminer pedigree. HM King George VI, HM The Queen, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, HRH Prince George of Cambridge and HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. This was the pernicious slight of hand by the Cambridges that would muscle the more popular Sussexes out of picture.

The Royal Family Attend Church On Christmas Day

This, of course, was followed thereafter, by the Cambridges: El Duque de Bourbon y Bucklebury and his hoochie mama replete with their scared, clueless coalmining offal in tow for Christmas Day service at Sandringham. All this whilst the Sussexes were away in Canada, seeking relief from the Cambridges’ orchestrated tabloid scorched Earth campaign against removing the negro from their midst. Naturally, it was very clear to Harry & Meghan that they were being kicked out, yet again, just as they were bullied out of Kensington Palace. So whilst on Canada’s West Coast, calls were made, plans were set in motion, one’s resolve was affirmed. Just like that, as when saying to hell with the apartment next-door the Cambidges at Kensington Palace and moving instead to Frogmore Cottage, now it was time to simply leave the suffocating bullying web of the Cambridges, their households and the sycophantic tabloids, which were only too eager to lynch some goddamn black woman being in their midst and a damn Yank to boot. Well no matter what they do, the toxic dullards just keep on losing… This has never finally been about Meghan but how utterly obsessed the non-aristocratic, coal-mining Bucklebury hoochie mama just keeps on obsessing and lashing out at the black ‘thing’ being and having been in her kingdom.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge passed members of the Middleton family as they took their seats for the Together At Christmas community carol service at Westminster Abbey in London

Just as at the recent Royal Variety Performance, there was Catherine, breaking with royal protocol by then having her non-blood royal relations in the royal box. On December 8, 2021, there were the same non-blood royal Middleton family members sat in Westminster Abbey and ahead of blood royals, HRH Princesses Beatrice & Eugenie, plus Zara Tindall who is of royal birth. As there were no senior royals invited to their Carol Service, hosted by Catherine, the Cambridge broodmare could damn well do as she pleased.

The Countess of Wessex wrapped up in a maroon jacket as she arrived at the event, opting to wear a colourful floral face covering
A show of support for the Duchess! Kate's brother James and sister-in-law Alizee also left the event hand-in-hand

Naturally, HRH Prince Edward, Earl of Wessex had no desire, as son of the Sovereign, to be sat behind the Middletons, thus he was not in attendance. Naturally, as Catherine could do no wrong and does not give a damn and as she wanted to telegraph how the new 21st century royals would look, she saw fit to have her closeted brother’s French wife, Madame Plotte-Visage herself, wear a pantsuit to Westminster Abbey. Of course, as vampiric coalmining fare is rather tight with her drag king henchperson, Sophie, Countess of Wessex, there too was she in white pants but at least, Sophie sought not to be too offensive by hiding her pants beneath the large burly coat.

One simply does not wear a pantsuit to a service at Westminster Abbey… but alas, in a move that betrays her coalmining pedigree, Catherine could not care less and has Prince Harry’s emasculated brother, fall into line so that her sister-in-law can set a new style precedent…. just can’t wait for HM The Queen to die, indeed. The most riveting insight into the Cambridges relationship was deliberately not edited out of the BBC’s 2019 special, A Berry Royal Christmas. Just look at what a controlling, vile, emasculating toxic person Catherine is to the future Sovereign. He, of course, utterly pussy-whipped and having lived a lie for a life, knowing that always one must keep hidden whom his biological father truly is, there he is neurotically rubbing his wrist and embarrassingly looking to see if anyone noticed him brushed off as a damn fool. But damn homie, cameras never lie. Those priceless few seconds of unmasking BBC footage, are precisely why wittle Billy is pissed at the BBC and went after them about Martin Bashir and again ran to ITV for bully Catherine’s hosting of a kissmeass Carol Service as if the BBC glitterati did nothing more than eye-roll and further ridicule that blasted bald oaf.

The Duchess opted for a tonal scarlet outfit the occasion, matching her red coat dress with complementing shoes with a matching bag

What this blissfully toxic couple – they are both self-toxic and also toxic towards each other; plus, to top it off, they are task companions, which means that when not harmonious, it is Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf 24/7. He is snickering and they are probably bitching and hissing at each other in the above shot. As the Sussexes no longer eclipse them for being active senior royals, the Cambridges no longer engage in copycat behaviour of touching, holding hands, looking lovingly at each other, for which the Sussexes remain known. That aside, what the Cambridges fail to grasp, is one of the most important laws of the universe – one has no right to interfere in the lives of others. You own no one. Neither Harry nor Meghan are property of the Cambridges. Period. Just as Emily Maitlis had no qualms about eviscerating the barrel-hipped (common Porchester body type) no-sweat tool with a proclivity for lamb, veal and other minor meat, so too will the BBC bring its considerable full weight to bear in exposing the Cambridges for who they truly are if further bullied by William. It has frankly gone too long and too far – no one taking to task the Cambridges for their racism, bullying, interference, using the tabloid medium to do their dirty work and, most of all, what it has cost HM The Queen’s legacy with Barbados being but one example.

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Pink Chair I & II

Within days of George’s 44th birthday on February 9th, 1990, I had been to his McCaul Street loft, which looked east to the buildings lining University Avenue. There, on the top floor’s tiny balcony, we would retreat for some privacy, late at night and suck each other off with his son spying on us… ever he spied on us and it became a definite source of one of our many volatile breakups that George wanted to watch whilst his son and I fucked. I am not about doing anything that I find repugnant. George’s son’s legs are ridiculously bizarre; the space between the knees and ankles inordinately short – he also has too much gum for my liking. Did not matter to me that he was very thick and big; I was not playing. End of discussion. In any event, that winter, after George and I had riotously fucked with his son’s conspicuous silence in the open loft definitely indicating that we were being spied on, I fell asleep whilst George, thoroughly, noisily ploughed right, went to shit and shower, which was always alone and a very lengthy affair. On exiting the bath, as I soundly slept, awaiting my turn to shower, George grabbed his polaroid and took several snaps of me in his sole pink armchair as I remained sheathed in a used full and droopy condom.

By the time that George would present me with the iconic, masterful serigraph, he and I were not then on speaking terms on conclusion of the work. Months earlier, in November 1989, Merlin had passed and as George made it perfectly clear that he did not want to be in a committed relationship, I walked away. He was, of course, pissed but I was not getting the support I felt that I then needed. Truth be told, the relationship with George was ideal, I could no more have given two fucks about his friends anymore than they did me. George was totally controlling – energy body of 9 – and in that way, I was his muse and a great fuck; this left both his family and friends off limit – of course, there was obsession with his son, which meant me fulfilling his fantasy. Not happening. So as I did not play along and began taking lovers of my own, as George wanted to celebrate my life in the event that I, soon after Merlin, perished of AIDS – at that point, I still had not gone out and taken an HIV test; I was simply then too solipsistic to have been any support to Merlin who was then slowly dying of AIDS. So not able to bring himself to name the serigraph after me, it became Pink Chair; of course, for his friends, it was a great dig at me whom they thought of dismissible and an utter non-entity. Of course, I never said more than two words to anyone at that point in my life – that is, if I did not think you worth my time why bother saying fuck all?

For the next three years, George and I saw each other on and off. During that time, I was rapidly self-exploring. Of course, at the core of it all, there was the one ritual that grounded me, each day as I went to bed, I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that on awaking, I would recall a plethora of dream experiences which before sleep, I could not readily have fathomed. Each morning I woke up, grabbed the tape recorder and began audiocassette recording my dreams. For this reason, as it had been a promise made to Merlin, I had no desire to be in a living relationship. No, I do not want to meet your fucking family, most definitely do not want to be caught dead, wasting a nanosecond of my time, listening to your loser friends and their redundantly specious regurgitated anecdotes – been there… fuck that. With Merlin’s passing, I had found a new groove: go to a few bathhouses, fuck a couple or a couple dozen hungry bottoms, head home by bike and listen to either classical or Jazz and get on with reading, writing and looking forward to travelling to the next art exhibition or Jazz concert and, of course, collecting art.

At one point, George moved out of his McCaul Street loft and with his possessive son remaining at the loft, this opened the way for us to get back together. This, of course, was not without its angst. One evening, I was hellbent on ploughing George to the hounds but he kept on begging off and finally blew up at me and told me to fuck off and, perhaps, he wanted to fuck his brains out with someone else. Are you fucking kidding me? No need to sit about when possessed of that irrational cocktail of obsession, passion, lust and mistrust. With regards his sexual activity, George always lied… I knew this. The first time that he had lied, I noticed the tell-tale sign – his right index finger and middle finger would involuntarily quiver and he would always try to cover it by rubbing his right index against his right nostril. Whenever this occurred, he would always get up and walk away to try and better cover up the physiological quirk. As ever, nothing escaped my eagle-eyed perception.

That night, unable to sleep and more importantly being robbed of valuable dreamtime, I got up and hopped on my bike in the middle of a bitching winter’s dead of night. George, who then lived at 62 Austin Terrace, had me pedal like mad in the biting cold and after locking my bike down the hill, made it up to 62 Austin Terrace, which stood right at the northeast corner of Bathurst Street and Austin Terrace. Truly possessed, I hopped onto the mountain ash tree and began scaling the damn tree as though at 0300 on a cold winter’s night with a street lamp nicely illuminating things, my being a black male, climbing a leaf-bare tree in the Annex, was a perfectly natural thing to be doing, among other illogical considerations. The lights were on in the bedroom; alas, he was not being ploughed by someone who was not me. Of course, George always spoke in his sleep and in one of his little pernicious moves, days earlier as I ploughed him good, he let out someone else’s name whilst pretending to be more asleep and or drunk than he was. Of course, seven years of being the lover of an award-winning director, Merlin, I knew fucking bad acting toute de suite.

There were clothes on the bed that were not George’s but he could not be seen. Undaunted, I scaled and scraped my way down the tree with simian ease, passion-possessed and made it up Bathurst to the rear of the property where I scaled the slippery stone side of the hill and made it atop the garage where for walking across packed, crunching inches of snow, found George being plough on the large draught table in his study. I was beyond livid but wanted and gotten definite proof to slap down his lying when confronted. His response was, of course, feigned indignation at my having had the temerity to spy on him. As with all passionate lovers, that entangled, drama-rife bit of Sargasso was soon traversed to calmer seas. Months later, we got in from dinner, sat down for a drink at his Austin Terrace apartment and laughed and savoured our cognac, after having been out shopping in the early afternoon to choose a new frame for Pink Chair. As ever, George wanting to be plough long and hard, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies – ever, I favoured the London Symphonies. I had just returned to Toronto after amour fou absolu had attempted to steal a dozen pieces from my art collection, among which was Pink Chair.

By March, 1993, I was hanging out in Washington D.C. with Bahamian relations when for walking out on my host, would meet Yuri, the most thoroughly consuming S&M bottom. This, of course, was at a time where all I did was crawl bathhouses partout, ever on the prowl, as finally I had discovered my metier with Merlin’s passing. S&M was the right groove at the right time in my life. So as I crawled predatorily the halls of yet another bathhouse, this one on the edge of a military base in the U. S. capital, I was hotly pursued by Yuri as my swagger and riding boots were just what and more his wildest dreams were in search of. We fucked for several hours, he professed his love and we returned to his place just southwest of Dupont Circle in Foggy Bottom that was the epitome of house proud faggot and way too minimalist for my liking. Alas, we went to his bedroom, which had a bed that was custom-built and made to service his every S&M whim. We were insatiable and it was just right. I looked past his drinking and excessive use of poppers, which second hand ever left me with a splitting headache, he had an actual freezer in which he kept handled bottles of vodka and the salacious bottom with the thick Russian accent was all mine.

Soon he took me to dinner, presented me a ring and demanded that I move to America and his position as lawyer in a queer law firm would allow me to live without the worry of working and the ideal Daddy to come home to. A city full of museums, he had season tickets to Kennedy Center and just a short flight to New York City for more culture and art, it was not very hard to say yes. Soon we went looking at places as I came down every other weekend from Toronto; we dined out and did all the things he had not before. On the off weekend, he had to himself with friends and family, which I made it perfectly clear were a non-negotiable in our relationship.

No sooner than having brought down choice pieces of art and much of my wardrobe as we chatted daily three to five times, I was returned that Sunday evening to no calls or calls going unanswered. Finally, that Thursday evening, he coolly answered the phone and wanted to know what I was bothering him for as, said he, he thought that he had made it clear that it was over between us. Perhaps, I was in denial but now he was with Tyrone who had a big 11.5 inch cock that he just couldn’t get enough of. Putting my master numbers to good use, I morphed and pulled out personalities 33, 47 and 56, all the while not so much as appearing remotely upset. Soon, he was answering the phone whilst being ploughed by Tyrone. Alas, my diamond cutter charm wore him down; we did after all have concerts to attend at Kennedy Center. So fool him, he accepted as Tyrone was going home to Philly for his mama’s 50th birthday – as if I could give two point five fucks.

Returned to Washington, I charmed him though he was wary and mistrustful – his guilt not mine. Finally, he gave in and we had one last S&M session. Tied up, he stood upright in the leather bedding with black bath sheets everywhere to catch his piss as I ploughed his arse, exposed by the thick leather chaps, rough, long and hard. I then slipped beneath the bed and got out the duct tape purchased earlier at Heckenger’s across town – everyone in the neighbourhood knew him and I had no intentions of anyone tipping him off. The hood zipped tight, revealing only his eyes and mouth, I smeared half a dozen strips of the black tape across his lizard-lipped cocksucker mouth and left just enough room for him to comfortably breathe.

As the opera fag neighbours below were in that evening, I turned up the music – Maria Callas CDs on the Denon stereo system – really loudly and pulled his big-boned body from the black leather sheets and hauled him by the harness through the 2100 square foot duplex apartment to the living room, took the strap to him as well he loved it; however, this was not about him, left him slumped and seated on the floor and quietly and meticulously cut my fucking art from the god fugly gaudy gold frames, into which the fucking racist moron had placed my stolen art, 12 pieces in all, including Pink Chair. Having returned my art into the tubes, in which they had months earlier been brought down from Toronto, I called my ride and with lots of time to spare its arrival, I hauled the blasted fool – who to that point had royally pissed off at least half my known 72 personalities, to his large bathroom, where clad in leather from head to toe, I heaved his bulky body – his legs and hands bound as he loved it during play, over the side of the tub, ripped out his butt plug, squatted down, violently ripped off the duct tape, replaced it with my gauntlet sheathed left hand whilst riotously fucking him hard. Hissing into his right ear, still hammering away at his ravaged mangina, ‘you fucking thief… what does that make you. That’s right, you’re a fucking nigger and don’t you ever forget it.’ Slamming the bathroom door shut behind me, my head ached from all the poppers he did. Coolly, I went to the freezer and got the handled bottles of vodka there, where else but America, and slowly undid his suit so that his welted body beneath could really sting from the vodka’s cold, unforgiving bite, after shoving his whimpering body into the tub. When I was done emptying all his vodka on his shivering, enraged body, I straddled his wet body below in the tub and whilst standing on the edge pissed and relieved my bladder which since removing my stolen art from his walls had been straining for release.

From there, I hightailed it to New York City and stayed a few days at Valerie Pringle’s only brother’s West 16th Street walk-up where I grounded anew by going to all my favourite museums by day and crawling the village in riding boots, making further conquests, which usually began whilst gyrating and face-fucking on the tiny dance floor down the mirrored winding stairs at the historic Stonewall Inn. Returned to Toronto with my art, over dinner at a tiny Spanish restaurant off Yonge Street, after we had taken Pink Chair to be framed, raising a glass of red, I winked at George and said of the vanquished amour fou, the best way to piss on a fool’s grave, is to do so before they actually are dead and buried. Dinner was beautiful and with that, we returned to his apartment at 62 Austin Terrace and George was no end of happy, reaching back and holding on to my riding boots, his arse high in the air, as I ploughed and staked my claim to his heart centre as never before.

‘What the fuck are you calling me for?’ On my return to Toronto, I lethally hissed down the phone at the racist boor in Washington D. C.. ‘We have no business together. Obviously, all you can handle, is nothing more than 11 IQ points. Let’s make this perfectly fucking goddamn clear, since your HIV status – that’s right, I have known all along, precludes you making it across the border, you will stay the fuck where you are and get over it. You’re a fucking thief.’ He then violently demanded that I return ‘his’ art and be man enough to bring it back. ‘What the fuck has AIDS and poppers done to your fucking pea brain? Bitch are you fucking nuts? You are dead to me. Shit, I already pissed on you… you are as good as fucking dead! Cutting him off as he launched into his foul, drunken nigger this, nigger that, I boomed down the phone into his gutted soul, ‘Hang it up! Hang it the blasted motherfuck up! Now! Go on, hang up your fucking phone now. You fucking drunken diseased rat. Now! Hang it the blasted motherfuck up now! Hang it up! Finally, the line dropped, collapsing his weak sobbing. A bottom to the core, he never dare dialled my number again.

Also, at 62 Austin Terrace, I announced to George that I had accepted a job offer in Vancouver and would be leaving in mere days. George was devastated as he felt that he was being abandoned for not having been fully engaged in a committed relationship. In the end, not long after I was happily ensconced in Vancouver’s West End, that George visited. We had some of our best sex deep into the musky wholesomeness within the woods of Stanley Park, lorded over by centuries old Sitkas. There in the dead of night, George buried his left cheek in the mud, held on to my riding boots as ever he loved to as I ploughed and took us both to beyond the edge of ecstasy. George’s first visit to Vancouver – there was a second, was passed going to galleries, having an early dinner, likely on Davie Street, going home for a nap before getting up late at night to go do that most primal of deeds, fucking surrounded by the sublime beauty of nature.

On the eve of Bob Marley’s birthday – a very brightly, crisply cold Friday in 1999, my wife and I emerged in full African garb onto Saint Laurent from Montréal’s palais de justice accompanied by George and my sister, Pandora, both serving as witnesses. That evening at our lovely Cote des Neiges home, the four of us were joined by a lovely Jewish boy from Hampstead. George and I were reunited after too long on the cusp of his 53rd birthday and among other things, we warmly celebrated his upcoming birthday. The evening was beautiful. Five years later, my wife and I relocated back to Toronto as both our fathers experienced health crises. My first visit to George’s Borden Street penthouse was beautiful, the view looked north to one of my favourite high-rises in the city; it is a deco affair at the northwest corner of Spadina & Richmond Street West. I am always reminded of Merlin and New York City where we met and how much he loved the architecture of 1930s New York City. Paris, my wife, and Pandora were invited to dinner in the late afternoon.

George seldom hung art about his homes, and rarely any of his; there was one however which moved me the moment I walked into the room. Who is it, I asked, to which George laughed and said, ‘it’s you, of course. It’s the companion to Pink Chair… it is Pink Chair. Back in 1987 when we first met, George had asked me to sit at his loft on Brock Avenue in the Queen West Queen neighbourhood. As a result of our carnal passion, George experienced a new creative drive; he became more creatively focussed and produced more. George’s attack was dazzling and he created with feverish speed. He was always grateful for that time, he was not yet 41 when we met and for him, it proved the mid-life crisis he needed. It was great, too, because Russell, a lover of his, had slowly been dying of AIDS and I became the anchor that kept him focussed here and now.

I was invigorated by this second Pink Chair, which had been completed in 1992 but which he had never shown me. Finally, George and I met separate of my wife, Paris, who has since transitioned and become Denver, for dinner at his Borden Street penthouse condo. Even though I had become a portly little cock-bottomed, short-breathed eccentric with age, I still wanted to return to being George’s muse and, of course, lover. As ever, we dined on another exquisitely prepared meal, which featured a George staple – asparagus and another sublime sauce with the right accompanying wine. At this dinner, however, George began opening up and told me of a murder at University of Toronto where he taught printmaking; it was a murder, George shared, for which he was a major suspect. For the next couple of hours, I watched George come undone as he talked of how unrelenting the authorities were in surveilling him. At one point, as he slumped in the chair across the table from me, George sprang back to life and said that he wanted to apologise; said George, all the years of hearing me speak of the insidiousness of racism and the effects it had on one’s wellbeing, he had dismissed and for that he wanted to apologise.

George trembled at times and he seemed to age before my eyes. Keenly, I kept a raptor’s gaze fixed on his every move. Never once throughout that dinner did I fail to look out for George’s right index and middle fingers’ movements; they never once quivered. George shared that he was terrified of sleeping because he constantly suffered nightmares of losing everything with his being pinned with the murder, going to and dying in jail. George said that he constantly felt as though his every action was being monitored, analysed to discern whether he was the murderer or not. Getting up, I went and knelt at his side at the dining room table and held him, hugged him. I let him know that I was there for him. Slumping forward, George hugged me and dissolved in tears, we both cried. I cried because I realised that there was no way that George could ever be passionate again; there could be no sleepovers – he talked constantly during sleep.

George and I never met at his condo again. Walking away that evening, I was struck by how neutered and consumed with fear George had become. At one point during dinner, with his back turned whilst cooking dinner, one of my notoriously loud sneezes exploded. Though George had heard that loud explosion countless times before, he responded as though a high speed train had unexpectedly zoomed past. George and I seldom spoke by phone and rarely emailed after that dinner. As a matter of fact, apart from meeting twice to catch a movie, we only saw each other whenever I turned up at Dr. Tsang’s. It was one of these visits – whenever I went to the doctor’s, George happened to have been there, George shared that he had cancer. I was stunned. Over time, George’s stomach became more distended, his look more wounded and what pained me most, was how much he remained as if possessed, thanks to having been a major suspect in the murder of a colleague.

After dinner, as I made to leave and we hugged long and hard, we then looked at Pink Chair, another of his masterpieces, George kissed me and said that whatever happened, it was mine; George wanted the piece to eventually become mine but for now, he was holding on to it because it reminded him of the passion we shared and how intensely I had inspired him to create and drove him, drove each other mad with the passion we shared. Getting down to Borden, I was so immensely drained at George’s despair that I walked with bike a block south to Adelaide, hailed a cab, securely tucked the bike in the trunk and silently wept on the ride home. I got in, lit beeswax candles everywhere, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies, then had an extra hot soak in the tub with rose petals and Epsom salt, smudged my home afterwards with sagebrush, crawled into the pyramid, gathered crystals and upped my frequency whilst collapsing through the labiate folds of sleep’s sweet, welcome embrace. George died a dozen years after my return to living in Toronto from Montréal, and all attempts to acquire Pink Chair have proven unsuccessful. A lover scorned… indeed.

As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Elderflower? No! We Only Use White Flour..

Just when I thought there could be no tea more sublime than soursop bush tea – a favourite since childhood in the West Indies, I discovered Fortnum & Mason’s elderflower-flavoured green tea. As my latest order arrived just in time for what would have been Merlin’s 74th birthday on July 21, [21/7/1947 Pig 3.1.4 = 8] I thought to go one better and try and get myself a lemon and elderflower cake for my birthday on August 2 [2/8/1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11]. After all, it was the Sussexes’ gorgeous-looking lemon and elderflower wedding cake that got me thinking. Soon, I was on the quest for an elderflower-flavoured cake for my upcoming birthday. Daniel et Daniel, which really is not what it was in the 80s when Merlin and I got choice pastries and at least one dish per week there, carried no such cake. Restless, I called partout and eventually got around to placing a call to another of the Weston family’s refined businesses, the Loblaws at Maple Leaf Gardens. Eventually, I was put through to the bakery department where I got an haughty prude, who seemed too bothered to have to take the call. For the third time, I repeated that I was looking for an elderflower-flavoured cake, when Ms. Krakow, 1978, third runner-up dismissively bulldozed back, “Elderflower? No! We only use white flour in our cakes!” Well, there has to be a first time for everything because early in my seventh decade, I laughed so damn hard that I fell onto the sofa, clapping, tearing up and simultaneously experienced the most mind-altering trifecta of ageing: leaking, farting and feeling damn near on the cusp of what one assumes an aneurysm must feel like. I am determined to yet have that lemon and elderflower-flavoured cake.

The tea photographed is actually not elderflower; it is a far more pale, sublimely subtle affair.

Beyond these gates, at a royal Roman villa, recently occurred the most sublimely magical theatre…..

Unescorted by her father, Lady Kitty Spencer proved that Spencer women are indomitable whether her aunt, Diana, Princess of Wales or for that matter, Georgiana spencer, Duchess of Devonshire. Ah those fabulous, formidable Spencer women!

30/12/1990 (Horse) Lady Kitty Spencer-Lewis 3.6.7 = 7

Georgiana Spencer Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire…. a Spencer woman to the core.

7/6/1757 (Goat) Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire 7.4.6 = 8

A Spencer woman who more than measured up to Georgiana – standard bearer of Spencer fortitude, Diana, Princess of Wales.

1/7/1961 (Ox) Diana, Princess of Wales 1.8.7 = 7.

Diana despite what has been claimed, was immensely uncomplicated and the most dynamic Spencer woman. She was 1 energy body, which means that regardless of her artisan soul doe-eyed fawning, she was a loud, combative, bossy bully-arsed Amazon and as tough as they come. Diana’s second number of 8 simply means that she was going to earn even more money than that into which she was born, which was true – though the Spencers are infinitely more ancient a family than the Windsors. Most of all, Diana was possessed of double 7s. All 7 persons can see beyond the veil and know exactly what is going down at all times. They can see ‘dead people’ as the saying goes but tend to rarely advertise this. They see auras and they more than anyone else can penetrate beyond the veil such that they can be as readily focussed on the astral plane as they can the physical plane. They are master manipulators and they are the ultimate power in any dynamic. Diana was neither pawn nor unaware. Most of all, all persons with more than one 7 in their numerological makeup and when the fourth/destiny number is a 7 run the very real risk of being murdered/assassinated.

29/5/1917 (Snake) President John F. Kennedy 2.7.7. = 7.

There are only 2 deaths of persons in public life in the West during the 20th century, which to our very core collectively broadsided us and shook us to our soul… all of us. President John F. Kennedy and Diana, Princess of Wales. The President was openly assassinated as it was a message to all future presidents not to ever think of trying to dismantle the Federal Reserve, which is a private rather than government entity. All persons in public life who are assassinated if they are politicians will have a 4th number of 4, 5 or 8; however, when that public person has a 7 as fourth number they were assassinated by a institution in Kennedy’s case the cartel families which own the U.S. federal reserve and in Diana’s case the dynastic institution and power behind the Windsor dynasty. Diana was pregnant and as mother of a future sovereign and future head of the Church of England, she could not be allowed to start a rival dynastic house, which would doubtless be after she had converted to another religion.

21/4/1926 (Tiger) Duke of Lancaster 3.7.7 = 8.

Diana was a damn bully and her two 7s were no match for her ultimate rival, the very powerful Duke of Lancaster, who also happens to have two 7s and the fourth number is 8, which is the ultimate sign of ruthless power. More artisan souls get knocked off for being a pain in the arse than any other role. Flaunting her pregnancy in the South of France was the final straw for the Duke of Lancaster. Diana had bullied the Duke of Lancaster’s son, Charles, Prince of Wales. Indeed, it was quite one thing for Diana to have provoked the Duke of Lancaster’s ire by producing a firstborn who only happened to be an obvious Bourbon bastard but it was quite another to be hellbent on further ridiculing and insulting the Duke of Lancaster by starting a rival dynasty and of a totally unacceptable faith.

Diana’s death was such callous open warfare. It was such vicious business that we became for a week, and longer, unhinged. How could this have happened? How could every effort not have been made to save Diana when clearly she had survived the car crash? Well, when make it look like an accident, does not work, then you scream down the phone, “then kill her goddamn it! I want that damn woman dead!” Like John F. Kennedy’s open assassination, we collectively fell to our knees and came undone with Diana having been ruthlessly assassinated.

Time is a most callous business and sooner or later, like shit, it always surfaces the secrets and lies and lays them irrefutably bare. One of the features of Diana’s two 7s is that the fourth number being 7 means that such persons once assassinated, have the ability to avenge their murder from beyond the grave. This is rare but does occur when there is more than one 7 and the fourth number is a 7. Prince Andrew’s undoing and the Sussexes quitting royal life in a blow to the Duke of Lancaster’s Commonwealth legacy, seem in part to be influenced by the long shadow that Diana’s assassination has caused. In quitting royal duties, Diana’s revenge has also struck a blow to Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, who treated Diana so horribly. Indeed, as the Duke of Lancaster has shrunken with age so, too, it seems that the longer the Duke of Lancaster lives, the more Diana’s revenge exacts its toll.

Just as the Duke of Lancaster grew drunk sipping on Diana’s warm blood whilst seething with contempt for the rabble drunk with grief, so too time will reveal why the Duke of Lancaster refused to honour Diana’s murder for days on end. Time will callously reveal the dark visage of the most deceptive Duke of Lancaster yet – double 7s notwithstanding.

Though in utero, enwombed in this photograph is the most fascinating Spencer woman of the modern age after, Diana, Princess of Wales. Lilibet Diana Mountbatten-Windsor born 4 June 2021 an Ox, she will have Diana, her paternal grandmother’s inner strength. Most of all, what this reborn soul has is an inner fortitude that will be a force to be reckoned with. 4/6/2021 Ox 4.1.6 = 11. This Spencer woman is a powerhouse, who will stand shoulder to shoulder with Diana and Georgiana before her. Lilibet has 3 numbers in common with her father, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 Rat 6.6.1 = 4 and, of course, she has two numbers in common with her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11. Having master numbers of 11 means that just as Meghan is more famous than Harry in their dynamic so, too, is Lilibet Diana going to be more famous than Archie her older-souled brother. It matters, too, that during a near recent past life of Lilibet Diana’s, she was famous and a seasoned performer – she has reborn, having already mastered the fame game. More than that, like her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, she is as tough as they come and with master numbers of 11, Lilibet like her mother will be iconic and a lone panther. Persons will drop in and leave her life – they will never stay a nanosecond longer than necessary. She was born to rule… and will.

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Mountbatten-Windsor, Lilibet Diana 4/6/2021

Michael: This young fragment is a third-level mature sage – second life thereat.  Lilibet is in observation mode with a goal of dominance and has an attitude of idealist. 

Lilibet has neither centreing nor chief features at this time, owing to her age – this occurs during late teen years. 

Lilibet’s body type is Mars Mercury. 

The fragment Lilibet is second-cast in the third cadence.  Lilibet is a member of greater cadence four.  Lilibet is a member of entity two, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418.  (Adjacent entity, same cadre as her father, mother, brother, Prince George and The Queen). 

Lilibet’s essence twin is a sage and the task companion a warrior incarnate at this time.  

Lilibet’s needs are: exchange, communion, adventure. 

Lilibet has shared 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.

There is an agreement with the older brother for emotional support.

This fragment, Lilibet, has been a revered performer in a recent past incarnation, primarily operatic but with some aspect of light entertainment. She was also present in several lives of note in European aristocracy (Italy and Spain)

End (August, 2021). 

22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5

Speaking of Spencer women… Always follow the numbers for clues as to just how history is likely to repeat itself; of course, with each generation the players and the drama may change but the numbers always produce the same personae; however, the results may vastly vary. Want to know how Prince George of Cambridge is going to turn out? Apart from the fact that like his maternal and paternal uncles, he is gap-toothed and thus in his immediate past life, like both uncles were, also black. George is a king soul, not that that should make him superhuman; however, the template for this royal role-play is Edward VIII, Duke of Windsor.

25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7

14/11/1948 (Rat) HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 5.7.2 = 5

23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5

25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7

Also, possessed of two 7s, like Diana, Princess of Wales and the Duke of Lancaster, was Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma. Just as with Diana & President John F. Kennedy, one of his multiple 7s was in the fourth position, which resulted in him having been assassinated. Of course, the line at the time and possibly still floated was that it was an IRA hit job. Nonsense. Louis when in India as Edwina his stylish wife openly saw Nehru, this freed up Louis to be with his one true love, Edward, then Prince of Wales, who was truly besotted with the charming, manipulative double 7 lover. This is why, they were sequestered in the colonies in India where their love could be fully flagrant and that it was. Persons with 2 and 5 in their numerology, King George V, Prince William, Duke of Windsor, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Prince George of Cambridge are sexually addictive and indulge readily and with whomsoever. Whether male or female, they will have long, passionate, abiding, same sex-focussed love affairs, though, will marry and procreate as is expected of them. All Edward, Duke of Windsor wanted was to marry Louis Mountbatten and fuck night and day but that could not have been. So, the very mannish, bullying Wallis was a useful beard. Of course, Edward would have gotten off on being bullied by Wallis and likely Louis also got off on watching them at play whilst Wallis would definitely have gotten off on Edward, Prince of Wales and Louis lovemaking. Eventually, the well-hung Louis Mountbatten would move on to Edward’s coveted great-nephew, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. Equally as besotted, Charles, Prince of Wales would have loved Louis Mountbatten as deeply and passionately as his great-uncle, Edward, Duke of Windsor had decades earlier in India and thereafter. Of course, it was not until Louis was assassinated that Charles finally sought to get over the assassination of his lover, Louis Mountbatten, by marrying not the Rottweiler beard, rather the conveniently clueless virgin, Diana who faster than a sneeze grew wise and more importantly shrewd and gave the Windsor’s something to gloat about, the flat-footed Bourbon bastard heir to the Windsor dynasty.

19/2/1960 (Rat) Prince Andrew, Duke of York 1.3.1 = 5.

Where 2s favour being bottoms and being bullied, 7s however, are sadistic and among their sexual fetishes apart from S&M, is having sexual slaves and also power-tripping by way of having sex with minors. It is a known fact that Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Edward, Duke of Windsor and Charles, Prince of Wales’s special friend, Louis Mountbatten got himself assassinated for his sexually predatory exploits with male minors, which saw the IRA having no part in his assassination. Whereas one could lie and cover in the past as in 1979, today, and thanks to American irreverence, Prince Andrew finds himself exposed with nowhere to hide for cover and mummy’s ermine coat just won’t do. Andrew is a bully, 1 energy body, and it is no surprise that with a fourth number of 5, Andrew has been exposed as a sexual predator; infamy is a common outcome when 5 is in the fourth position. Andrew is also a rat and more rats cause their families to stay up late at night in the near-dark, looking at the ceiling and wanting the rat curse to go away.

3/6/1865 (Ox) King George V 3.9.2 = 5

23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5

21/6/1982 (Dog) HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 3.9.2 = 5

5/1/1938 (Ox) King Juan Carlos 5.6.9 = 2

King Juan Carlos is also possessed of 2 & 5 in his numerology; however, his 5 is in the first position – the energy body. This is the signature of the serial womaniser who likely has fathered multiple offspring. Prince William has three numbers in common with Juan Carlos whereas with Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, William shares only two numbers. William also shares no numbers with his mother whereas Harry shares one with Diana, Princess of Wales.

9/1/1982 (Rooster) Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9.1.3 = 4

22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5

With the tyranny that is both his parents’ 9s, apart from the usual 2 and 5 mix, which will leave Prince George sexually addictive, he does possess one feature that is mildly alarming. He has 8 as his third number. This position of 8 usually manifests as massive financial setbacks and losses. All in all, 8 in the third position likely means that during his lifetime, George will possibly lose his title to the crown jewels either by abdication; quite simply, George can find himself displaced, for doing something that has not been done before. In short with that 2 & 5 mix of being sexually fluid, George just might end up becoming the second Spencer woman named Georgiana!

Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England

Michael: This fragment is a fourth-level mature king – third life thereat.  George is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance.  An idealist, George, at this time (December 2019) does not yet have centreing. 

George does not yet have chief features. 

George’s body type is Jupiter/Mercury and a small tertiary of Venus. 

The fragment George is fourth-cast in the seventh cadence.  George is a member of greater cadence seven.  George’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418. 

George’s essence twin is a king – they are likely to meet at a later date and also head of state.  The task companion is a warrior. 

George’s three primary needs are: expression, power, security and freedom. 

There is a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, for training and preparation for ‘duties’. 

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 2 with Merlin.  ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

END. (December, 2019).

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With a predominantly Jupiter body type, HRH Prince George of Cambridge, like King George IV before him, will tend towards having a large overpowering body; his 5 does run the risk of him being gluttonous.

4/8/1900 (Rat) Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother 4.3.4 = 11

4/8/1981 (Rooster) Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4.3.4 = 11

Both women are mature souls: Meghan (mid-cycle mature artisan soul) slightly older-souled than Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (second mature slave soul). Numerologically, both women are vibrationally exact in every way. How you would respond to one, is exactly how you would respond to the other in a one-on-one encounter. However, aristocratic Elizabeth married a royal and though an outsider (Scottish) was not baited and hounded by an as yet out-of-control tabloid press. Meghan, self-made, black and an American exposed everything that is ugly about British society in an age where post Charles & Diana, the tabloid media are way out-of-control and hold to ransom the BRF. In marrying Meghan, Prince Harry has exposed what ‘yank’-hating, ugly, racist, truly small-minded, classist boors inhabit the small isle of England.

19/6/1896 (Monkey) Wallis, Duchess of Windsor 1.7.4 = 3

23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5

Let me start by making it perfectly clear; the only 3 similarities between Wallis and Meghan are these: both are women, both are American and both are human. They have positively nothing else in common. Secondly, before you can reincarnate, you must first die and Meghan was already very much so alive before Wallis, Duchess of Windsor died in 1986. All men with both 2 and 5 in their numerology are innate bottoms regardless their sexual focus; they love to be dominated by strong sexual and emotional partners. 2 introduces fluidity with regards sense of self to all such men. With the combination of 5 which rules excess, gluttony, perversion and insatiable indulgences, all such men need to be sexually dominated, owned and submit to their partner. 1 in the first number, the energy body, is that of the bully, the bossy, emasculating woman. Such women would be driven to be with men who wish to be dominated and who were born to strong, controlling women. The combination of 2 & 5 in a man’s chart always leads to sexual intensity, perversion and being gratified by fetishes of one type or another. From being yelled at, punched, bullied, cursed, pissed on to being strapped such men are also turned on by men and love to be controlled by strong men with whom they are prepared to indulge but would never consider it homoeroticised. Wallis with an energy body of 1 would perceive Edward, Duke of Windsor as her bitch and may well have referred to him as such during their very intense, ritualised and heavily fetish-focussed sexual relations. Edward, Duke of Windsor was as he was because 2 causes fluidity in men which is readily perceived as weakness, effeminacy… or both. 5 persons will always rebel against the rigidity, judgmental, controlling, stubborn restrictiveness of 9. Even though possessed of 5 himself, King George V’s 9 proved too overwhelming for Edward, Duke of Windsor and would have caused him to rebel which resulted in his relationship with Wallis because of her 1 and also because his father’s 9 meant that he positively despised Americans and their culture. Wherever you find 5 in a numerological chart, you also find both excess and infamy.

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What stunning portraits these latter day Gainsborough (@dolcegabbana) have realised. Their muse is no less stunning, by far, than the original Spencer trailblazer, Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.

Brava!

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Pluto in Capricorn and in Opposition – Pandemic and Retribution.

Last February as I made my way by subway to the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing arts, the season’s latest opera was on that night – of course, what I then did not know, was that the rest of the opera season would eventually be cancelled – the most jarring thing occurred. A young Amerindian male with the glossiest black mane, took two steps back on the TTC train platform and dropped his black gym bag. “Are you fucking talking to me? No bitch, I’m talking to you! Did I invite you into my country?” The rage and the booming power of his voice was arresting. The tall effete Caucasian male tried brushing him off as though he were so much raped and abandoned non-whitedom. Before I knew what next, The five-foot-nothing, proud Amerindian punched his adversary square in his girly man face. Crying out like a right candy-arsed sissy, the Caucasian weakly protested, all whilst rushing backwards. My proud Amerindian brother was just getting started. Of course, I, who have grown soft for making peace with being a black male in this racially suffocating society, cried out when the first punch landed. Bam, another punch to the face as the much shorter warrior defended his land, his people, pride and history. “Yeah you, did I fucking invite you to my country?” and another blow. Bloodied and cowering, the all-mouth, cowardly closet cocksucker was resoundingly handed his arse and put in his rightful place.

The opera, Hansel & Gretel, was beautifully staged – set in the stark isolation of Toronto condo living. I was, though, never fully engaged as I spent the next several days readjusting to having had that young warrior shaman heal my spirit by his very proud actions and the conviction of his words. The next several days, I kept returning to the incident with the proud Amerindian. My reaction at the time had stunned me and in hindsight, I kept revisiting why I chose to be so upset at the attack on the arrogant male, who was being pummelled. He had taunted and dismissed the Amerindian male – a socially aggressive behaviour from whites with which one was long familiar. I realised that so many times in situations as then, we as blacks are programmed to sublimate and ‘take it’ rather than defending oneself from the hideous ugliness of the spiritually stunted.

Then something quite remarkable happened, the murderous lynching of George Floyd in callously stark veracity that cell phone ubiquity has afforded in the modern age. The event was seismic; the raw brutality of the racial predator on the hunt was so glaring, so jarring that it set ablaze protests across the planet. Indeed, the cell phone, like the beating of Rodney King, has been able to capture the ugliness that is whiteness which prior to, meant that one could lie away and grin away with exquisite triumphant glee, fucking with the enemy – an enemy on whom one preys never having been preyed on by that enemy. Slowly, the exoskeleton with which one straitjackets oneself in order to make peace and to be a black man peacefully making it through one day to the next, began losing its grip.

Scenes like in the early days of lockdown 2020, I was in line at Pusateri’s at Yorkville Avenue and Bay Street to pick up a couple of bottles of VOSS water. Old, ugly as fuck, the woman in line ahead of me turned around and began screaming at the top of her hateful lungs in a scene that could easily have been played by her in South Africa. She demanded that I get the hell away from her because I was clearly not practising proper social distancing and remaining more than two metres apart. Of course, this had nothing to do with the coronavirus pandemic but everything to do with her seizing an opportunity to be a hate-filled racist boor. As much as I wanted to readily turn rapaciously vituperative and tell her to try 2 metres below ground; instead, I took two operatic steps back and coolly and eloquently boomed with scathing condescension, “Look at you! On your hind legs and everything! Seriously though…” With that, after having laughed a vulgar dismissive breath, I impatiently strode to the back of the line to be rid of the fugly parvenu boor. Everyone, staff and clients, froze. She, of course, squawked and grumbled as I focussed my discriminating attention to a conversation via Whatsapp video about dinner with my transitioning spouse at our art-filled home, who on the eve of Bob Marley’s birthday, two decades earlier, I wedded at Montréal’s Palais de Justice both decked in gold-threaded, crisp white linen Yoruba agbada with her a matching gele. As can be expected of cowardly fare, the anaemic-looking young couple now two metres in front of me, simply ignored the social dustup by hungrily face-fucking in their best escapist Bonobo turn. Naturally, the old harpy got from the line to kvetch to whomsofuckingever and when the cashier asked if I wanted a bag, I declined, telling her that I would rather be kind on the environment. Turning to leave the tightly spaced store, I paused and shot down her evil glare by raising both VOSS waters, one in each hand, and shouted, L’Chaim! That ought to have left her pissy knickers smelling louder on leaving the store.

Soon enough, the acts of racially predatory social aggression became more frequent and pronounced. There was the incident one cool morning where a hirsute covering of blond furred redhead stopped jogging in front of me, grabbed a hold of my bike’s handlebar and began screaming as though I were both blind and deaf as he demanded that I keep the hell off the sidewalk. It wasn’t enough that cell phones had exposed their murderous ugliness but as though to protest, whites have grown more emboldened with the affront of blacks and Black Lives Matter movement to demonstrate and demand change.

By early June last year, 2020, I had had enough, each morning on the ride to work through tony Rosedale, I was being accosted by various burghers of the beautifully tree-lined streets – then again, which Toronto residential neighbourhood street is not beautifully tree-lined. There was one Jew in particular, who caused me to go out and get the above bodycam. Each morning, as I am a creature of habit, he was in the habit of leaving the sidewalk to come into the middle of the street, approach as I bike-ride to pepper me with hideous racial slurs and demand that I keep the hell out of the neighbourhood. Good morning, Shithead! Good morning you black piece of shit. Get out of here! Finally, one morning, having quite had enough of him and his special brand of ugliness of spirit, I told him to go fuck himself to which he incredulously demanded at the top of his lungs, unlike his usually sotto voce delivered insults as he approached the bike, “Get back here! Get back here now! I’m talking to you. Come back here now!” The nerve of some people. That last incident occurred on a Friday and thank god for Jeff Bezos, by Monday, I had me a bodycam. So as my special kind of fugly, hairy back and arsed nuisance came bopping off the sidewalk, ready to be racial predatory white male asshole number 1 billion, 500 million and 99, he caught sight of my bodycam, lights on and all, and like the bipedal, über poilu Rottweiler-hybrid that he is, he readily retreated for the cover of the sidewalk. I have never seen him since and, of course, I had ignored everyone’s advice to take another route to work. What the fuck for? As I am born in the year of the Rat, I am no different to any other rat; we live firmly self-aware that rats fear no one.

A few months back in between spells of too much snow, I abandoned my bike and elected to take a ride. On the way home, as I go from job A to job B, I told the unibrowed, wild-eyed driver that I was in a bit of a hurry and would show him a shortcut to my place. He again said nothing, just as he hadn’t as I got into his ride and said hello. Though, I wore a colourful silk mask over the daily disposable N-95 mask, his shitty ride I swear, smelt like what no doubt just-fucked camel pussy does. Told to take a left off Yonge onto Roxborough, finally not surprised was I when he proved a short-tempered fuck whose pointy fingers on that wheel had me dismissing him as so much forgettable small-cocked fare. He barked rather than spoke that he followed the GPS, which had called out to make a left onto Crescent so many metres ahead south down Yonge Street. Thus, we ventured, clearly grudgingly for him, along Roxborough and as we approached, I announced that I wanted him to make a right turn onto Wrentham to Crescent. Immediately, the über-poilu beast, which made me think Ursa hybrid, stepped on the gas drove east past Wrentham, down the hill and pulled onto Mount Pleasant without so much as having looked left in the process. As it was rush hour, there would be no left turns south of Bloor along Jarvis which Mount Pleasant becomes before Gerrard Street East or possibly Shuter Street East. To be sure, I was more than a little bit pissed off when telling the inbred, short-fused jackass to turn off of Mount Pleasant, onto Elm and turn right at Sherbourne North as had been intended. “You fucking idiots, who the hell are you people to talk to anybody like you own something?” Then he violently broke the car, just north of South Drive and demanded that I get out of his car. Coolly, I got out and left the door open and when he swore at me and demanded I shut his fucking door now, I told him I thought I would do him a favour and air it out, seeing as how it stunk of camel… the camel-fucker did not, of course, get the insult. Readily, I pulled out my camera and told him, ‘yeah come out here and get some of this.’ He got out of his shitty little car, cut the beady eyes at me, slammed the door shut, told me and my people to go fuck ourselves to which I replied, “happy black history month to you, too…” By the time I got onto Sherbourne North, my Samsung S20 had died. Naturally, thanks to coronavirus, I had no cash and there was no way to call a cab or Uber. In this neck of the woods, a random taxi was a nonstarter.

Foreground Bloor & Parliament in St. James Town, to right distance, Yorkville, Centre distance, One Bloor East currently tallest condo at 76 storeys, at Yonge & Bloor, Centre mid-distance Sherbourne to Church (east to west) Upper Gay Village or more pretentiously south Yorkville (ha!).

Doggedly, I decided to simply walk it home, just as I got unto the Sherbourne Street bridge, I began experiencing an anxiety attack. Years earlier, I had witnessed someone leap from the Jacques Cartier bridge that spans the St. Lawrence in Montréal. Suddenly, out of nowhere as anxiety attacks tend to function, I was in the grips of crippling fear. I knew that there was no way that I could cross the bridge, even to try and make it back seemed a feat, there was a sudden desire to start running, which I knew that I could not do. A young Amerindian couple in the city, for the first time it turned out, crossed the bridged, going south on the west side – same as me. I explained my dilemma and asked if they would call me a cab. The proud warrior-looking man, barely into his 20s insisted that I simply conquer my fear by walking beside him and his beautiful girlfriend. I tried…. I wanted to. I could not, though, as I began shaking… just the sheer weight of why I was there in the first place simply for being black and asking the driver to take a preferred route – it all seemed so absurd, yet it is an indignity that one endures at every turn in a million ways every frigging day in this society. The warmest eyes winked at me as he smiled and the Beck taxi came up the bridge made a U-turn and the young warrior closed the door on me, wishing me well. Eventually, I got home late and when I was done job B where I fundraise in the arts and remain unrivalled, I wrote a detailed account of my ride with the bigot who kicked me from his car and was summarily refunded. As if Jazz the blasted motherfuck were invented by unibrowed, camel-fucking, hairy back-and-arsed dreck.

Days later, and still black history month, I was riding my bike through the wet streets of Rosedale where the snow melted fast after the latest snowfall. As I emerged onto Crescent Road from the footpath which Scrath becomes, to cross the bridge that spans Mount Pleasant Road, a white female in a black, skin-tight, jogging suit was way in back of a group of jogging white males whom I had seen with fair regularity. She was clearly not part of their group. Jogging in the street as she was, she moved to the side as I approached and then with the arrogance of the truly somnambulant, aggressively called after me in a tone that was both accusatory and possessive as I moved past, “Excuse me, where are you going?” That morning, I happened not to be wearing my bodycam as when I got downstairs, realised that the snow had sufficiently melted such that I could actually ride my bike rather than take a cab. Without so much as missing a beat, I broke hard and stood straddling my bike when reaching into the shallow depths of her sphinctered psyche, “I’m going to your house to fuck your man!” She stood there arrested, catatonic as my use of language was both vulgar, rapacious. “That’s right, I’m gonna hog-tie that fucking cocksucker of yours and fuck him good… Yeah, you wanna come watch? Come on!” Arrested in place, her eyes welled up as mine remained unflinchingly enraged, her lizard-thin upper lip actually trembling. With that, I resumed riding my bike to job A to which I was already running late. In this the age of Trump, some whites at every chance, turn racially predatory at the drop of a hat.

Then there are the casket fugitives; these blasted tiresome, overstayed boomers, who simply will not stop showing off and just crawl the fuck in their caskets. What other generation but boomers would find a new way to show-off in their smelly diapers and drug-wasted dotage? They, these lost souls forever hurrying about way off-piste, are ever bitching and at times raising their silly poles at me, demanding that I not ride on pathways but dismount and walk. Once confronted by a turkey-necked mannish boor, I leaned in and asked near-inaudibly, “Don’t you tire of breathing? Go on, go chill the fuck out in your casket”

And then November 3, 2020 turned into January 6, 2021 as that porcine pathological compulsive liar – America’s biggest loser and racist swine, finally left the stage with crooked tail between his fat thighs with the Eurotrash escort cum parvenu snob in tow. The cold-blooded murder of George Floyd, staged or simply instinctual racially predatory behaviour, like the big fat coward that he is, having miserably failed at leading and taking command of the pandemic, Trump latched on to the murder of George Floyd to win the vote. That’s right, it was all about not haemorrhaging the white vote; thus it became all about cops and law and order – all code language for white privilege and racist white supremacy. Well, it did not fucking work! Fuck you!

Not only did Trump fail to steal the vote by declaring Marshall law and leading an insurrection on the Capitol, he and his racist ilk’s poster boy for racially predatory murderous scum was convicted on all three counts. George Floyd’s murder occurred at the Pluto opposition in Capricorn and thus the past four hundred years of murderous racially predatory blood sport of blacks finally led to George being anointed as the One. That’s right, for the first time in 400 years, a cop has been found guilty of the murder of a black male. For blacks, America the past 400 years has been nothing but a giant game reserve where they are hunted with the arrogant impunity of police getting off time and again when murdering blacks. Let that sink in for a moment. America the land where whites can murder whilst dressed up in the hunting gear of the police uniform – all the while, other whites the world over perpetually on holiday having predatory sex with minors whilst everyone looks the other way. Thanks to his murder, and trophy-hunting racial predator Chauvin having been found guilty of murder, George Floyd became a martyr who has broken the long 400 year tradition of the justice system in America condoning the racially predatory murder of blacks at the hands of police. Pluto in Capricorn indeed. The hijacked American justice system where blacks are corralled to spike the profit margins for BlackRock shareholders… talk about genius, indeed.

Always… with every breath… it is quintessentially Jazz!

Recent ride through Rosedale because of whose venal classist/racist aggression, I have taken to wearing the bodycam. As ever, Jazz permeates my every breath; how could it not when my father’s first cousin, the recently deceased actor Cicely Tyson was wife of Jazz genius Miles Davis? A new friend with lots of past-life history, asked why I am always singing the same Jazz tune when cycling; it is a form of meditation, I shared, as I move from job A to job B. By vocalesing and singing a favourite Jazz tune, I am getting refocussed to the task next in hand – fundraising in the arts… at which I am damn good. In the above clip, at the 06:24 mark, one can clearly see the septuagenarian white female with bags in hand, walking north in the southbound bike lane. Likely she chose to do so to avoid being too close to persons on the kerb. Either way, her choice and no business of mine. Minutes as I got further down Sherbourne Street, at which point, I had stopped recording, as I was now going south in the northbound bike lane a total of 3 white female passing, violently yelled and called me every kind of asshole imaginable. White females are ten times more likely than white males to be verbally abusive in such situations; however, non-white, non-black males and females almost never engage in such predatory social aggression. The idea that I am going to time-waste by yelling at someone for simply going in the opposite direction of the usual flow of bike traffic in a given lane is beyond absurd. So fucking what? Last winter before getting the bodycam, there was a white male in early forties with about 4% body fat running north in the northbound bike lane along the Sherbourne Street bridge. As I approached at a leisurely pace, I could tell that he was wearing air buds and not wanting to surprise him simply rode pass saying and doing nothing. Shocked, though not surprised, was I when he upped his jogging pace and began running alongside on my right. Yelling as though a drill sergeant, he began calling me an asshole and demanded to know why I had not used my fucking bell when passing him. Not jogging on the kerb was he, nor was he jogging towards oncoming bike and vehicular traffic; yet, he and his perceptions had perceived me as being at fault for riding alongside and passing him without having given him warning of my approach. This world is overrun by truly blind assholes, very well-armed, truly blind assholes.

A few days ago as I hopped off my bike with time to kill between jobs A & B, I slipped into the reconstituted shrine to Canadian ice hockey which became the flagship store of Loblaws, another of the Weston family’s retail gems. On entering, there was a police officer just inside – a new pandemic feature. Tall, handsome and of South Pacific heritage, the male officer engagingly greeted me, willingly, I ambled over and he commended me on the bodycam. Said he, every person of colour ought to be wearing one; indeed, I agreed, it amazingly affords one peace of mind and a harassment free ride about town. He laughed when told of how hostile the burghers of Rosedale can be, adding that he was not surprised in the least at the account of in-your-face open bigotry.

With nimble vivacity me and my paniers whisked through the place, emerging minutes later with organic ginger, beautifully pungent organic turmeric, Ocean Spray’s Cran-Grape drink – this drink screams sugar is the drug y’all – and of course, the most exquisite cheddar cheese. Whether at tea, with pâté or dark chocolate, the President’s Choice (Loblaws house brand) aged 5 years crumbly cheddar cheese is as musky and satisfying as a full Moon night spent indulging rugged mansex in the moss-saturated bois of Vancouver’s Stanley Park. Slipping outside, as I loaded up my paniers on my trusty brown Schwinn Gateway, the four bottles of VOSS water made the paniers hard to close shut – larger than the VOSS available in Yorkville, who needs Pusateri’s and Yorkville’s parvenu pretentious bullshit anyway?

As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

By Any Means, We Win!

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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.  

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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.  

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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. 

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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.  

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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.   

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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.  

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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.  

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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. 

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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.  

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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.  

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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.  

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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. 

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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? 

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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. 

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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.  

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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!  

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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. 

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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. 

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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

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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.  

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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.    

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