Patron Saint & Queen of the Karens. Victim. Virgin Mother!

Jealous Peggalicious Preys Whilst Scorned Ekaterina Deliberately Flirts with Thespian & His Beard

Well, of course, the Venus Flytrap-pussied broodmare is damn well going to flirt after having been brushed off days earlier at the Polo. So there was she, patron of the All England Lawn & Tennis Club in bitch-dominatrix green – perfect colour for a woman with energy body of 9, reigning at Wimbledon. Just for the cameras, Ekaterina obstinately flirted with actor, James Norton. So what if he is Queer, all men are dogs, after all, it’s just a matter of time before they sniff each other and start humping seen or unseen. Ekaterina, the world onlooking, just wanted to get under the Pegged and follicly challenged boor Wilhelm’s skin. Of course, the fact that both senior Waleses are task companions only adds to the complexity of the War of the Waleses.

Ekaterina’s Reason for Devoting More Time to The 1851 Trust than Any Other Charity? Big Ben

With the recent departure of Elizabeth II, the snivelling palace sycophants have been reinventing fabulist gossip and tales to make of the Waleses and Windsors that which they have never been, Olympian. These are crass racist charlatans and little else. So after having been outed as a racist boor both on the Oprah interview in March, 2021 and in Prince Harry’s SPARE, along comes snivelling bottom-feeder Valentina Pas-Haut with a revised edition to her specious tome, adding more storeys than the combined felled Twin Towers. Ekaterina insisted that ‘Recollections May Vary’ be kept in because it was important that History judge them correctly. Chile please! The Fleet Street parasites have no control over either facts or opinions outside their cultist island kingdom.

Bitch Get Off Me… Don’t Make Me Slap You. Ekaterina Brushed Off at the Polo.

Well, indeed, it seems that the tide has drastically changed. Prinz Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted has come out, fighting that is, and with Elizabeth II off the stage, he can damn well do as he pleases and is. No more time to waste on spilled milk; living separate lives does seem to be the order of the day.

HRH Prince George of Wales – The Spook in the Window

I don’t know about you, but that is just not normal behaviour. There was a point at Trooping the Colour 2023, on the Buckingham Palace balcony, George was speaking and his father, Prinz Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted, snapped at him. In that moment, George became frozen, standing there on the Buckingham Palace balcony and his right arm began involuntarily twitching.

Trooping the Colour 2023. Incident Occurs Between 02:56:00 and 02:56:30

There are a number of times when Prince George tries to get the attention of either parent and instead either parent favours Prince Louis or Princess Charlotte. George has a number of odd twitches and much of them are likely due to being around mercurial parents, who shout at each other lots. Prince George’s numbers do not leave him in good stead next to either parent’s numerology; they would incite a considerable degree of discomfort and fear. Prince George: 22.7.2013 Year of the Snake 4.2.8 = 5. That 5’s placement spells sexual scandal down the line; the 8’s placement means that the family’s fortune potentially may suffer massive setback(s). The 2 mindset means that he is innately creative and his parents are a mystery to, and some degree of distress for Prince George. George has only one number in common with his mother, Ekaterina, 4; he has two with his father, Wilhelm, 2 & 5. 5 represents excess, kink, unorthodox sexual appetite. George, however, with the mindset of 2 may end up being a fantasist rather than indulger and may end up being a collector of erotic art, along the lines of Shunga, Kangra, Chinese, Persian, Arabic, Islamic & European erotic art, books, sculpture et al. 2, also, rules two-spirits, a pronounced feminine principal so that coupled with 5, George may well become genuinely bisexual in nature – what he does in private when an adult, is no one’s business – provided it won’t be with minors. More than that, 2, represents genius level creativity. In George with such strong-willed ‘loud’ parents, his 5’s excessiveness apart him leaving him potentially quite tall, will act out through food, thus, he may end up being rotund for eating to excess, the opposite of his paternal grandmother, Diana, Princess of Wales’s, bulimia.

Trooping the Colour 2023. Famille Wales: George, Louis, Ekaterina, Charlotte & Wilhelm

There is a great deal about the firstborn which is marvellously camouflaged. All the more reason, why they allow the little freak, Louis/Damian to act out, thereby taking the spotlight off George’s spectrum markers. Alas, not everyone chooses to see nothing! George’s softness lends credence to the rumour that George was preceded by an older illegitimate sibling. Indeed, have you not heard about Happy Valley, the Sequel? It isn’t just the alpaca-faced chatelaine in Norfolk, who is a baby mama; indeed, George simply lacks the alpha vibration of a firstborn child. Even within the brood spawned by Prinzessein Ekaterina von Rictus der Gurnalot und Mumbleweiss. By far, Charlotte is more dominant of the three. Queer indeed it is that the Horse Guards Parade photo of George: the spook in the window, has been completely scrubbed from the internet – indeed, they’ve got something to hide. Also of note whilst stood on the Buckingham Palace balcony was Prinz Wilhelm’s animated coughing as though he were rudely saying something to the perpetually rictus Ekaterina, as she kept trying to have her left arm touch his right arm whilst stood side-by-side.

As Happy as a Truly Rictus & Gurning Loon

Just look at her, the blasted gurning loon. She is like an engagingly fascinating coffee table book that turns out to have not a single page between the covers. Blithering, inarticulate, quite the mumbling loon, Ekaterina. This past spring, I was at a Sunday brunch when the hosts wanted me to explain the finer points of numerology; it was an exciting gathering that lasted into early evening. At that time, a guest there had been familiar with Jian Ghomeshi and was fascinated to learn how his numerology explained his fall from grace for being caught up in a legal sex scandal. My take on the whole affair – Google is your friend – is that there would have been a great degree of consensual relations. Jian’s numbers are 9.6.2 = 8. First and foremost, all persons with energy body of 9 are all about control; they will always be abrasive and given to being smothering, manipulating – controlling. The one thing that is marked by persons with energy body of 9, is that they are given to ritualised sex that is chiefly consensual and either would be dominatrix or sadist but never masochistic.

Ekaterina at Wimbledon, 2019. Meghan Is Being Verbally Assaulted. Meghan Is Stunned.

In 9 energy body persons dealings with others, they often attempt, usually successfully, to bully and make subordinates their ‘bottoms’ – this chiefly is the dynamic of Ekaterina with Wilhelm and also what she sought to establish with Meghan. Obviously, she failed to break Meghan or the Sussexes would still be in the UK. Look at Meghan’s expression in the preceding photograph and tell me that that is the face of a bully. Look at the optics of that photograph, Ekaterina’s lizard lips are shaped in the same hostile ‘O’ that chimpanzees make when making screaming shrill calls at an opponent. Meghan is sat there before the world, knowing the optics of being ‘on’ and is both stunned and exhausted at this mumbling, inarticulate, crazy bitch, fucking with her and trying to break her spirit. Bitch in what world is Meghan supposed to take shit from your dumb, lazy, leg-spreading, racist ass? The racially predatory Ekaterina just couldn’t wait to have Meghan fully captive, minus Prince Harry, and before the entire world. Sat was Meghan between Ekaterina the dominatrix and her flat-arsed sister, Pippa. You just know, too, that there was a 99.9% likelihood that Ekaterina was all liquored up and in peak bitchy, sarcastic, bullying energy body of 9 mode. Hands down there is no way that Meghan would ever privately describe Ekaterina as pleasant. Ekaterina knows damn well that even if she spat in Meghan’s face, whilst sat there in the royal box at Wimbledon, the whole world would say that the reverse happened or that Meghan spat on her first but it was not caught on camera.

Shunga Print Provenance: British Museum

Alas, Vanilla sexual relations are not the norm for 9 energy-bodied persons as was clearly the case with Ghomeshi. As 9 energy body has to do with ritualised sexual control, obviously, at some point that dynamic corrupts the dominant partner and abuse can ensue. Think of the animal dynamism of sexual play in the 2015, Doug Liman film Mr. & Mrs. Smith, starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie – that is the order of sexual play with 9 energy body persons.

Damian: the Possessed & Damaged Spawn’s Coming Out

Okay then, said the striking red-maned Ethiopian with the most strikingly beautiful eyes – in town from London, England by way of New York City, for a wedding, please explain what the hell is that, as she turned his phone and showed us a clip of Prince Louis at the Platinum Jubilee Parade in June 2022. We all hysterically howled. Obviously, the child is crazy and there is nothing cute or adorable about behaviour like that, said she, to which I enthusiastically agreed. Louis/Damian: 23.4.2018, Dog, 5.9.2 = 7. Like his paternal grandmother, Diana, Princess of Wales, this very disturbed individual runs the very real risk of being murdered to be rid of the nuisance that he proves to either his mother or possibly father under duress – either way, he would be rather readily disposed of, and the island kingdom’s somnambulant would think nothing of it. Louis has three numbers in common with his father 2, 5 & 9 and one with his very controlling powerful mother, Ekaterina, 9. Ekaterina was sick to death of him and livid that he was proving a thorough embarrassment before the entire world. Let’s then look at the machinations, of which the then Cambridges were the obvious chief architects.

November 2016

A Statement by the Communications Secretary to Prince Harry

Published 08 November 2016

Since he was young, Prince Harry has been very aware of the warmth that has been extended to him by members of the public. He feels lucky to have so many people supporting him and knows what a fortunate and privileged life he leads.

He is also aware that there is significant curiosity about his private life. He has never been comfortable with this, but he has tried to develop a thick skin about the level of media interest that comes with it. He has rarely taken formal action on the very regular publication of fictional stories that are written about him and he has worked hard to develop a professional relationship with the media, focused on his work and the issues he cares about.

But the past week has seen a line crossed. His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment. Some of this has been very public – the smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments. Some of it has been hidden from the public – the nightly legal battles to keep defamatory stories out of papers; her mother having to struggle past photographers in order to get to her front door; the attempts of reporters and photographers to gain illegal entry to her home and the calls to police that followed; the substantial bribes offered by papers to her ex-boyfriend; the bombardment of nearly every friend, co-worker, and loved one in her life.

Prince Harry is worried about Ms. Markle’s safety and is deeply disappointed that he has not been able to protect her. It is not right that a few months into a relationship with him that Ms. Markle should be subjected to such a storm. He knows commentators will say this is ‘the price she has to pay’ and that ‘this is all part of the game’. He strongly disagrees. This is not a game – it is her life and his. 

He has asked for this statement to be issued in the hopes that those in the press who have been driving this story can pause and reflect before any further damage is done. He knows that it is unusual to issue a statement like this, but hopes that fair-minded people will understand why he has felt it necessary to speak publicly.

In November 2016, Prince Harry releases a statement in support of Meghan, defending her against the racial undertones in the media that attacked her integrity. Naturally, by this time, the then Cambridges would have been upset that Harry had chosen a wholly unsuitable ‘girl’ – good god just imagine what the kids would look like. Ekaterina with an energy body of 9, would by now have become livid and seethed at Meghan possibly marrying into the RF. She is Black. Most of all, she is infinitely more charismatic and articulate than her – Meghan is her Kryptonite! Do not underestimate the power of a 9 mother, like a bear and her cubs, Ekaterina, as are all mothers, is extremely protective of her cubs. Ekaterina did not relish Meghan and her biracial kids, close in age to her own kids, coming on the scene. Imagine a ginger, afroed Archie and Lilibet, who by their mere exoticism, would garner greater press coverage. A wholly unacceptable proposition for Wilhelm and, in particular, Ekaterina this proved.

March 2017

Harry & Meghan, Montego Bay, Jamaica. Tom Inskip’s Wedding

March 2017, Montego Bay, Jamaica, Meghan joins Prince Harry as his date for friend, Tom Inskip’s wedding. At the time, the rumour mill and every Karen’s livid little blog, insisted that Meghan had crashed the wedding and was stalking Prince Harry; after all, they knew to be fact that Prince Harry had broken off their relationship in early 2017. All this in a narrative of their own delusional making. Well, all the Karens were sure that the Queen was suffering dementia and Caligula II had to step in and provide greater security for Prince Harry as he was being stalked, harassed by the crazed actress whom they had irrefutable proof was a yacht girl – The 1851 Trust notwithstanding. Just look at how miserable Prince Harry looked at the wedding and how she clawed all over him, touching a royal prince. Never mind, the braying racist masses but Ekaterina with an energy body of 9 and Wilhelm with a mindset of 9 – defender of the flame and does not like anything that is not traditional or deemed unconventional, were secretly hissing at how Harry was doing this to them, to the family; it was betrayal, plain and simple. The then Cambridges would not have approved of Harry being enamoured of Meghan.

May 2017

Pippa’s Wedding to James Matthews

Pippa’s wedding to the son of a wealthy – though guarded – paedophile, was Ekaterina‘s chance to start publicly fucking with Meghan. Ekaterina whose control of Wilhelm is thorough, laid down the law; however, like all dimwits, she left herself open to unflattering scrutiny. According to the rules, if a woman was neither engaged nor married, she could not attend the wedding ceremony at the church. That being the case, Meghan was relegated to the wedding reception, which was well out of the view of the paparazzi. So there was Prinz Wilhelm arriving with Prince Harry to kill any rumours of Prince Harry attending alone and if that meant that it was over between him and Meghan better yet, even though everyone here in Toronto in the know, knew that Harry and Meghan were still very much so on.

HRH Princess Eugenie & Lover Jack Brooksbank, Pippa’s Wedding , May 2017

Then the most marvellous thing occurred, HRH Princess Eugenie walked to the church ceremony of Pippa’s wedding, accompanied by Jack Brooksbank. At the time, Eugenie and Jack were neither engaged nor wedded; thus, the whole rule of ‘no ring, no bring’ ordained by the rather sooty – not to be confused with snooty – classist boor, Ekaterina, exposed her animus towards Meghan and proved Ekaterina to be not very bright and frankly stupid – receipts matter. Nonetheless, the deed was done, Ekaterina had given her marching orders to the Fleet Street abattoirs, herein after referred to as FSAs, to begin the campaign of deeming Meghan a most unsuitable girl – straight outta Compton, indeed.

July 2017

Cambridges, Poland, July 2017

During or just after their July 2017 royal tour of Poland & Germany – neither of which happens to be Commonwealth nation, though all importantly not predominantly overrun by Blacks – well , the 9 centric Cambridges like two slithering angry snakes, drunkenly writhed, hearts filled with hatred and scheming… Could she not wait to return home and run off to be further aroused and consumed with passion at The 1851 Trust? Was he, sat there looking bored and witheringly disdainful, lusting to be returned to Norfolk and attend to the alpaca-faced chatelaine and favoured baby mama, not to mention the other baby mama in Happy Valley in the sequel to White Mischief? Whether Big Ben or Pegged Wilhelm, either way, she was soon to be with child. A child it was whose nine months of gestation were passed with its host, ravaged by hatred, racist dread and obsession with Meghan and most likely a few too many glasses of drink those forty weeks.

November 2017

Harry & Meghan BBC Engagement Interview

Well past her first trimester, Ekaterina positively cramped with rage at watching the charismatic, emotional intelligence of Meghan in her BBC engagement interview and increasingly her racism and hatred were being transferred onto the little gestating monster, Damian in utero.

BBC Engagement Interview for Prince Harry & Meghan

The articulate, smooth delivery, charm and eloquence of Meghan’s master number 11 on display, would have proven infuriating for 9 energy body Ekaterina. She must be stopped, Ekaterina and the world’s every racist Karen seethed. Ekaterina was dead set on ridding the kingdom of this interloper, this vile blackamoor imposter. How she must have smoked and drunk more heavily at this time. Ekaterina & Wilhelm would have looked at this interview and felt immensely threatened. You simply cannot underestimate what an affront Meghan in that interview posed to Ekaterina and by extension Britons. Here was someone the product of slavery and the enslaved being so articulate, successful and able to leap into the heart of Britain’s classist inner sanctum. Britons have a pronounced inferiority complex towards Americans, owing to their defeat and loss of the colony and the fact, most of all, that America and Americans are so much more dynamic than they are. This though does not stop Britons from copping hauteur, that god-awful horrid accent of theirs and lording it over the ‘Yanks’ that they do not have a monarchy.

Samantha Markle Before Kensington Palace Payoff aka Financial Lobotomy

Here is Samantha Markel on Good Morning Britain just after Harry and Meghan’s BBC engagement interview. Soon, her tune would radically change as Ekaterina & Wilhelm waged war and had J’anusz der Schmeckel-Snitz start paying off and grooming the Markles on what to say and do to sabotage the upcoming wedding of Harry and Meghan.

December 2017

Princess Michael of Kent Wears Blackamoor Brooch + Harry & Meghan at Christmas Day 2017

What did Ekaterina care? Elizabeth II was old, cancer-stricken and as Elizabeth II never favoured her, why should Ekaterina care what she would think? Naturally, the mother of Prinz Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted’s minor royal drug dealer, who’s really proud of her Jewish daughter-in-law, would gladly accept the dare to wear a blackamoor brooch. After all, she had called her two black sheep, Venus & Serena; Baroness Marie-Christine der Blackamoor Brooch would definitely go along with the racial harassment of Meghan. How Ekaterina and her bullied, pegged bottom, Prinz Wilhelm must have howled for joy at that golliwog, Meghan, being openly attacked before the whole world. Of one thing, Ekaterina was certain, sooner or later, she will be able to get the Fleet Street hacks to turn on that damn Yank… that damn Black thing. Ekaterina still cramped with racial animus for Meghan, likely drank more heavily over the holidays than is usually her wont. Of course, Ekaterina & Wilhelm would have been egged on by the likes of handlers like Ben Goldsmith and those of his rarefied chosen ilk.

February 2018

Royal Foundation Interview: Harry, Meghan, Ekaterina & Wilhelm

Here is the fabled Fab Four Royal Foundation Forum interview at which all four principals were present including pregnant Ekaterina. The dynamic between both women is rather telling and it is clear that Meghan was acutely uncomfortable, for being in Ekaterina‘s presence. I cannot state enough that for being an artisan soul, Meghan inputs on 5 channels, which leaves her inordinately attuned to spiritual undertones which are more than meet the eye fare. Meghan’s master number of 11 is supra-sensitive to subtle vibrations and energy, which for being energy body of 9, Ekaterina radiates with laser-like focussed animus. 9 energy is very circuitry-jamming by nature. I might also add that as both Ekaterina and Wilhelm are Warrior and Scholar souls respectively, both soul types only input on one channel. This gives them singleness of focus but it also leaves them with far less subtlety and sophistication than Sages and definitely Artisan souls who respectively input on 3 and 5 channels – Meghan’s five channels of input would be just as baffling as Artisan soul Diana, Princess of Wales’s did for Warrior soul Caligula II and Scholar soul, Milonia Caesonia. Both the then Cambridges, for being senior royals, were dead set against Meghan being in their midst and that they readily telegraphed. Ekaterina here is in her final trimester and passively aggressive, hateful and bullying as any raptor, racial predator can be expected to be. Meghan, of course at the point of the interview, was acutely aware of this and was by then getting the lion’s share of verbal abuse. Can you just imagine the hyper-criticism Meghan would have gotten from the then Cambridges, both possessed of fault-finding, shit-disturbing, bullying 9 energy as they are?

April 2018

Prince Louis’ Christening, July 2018

Prince Louis aka Damian was born less than a month before Prince Harry and Meghan’s wedding at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. As the preceding photograph reveals at his christening in July, 2018, Prince Louis is damaged goods. Those are the eyes of a child on the spectrum and one who has already proven not the least bit stable. Louis was born 23.4.2018, Year of the Dog (same as his father). Also, like his father, Prinz Wilhelm (21.6.1982 Year of the Dog 3.9.2 = 5), Prince Louis has 9, and 5 in his numerological makeup; this is usually the mark of someone whose mercurial disposition is not readily disguised. Unlike his father, Prince Louis (Damian) will have a harder time disguising his lack of emotional intelligence. Louis’s numbers are: 5.9.2 = 7. Louis, as previously stated, has three numbers in common with his father, Prinz Wilhelm (2, 5 & 9); he is a dead ringer for his father, Prinz Wilhelm‘s, very well camouflaged nature.

Damian, El Diablo Muy Loco & His Psycho Mama

Make no mistake about it, in due course, Louis is going to be the source of astounding royal scandal. Stop making excuses, neither George nor Charlotte were ape batshit crazy at aged four. Louis has same mindset of 9 as his father, Wilhelm; Damian’s father is a sadistic bully and archly unorthodox in his views, so likely will his possessed son be. Furthermore, Damian’s 5 is his energy body – think Tasmanian devil. He sucks the oxygen out of any room and is not remotely sane. This combination of 9 and 5 means that S&M will be his preferred sexual outlet with a gross predisposition towards kink. Anything odd, bizarre, including persons will fascinate and leave him readily obsessed. The 2 speaks to the childlike/autistic wonderment and a sense of infantile and or developed feminine principle. Lastly, that 7 in the fourth position has seen highly placed royals bumped off when they proved themselves a nuisance, liability: Lord Mountbatten and Diana, Princess of Wales. 7 in the fourth position almost always means the murder of an individual in the public eye. Either parent or both would readily have him murdered if he proves too problematic. Of course, as far too many Whites do not assume culpability, Ekaterina and Wilhelm will always lay blame at Meghan’s door. They will rationalise Louis’ predicament, resulting from Meghan having come into the family and causing all this upheaval – god only knows their racist terrorisation of Meghan could not have had adverse consequences for them. Tant pis.

May 2018

Royal Wedding of TRH The Duke & Duchess of Sussex

May 19, 2018, what a gloriously sunny, picture-perfect day it was. As we have since learnt both in the Orpah interview in March, 2021 and from Prince Harry’s electrifying memoir, SPARE, all was not as it seemed. Of course, much of the tension afoot was more readily discernible than others.

Royal Wedding Prince Harry & Meghan, The Duke and Duchess of Sussex

Start looking at the 03:35:00 mark of this version of the BBC coverage of the Royal Wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan. As the couple begin taking their vows, Ekaterina spends her time exclusively looking down at the programme in her lap rather than look at the couple; this betrays her disapproval of their marriage and more importantly, Meghan becoming a member of the royal family. One thing of note is that this recording is a copy of the BBC coverage. The original BBC version has since been scrubbed from the internet; if only because a year after the wedding and the time at which the BBC version was scrubbed, it had been viewed more than 30M times; however, to that point, the BBC’s 2011 coverage of The Royal Wedding of Prinz Wilhelm and Prinzessin Ekaterina had garnered less than 15M views. Today, 2023, that 12 year old video sits on the royal family’s website and has garnered over 49M views; obviously, that is a combination of Meghan haters and the royal family aggressively jacking up the numbers. Of course, there is a ten-year old ABC (American Broadcasting Corporation) coverage of the now Waleses’ wedding, hosted by Barbara Walters, Diane Sawyer & Robin Roberts, which has just passed the 500k mark. The royals lie about everything, just as their Instagram page always artificially had a higher following that The Sussexes’ now defunct Instagram page. You can never underestimate how utterly petty, TRH Prinz & Prinzessin of Wales are. Prince Edward, like Doria Ragland, Ben and Jessica Mulroney and others were there to witness a marriage and looked at the couple throughout as they exchanged vows; not so, Caligula II, Wilhelm and Ekaterina.

Cambridges & Cornwalls Openly Gossip & Ridicule Blacks, Yanks, Meghan & Harry

Now jump ahead to 04:00:00 on the same video of the Sussexes’ wedding, at this point, having signed the registry, both Caligula II & Doria are returned to the quire. As the gifted cellist Sheku Kanneh-Mason starts the final of three pieces, Wilhelm, Caligula II, Milonia Caesonia and Ekaterina commence throwing shade at The Sussexes and Meghan’s culture. This they openly did before Elizabeth II, the world; moreover, this they did to the very shrewdly observant film industry professionals, who directly sat opposite them. Again, the senior royals quite arrogantly have neither couth nor awareness. Caligula II, Wilhelm, Milonia Caesonia and Ekaterina behaved at Harry & Meghan’s wedding not as persons who were concerned about Meghan being a bully. By their open ridicule of Meghan, Harry and Meghan’s culture, they betrayed to the world that they did not care for Meghan and were already having great fun at Meghan’s expense, along with bullying and racially harassing her.

Baby Mango Man Goes Full Crazy Town

All that hatred, predatory racism, bullying from Wilhelm and Ekaterina against Meghan, resulted in Ekaterina‘s bilious womb, serving as stowaway for a rapidly reincarnated soul, likely overdosed in the immediate past-life as crazed crackhead, Louisa, straight outta Compton. There is no greater winning argument in prosecuting the case against Ekaterina as the dominatrix, bully, racial predator than the fruit of her womb as she waged psychological warfare against Meghan for being a Yank, a self-made strong woman, to say nothing of a beautiful and articulate Black woman.

Ekaterina: 12 Years a Fail But Oh So Soused

Ekaterina was threatened and had the tacit approval and complicity of Wilhelm in a campaign to destroy Meghan. Very telling, too, was Wilhelm‘s remarks at the first annual Royal Foundation Forum summit, of which they would be only one, as he faced inwards towards Meghan and hawkishly preyed on her, ready to scream at her after the event behind Kensington Palace walls. Like her open animus towards Meghan, there has been the one constant: Ekaterina with a drink in hand and not just for show. This, precisely, is why Damian emerged the liquored up monster.

Wilhelm, Explosive Bully. Prince Harry Ever Wary of Wilhelm’s Deceit. Wilhelm Blissfully Unaware

That interlude also graphically demonstrated how groomed and hamstrung Prince Harry, in his role as spare to the arrogant, racist, ignorant Wilhelm, had become. Wilhelm it was, who remarked about being focussed on mental health and specifically suicide, more so male suicide. All that was cover, what he was in essence doing, was mind-fucking Meghan, letting her know by way of suggestion, and before the world I might add, that he wanted her to suicide… to get out of their midst. Wilhelm is after all the father of lunatic Damian. In the preceding photographs, Prince Harry looks exhausted from being bulldozed by Wilhelm & Ekaterina. At the time of his marriage, Harry still held out hope that his pa and brother would come around and accept Meghan. No, Meghan called it correctly, that was no environment in which to bring up their children. Indeed, it was not an environment in which Prince Harry should keep on living if he was to be a true father and husband to Archie and Meghan.

Meghan Gaslighted, Suicide Ideation, Racially Preyed On

Imagine that, Meghan lays bare what racist terror she experienced, at the hands of the senior royals and their lackeys, and for that, she was gaslighted and racially preyed on with even greater frenzy. The one thing racist non-Blacks, in particular Whites, cannot admit to, is that they are racist and that racism towards Blacks is not just sport but is physically, mentally, emotionally and financially damaging. Gaslighting Meghan was about having her stay and take it; goodness me, why ever would she want to leave a life of luxury, the life of a royal? But fuck it all, she flipped the script on the now Waleses. Just look at Meghan in the royal box at Wimbledon in 2019, she is looking at this inarticulate, dumb as fuck monster and thinking, whilst still breastfeeding Archie, “Bitch, I am not putting my child through this shit!”

Family: Abigail Spencer 4.8.1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11. Meghan 4.8.1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11

Ekaterina was damn confident about having her own little Prissy to slap every chance she got, to say nothing of her damn unwanted half-breed kids. No one laughs harder than a master numbered individual. Abigail & Meghan born same day, same year truly are blood. Nothing master-numbered 11s love more than laughing hysterically at damn fools. “Can you imagine? Mousy, inarticulate, dumb broad, trying to make me her bitch…” followed by the loudest gales of laughter. For an artisan soul with master number 11 like Meghan, that moment in the royal box at Wimbledon would have been like having to communicate with a mentally challenged idiot, trying to form a sentence. It took inordinate grace for Meghan to have endured all that shit, but that she did. Meghan like a strong bear had to not only secure her cub, Archie but she had to break the mindfuck that held Prince Harry captive to two of the meanest, pettiest, most pernicious dumbasses imaginable. What else can fraulein von Rictus der Gurnalot do but shapeshift into Meghan’s outfits; yet the bitch still can’t do more than mumble & fumble attempts at working a mic.

Buster Tripping the Light Fantastic Across the Cativerse

Grooving & Upping the Frequency via Crystals & Music

In the near 50 years since being spiritually focussed, which has included crystals, pyramids, mediums, past-life/reincarnation exploration, I have never once met a White male or female, who has stated that they had a past life in the Americas and West Indies during slavery and were a White slaveowner – god only knows they would never possibly have been an enslaved Black. It is always the reckless abandon of lives lived in opulence in Egypt, at court in Europe or exotic locales, which may venture to China, Japan and India but never Africa where there have always been in excess of 1000 royal families and also never the Muslim Middle East.

Kerry Washington, Kelly Rowland, Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex at Beyoncé Concert

Meghan is as hated as she is, because most Whites are loath to have to address the fact that they are racist boors. More than that, most Whites are not prepared to accept, much as with Donald Trump and his devotees, that Ekaterina could be a racist White boor, which they innately know to be true.

George, Ekaterina & Wilhelm, Berkshire, 2013. Ekaterina & Elizabeth II & Elizabeth II May, 2016

The earliest outward signs that Elizabeth II was mortal appeared just after her 90th birthday. Back in 2013 at George’s birth, Wilhelm who could not then have cared less about his father, Caligula, decamped with his new family to Berkshire and set up court at Ekaterina’s family. Ekaterina was flexing her fist; the moment that she gave birth to George, she was now the most powerful woman in the kingdom; Milonia Caesonia would never be King Mother as she Ekaterina was destined. Furthermore, Wilhelm secretly hated Milonia Caesonia. With Elizabeth II’s demise, Ekaterina knew that she would be unstoppably powerful. For now, they avoided Caligula and afforded him little contact with his first grandchild, George. Two things then occurred, Elizabeth II’s cancer was diagnosed and Harry met Meghan. First outward sign of Elizabeth II’s cancer appeared in May, 2016, a month after her 90th birthday. Straight away, Harry pressed The Queen for her blessing to marry Meghan and knowing what vile pieces of works, Ekaterina, Wilhelm, Caligula and Milonia Caesonia were, Elizabeth II consented and rushed them along. Elizabeth II knew that neither Caligula nor Wilhelm would sanction Harry’s marriage to Meghan, if she did not speed up the process, owing to her rapidly deteriorating health.

Caligula II & Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted

Before her cancer could become stage 4, the marriage of the Sussexes was planned and in the books; not before, of course, Ekaterina & Wilhelm went to war on Harry and Meghan. Meghan’s life was made a positively hellish racist nightmare that drove her to suicidal ideation, which no one gives a damn about when you are Black. Outed on Oprah, suddenly vile, lizard-lipped Ekaterina was wounded by something so base as to be accused of being a liar and a possible racist by that Yank and by someone Black. Under no circumstances do Whites give a damn about Blacks talking about racism at the hands of Whites. Suddenly, with Meghan wedded in, Ekaterina & Wilhelm fast become solidly aligned with Caligula II and Molina Caesonia. Here’s a measure of what a truly nasty piece of work Ekaterina is, she could not have given a fuck about the dead Queen, she gladly stayed behind so that Meghan could not attend Balmoral Castle. Ekaterina did not have the decency to go pay homage to the dead Elizabeth II, the most revered woman in the world; that decision tells you all you need to know about her detestable character.

Elizabeth II Snubs Ekaterina & Wilhelm, December, 2020

Meghan could have gone there with Ekaterina then have Meghan stay away in a separate suite and not allowed to see The Queen’s body. However, future King Mother made it perfectly clear, she did not give a damn about Elizabeth II. Elizabeth II was dead; she was not Queen. Ekaterina was being her vile petty self, in not going to Balmoral Castle, she was saying fuck you to the departed Elizabeth II, for having snubbed her in December, 2020. In a fucked up racialised world, all everyone did, was focus on Meghan and make it about Meghan having caused a rift in the family, when it has always been Ekaterina: regurgitating, pernicious, slithering, vile monster. First act Ekaterina does on Elizabeth II’s death, is lay down the law, “I do not want that Yank, that fucking Black thing anywhere near the body. I don’t give a shit! All those damn fools will see, is how she has caused chaos in this family!”

Ekaterina Philip’s Funeral, 2021. Ekaterina’s Wedding, 2011. Ekaterina Elizabeth II’s Funeral, 2022

It worked, the FSAs were given their marching orders and the royal pantomime did a course correct. It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that the whole thing, Elizabeth II’s death, was staged to insult and sacrifice Meghan to repair Ekaterina’s shattered and compromised image thanks to the Oprah interview. The House of Windsor performs the function of perpetuating the Virgin Mother mythology/Iconography of the White tribe. At George’s birth in 2013, Ekaterina became a Queen more powerful than Elizabeth II; Ekaterina was figuratively crowned the Queen Bee. From that moment on, she has been Queen in waiting and will ever be King Mother as she has from that moment in July, 2013 on becoming Mother/Virgin Mother/Queen Bee.

Windsor Walkabout:. Ekaterina Openly Seethes at Meghan. It Was Expulsion & Sacrifice

They are frankly that vile: Caligula II, Wilhelm, blithering idiot bigot Milonia Caesonia and most especially Ekaterina. Kill her off, avenge Diana’s murder, put her out of her misery, repay her for sanctioning that damn marriage of Harry & Meghan and crown Ekaterina with styles and titles: White Virgin Mother. Super Bitch. Queen. King Mother. Patron Saint of the Karens. Queen of the Karens. In one move, Ekaterina became Patron Saint & Queen of the Karens. Wilhelm indeed should damn well be wary of her because if he died, she would still be King Mother and it would be far better for Ekaterina if he died rather than being divorced and banished. Thousands stood for days in the elements to file past Elizabeth II’s casket at Westminster Hall, yet Ekaterina who would not have married Wilhelm without Elizabeth II’s consent, could not have given a damn to head up to Balmoral Castle and pay her respects to Elizabeth II’s corpse. With that move, Ekaterina was able to return to her role as heroine, of the wronged White woman, falsely accused of being a racist; she was once again victim, after it was challenged post Oprah interview when the lie of “Meghan made Ekaterina cry” was rather elegantly exposed by Meghan who is infinitely more shrewd than Ekaterina.. than all of them.. and they know it. Queen of the Karens in essence made it known that it was that damn Yank, Meghan, who made it impossible for her to have attended Elizabeth II’s body. The nonsense that Meghan could not go if Catherine did not was a lie. If that were truly the case then Sophie, the then Countess of Wessex, would not have been allowed to attend Balmoral Castle and visit the dead Queen’s body; however, that she did do.

Ekaterina Perpetually, Racially Predatory of Meghan. Ekaterina Now the Most Powerful Windsor Wife

Catherine stayed behind so that with Meghan also left behind, she could confront her and be an evil, vile, psycho, mind-fucking bitch to Meghan about the Orpah interview. It would have been her one chance to do so and she would definitely have seized the opportunity to go to war with Meghan. She was still filled with animus the following day as they got ready to depart in the car at the Windsor walkabout. Ekaterina forthrightly came forward, and squared off with Meghan by looking at her then down at the ground as if to signify, you are done and truly buried; she was also most definitely hissing something from the set of her jaw and rictus grin. There was no equanimity or truce with the Windsor walkabout. Meghan having been confronted the day prior at Windsor by Ekaterina, who declined to go to Balmoral Castle, because she wanted to confront Meghan, looked yet again exhausted for being around 9 energy bodied Ekaterina which is precisely the effect that a negatively focussed warrior soul (Ekaterina) would have on an artisan soul (Meghan).

Ekaterina, Patron Saint & Queen of the Karens

This is why Ekaterina has emerged in all of this as an icon, SWF, a great heroine – Patron Saint and Queen of the Karens. In the preceding photograph, Ekaterina is being fawned over and worshipped on the eve of Caligula II’s coronation. Naturally, as Ekaterina drove off the Yank/Negro in the royal family, everyone of those women who ‘just love her’ are gushing with love for and pride in Ekaterina because she did what was expected of her and as they would also have done of any Black woman, moving into their neighbourhood or workplace. Get rid of it! And oh what great sport they would have in doing so, which is precisely why Meghan shared the soul-crushing suicidal ideation that she experienced for being subjected to the unrelenting racial animus from Wilhelm & Ekaterina and all the lisping racist sycophants of theirs both within the royal households, J’anusz der Schmeckel-Snitz et al, and the FSAs.

Unhinged Loon Hiding In Plain Sight.

Just as she sat there gurning like a blasted loon whilst the fruit of her toxic womb embarrassed the shit out of her before the world at the Platinum Jubilee Parade – remember how she laughed at Meghan and her culture at the Sussexes’ wedding, so too she fakes it through royal life, being the new, beloved White goddess – Queen of the Karens and killing off Elizabeth II’s image/iconography for all time. Truth be told, Ekaterina is more damaging to the monarchy/Britain than Andrew, Duke of York. When growing up in the Caribbean, I used to visit my aunt in St. Croix – where incidentally I experienced by first racially predatory attack by mainland Whites whose father was a local judge. On Sunday afternoons, my aunt’s church used to go to have service at a senior care home where there also were disturbed youth, some cerebral palsy; at the time, all the residents were Whites. There were Whites in St. Kitts, it was, though, the first time that I had experienced mentally-afflicted, institutionalised young persons. It was sheer madness. I found the experience each time so confusion, I wanted to empathise with them yet all they did was react to us for being Blacks as though we were freaks… seriously.

Ekaterina Boozed Up & Predatory. Banned Paul Emsley Portrait. Caligula II’s Scottish Enthronement

There was one woman there, a patient, who had about half an inch worth of forehead and the largest gums. All she did was hide from us, as we were Blacks, then would gurn and hiss at us, then run away and hide some more whilst laughing her truly lunatic skull off. Fifty plus years later, I always think of that disturbed woman whenever I see Ekaterina gurning. Indeed, as Meghan told Oprah, “the reality is nothing like it seems.” 9s are shrill and borderline unhinged when focussed on being adversarial to whomever they’ve chosen to target and never ever do they cease targeting the subject of their focussed animus – this is precisely why Ekaterina has transposed her racially predatory bullying and harassment of Meghan via cannibalising her through clothing et al.

Make It The Motherfuck Make Sense

How now, sweet little darling, you are still an embarrassing, inarticulate bore who is as charismatic as sodden cardboard. Nothing like a weak, insecure woman; she will destroy everyone around her. Going after Meghan has come at the cost of her marriage and her thirdborn’s mental health. Louis validates that not only is she a drunk but she is that queer oddity, the functionally unhinged; clearly, for Prinz Wilhelm, it has become a total trip and exhaustive buyer’s remorse. Prinzessin Ekaterina for being a meanspirited bully, to say nothing of racist boor, has betrayed her culpability by having waged a racially charged, bullying campaign against Meghan.

Texts Between Ekaterina & Meghan as Shared in Prince Harry’s SPARE

It is clear from the text message shared in Prince Harry’s searing memoir, SPARE, that Ekaterina was hellbent on breaking and sadistically owing Meghan; Meghan of course was professional and infinitely gracious. Nothing of that exchange suggests that Ekaterina is predisposed to crying. She is of coalmining pedigree and exposed to power, she has become drunk on power and corrupted of spirit. Nothing in that text exchange points to Meghan being a bully and a bitch but yeah, the Waleses control the narrative in the tabloids. How fucking bored must one be to be indulging in this petty BS, save of course if you’re bigoted boors, you will act exactly as Prinz Wilhelm and Prinzessin Ekaterina have.

Abigail Spencer 4.8.1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11, Fraulein von Rictus der Gurnalot und Mumbleweiss

The psychology of this vindictive, archly petty, shitty excuse for a woman is pretty obvious. Knowing that Abigail Spencer was born on the same day, same year as Meghan, she targets Meghan by wearing the exact dress as Abigail wore to Meghan’s royal wedding. This served as the opening salvo in her long running soft cannibalisation of Meghan through the tabloids by way of her choice of clothing.

Meghan Carries Portmanteau, Followed Thereafter by Ekaterina Doing Same

Now fraulein von Rictus der Gurnalot takes her psychotic stalking directly to Meghan after the Oprah interview when Meghan and Harry were successfully received at the Global Citizen Festival in New York City’s Central Park, five months later in September, 2021. Naturally, the gurning bully showed up to an event, carrying a portmanteau, mimicking and ridiculing Meghan.

Meghan Remembrance at Cenotaph, 2019. Ekaterina Remembrance at Cenotaph, 2021

As a result of the Oprah interview in March 2021, Prinzessin Ekaterina wears a broad downturned hat at the Cenotaph in November, 2021 after Meghan had done so in 2019, Ekaterina‘s obsession is febrile as for one thing, Elizabeth II was close to dying, she has been beyond livid that her true ugliness has been exposed in the Oprah interview.

St. Paul’s Cathedral Queen’s Platinum Jubilee Service, June 2022

Elizabeth II’s Platinum Jubilee Celebrations. Of course, timing being everything, her long reign turned farcical towards its closing hours. For having outed them on Oprah, now comes the revenge. Not only are they now non-working royals – whatever the blasted motherfuck that is? – but they also do not get to stand on the balcony – oh boo-fucking-hoo. Then, if that’s not enough, to drive home what petty fuckers they all are, they have that blasted rhino-stumped heifer, Baroness Marie-Christine der Blackamoor Brooch sat in the row behind the then Prince of Wales and his miserably wedded heir, with Meghan and Harry sat across the aisle and directly in front of Caligula’s up skirt Battyman even though with Elizabeth II still breathing, the kilted stud has as yet begun living openly with his debauched and buggered lover, Herr Fatty-Fingers.

Love Is In the Air… Up Skirt & Musky As All Hell

There was the lover, apprenticing up skirt Elizabeth II’s poopy-smelling frockcoats in June, 2022 and a mere five months later, there was he in November, 2022 sat in the royal box.

Meghan The Duchess of Sussex Speech in Full at One Young World Summit, 2022

Harry & Meghan, The Duke & Duchess of Sussex

Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex delivers speech at One Young World Summit in Manchester, England on the eve of Elizabeth II’s death, September 2022. This, in a mere three months, gives Ekaterina, the bullying, power mad, gurning loon the idea to outdo Meghan. Look for sycophant Sir Bod Geldof hardly rise as Meghan takes to the lectern.

Prinzessin Ekaterina von Rictus der Gurnalot und Mumbleweiss Suffers Charisma Implosion

Ekaterina von Rictus der Gurnalot und Mumbleweiss & Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted

Elizabeth II is now dead and buried and Prinzessin Ekaterina von Rictus der Gurnalot und Mumbleweiss has been getting all the King’s RADA sycophants to try and make a half decent silk purse of this limp, sodden sow’s rectum – god how they must sit around, as actors are wont to do, hysterically shrieking at what a dumb twat she is. Shocker, there she was, wearing an electric red pantsuit as Meghan had months earlier, to also give a keynote address. Somehow, this obsessive boor thinks that for mimicking Meghan, she was suddenly going to be possessed of intellect, eloquence and prove remotely charismatic – fraulein gurn und mumble indeed.

C’est très Charmant, Mais Oui, Non. Chile It Speaks with Its Hands!
Keep Your Damn Hands Out of Spike Lee’s Face!
Wilhelm Is Just Biting Off His Lower Lip. There’ll Be More Shouting for That Performance

Together. Our Community Cookbook Forwarded by HRH The Duchess of Sussex

Meghan, The Hague 2022, Transparent Racial Predator Ghouls, Grenfell Tower June, 2023

Summer 2022, Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex accompanies Prince Harry to the Invictus Games at The Hague. June 2023, on the sixth anniversary of the Grenfell Tower, Ekaterina attended the ceremony, though at the time, and I was in London during the Grenfell Tower fire, Ekaterina did not look over her shoulder. Of course, she could have sent the newly minted Duke & Duchess of Edinburgh, but Ekaterina as ever had to make a point and tear her flat arse in Meghan’s face. Meghan wears Chanel flats to Invictus Games in 2022, so Prinzessin Ekaterina goes to Grenfell Tower ceremony where Meghan had launched the Together cookbook to assist the devastated residents of Grenfell Tower as another way of letting Meghan know, “Bitch you can run to Oprah all you want, I got you out of here, you are not here and I will never let you back!” So petty is the goddamn gurning loon, Ekaterina, with the little baby Mr. Mango freak, Damian. Just as in January, 2023 and June, 2023, Ekaterina takes the time to directly look into the camera as she bullies Meghan – mostly her racist Karen flock and the FSAs. Prinzessin Ekaterina is saying “fuck you” Meghan whilst looking directly into the camera, thereby betraying how miserably she has failed to own and control Meghan. Her vacuous life passed, plotting and scheming how next to cannibalise/stalk Meghan by way of clothing, shoes at charity appearances.

Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex Wears Signature Aquazurra Bow Tie Heels

Ekaterina on the Eve of Caligula II’s Coronation. Meghan Duchess of Sussex Queen Elizabeth II’s Funeral. Alpaca-Faced Baby Mama, Coronation

Meghan, having quite had enough of small island, small-minded bitches, turned her back on the racist island kingdom. Left to stew in their venom, who could possibly be surprised by SWF Ekaterina on the eve of the coronation saying fuck you to Meghan, who was declined an invitation, by wearing the Aquazurra bow tie heels, which previously Ekaterina had never owned or worn. This woman, Ekaterina, is so immensely petty. How indeed could Meghan not have been driven to suicidal ideation when harassed and lynched by this out-of-control, power mad, racist woman of coalmining pedigree?

With Meghan leaving Spotify under super agent Ari Emanuel, naturally, both Spotify and the Waleses had something to celebrate. Having taped an episode for Shrek & co.’s podcast, they cunningly made sure that the event took place in the same drawing room at Windsor Castle – god only knows there is only one drawing room in Windsor Castle – as the official portraits of Harry & Meghan’s wedding. Naturally, they waited to air said sports podcast, to coincide with the opening of Prince Harry’s Invictus Games in Dusseldorf as a way to overshadow the Games but also to telegraph to Harry & Meghan that they were history; they were being whitewashed from royal history. Of course, good old Shrek just had to go and remind us that Ekaterina is a blasted drunk who is Queen of beer pong.

The next day, Ekaterina who had now replaced Prince Harry as patron for English rugby union was at their match in France at the Rugby World Cup, 2023. Naturally, as Harry was being erased, Ekaterina just had to wear a white pantsuit, clutch and similar round pendant necklace as Meghan had the summer prior at the Invictus Games at The Hague.

Meghan NAACP Image Awards. Ekaterina von Rictus der Gurnalot Being Functionally Unhinged

Earlier during Black History Month at the start of the pandemic, Harry & Meghan picked up an award at the NAACP Image Awards for their humanitarian work. Fast forward, et voilà, as predictable as a monkey jacking off, there reliably is the fucking sodden cardboard psycho, sporting the same outfit; there can certainly be no mistaking, who ape batshit crazy Damian’s mother is. All this does raise the very pertinent question, how interested is Ekaterina in these charities, if clearly a major reason for showing up, is to further her psychotic aggression against Meghan?

Royal Wedding of HRH Princess Eugenie & Jack Brooksbank, October 2018

HRH Prince Eugenie’s wedding to Jack Brooksbank afforded further insights to the dynamics of the relations between the royal princes and their wives. At the 50:20 minute mark, both TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex arrived, followed immediately after by TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. It was a hurried affair and likely there were some hisses once waiting to enter the quire and be sat before the world’s gaze. The senior ducal couples are sat in the quire, Prince Harry sat between his wife, Meghan and sister-in-law, Ekaterina. Meghan ever ‘on’ busies herself whilst avoiding Ekaterina’s hissing/sniping and chats with Zara Tindall.

Prinz Wilhelm Restrains Reptile Ekaterina. Prince Harry Foils Pregnant Meghan from the Evil Boor

At the 01:05:50 mark of said video, Meghan can be seen chatting with HRH Princess Anne, The Princess Royal sat to her immediate left as she has no desire to lean across Prince Harry and chat with the fork-tongued, slithering, power mad coalmining offal. Then at the 01:06:55 mark, behind Sarah, Duchess of York & HRH Princess Beatrice, Ekaterina is seen tapping Prinz Wilhelm on the left thigh, he holds her right hand and she goes on to neurotically rub his thigh, as he restrains her inner hissing. Of course, at this point, Wilhelm & Ekaterina are both aware that Meghan is with child and you can bet, the campaign was already begun to drive Meghan mad, have her either miscarry or suicide. They do not want an Octoroon in their family. Just imagine, a curly afroed ginger, Archie would be the obsession of the British tabloids to the exclusion of Ekaterina’s own not-the-swiftest-of-souls sons, though to be sure sure, Charlotte does fire on all engines. Early days yet, for Meghan it was just smile serenely and carry on. Prinz Wilhelm was of course, restraining his venomous wife who was utterly opposed to Meghan being in their midst and wanted her gone. For his part, Wilhelm is still his mother’s son and Meghan is his brother’s wife.

Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex, Princess Henry of Sussex

Meghan, the most powerful Windsor wife, since her soul was previously incarnate as a female member of the British monarchy, Margaret Beaufort, Tudor matriarch. The importance of Meghan in this current drama is not easily disguise, though, there is a great effort exerted to distract from the truth. At the heart of Meghan’s lynching is the fact that the royals of The House of Windsor have been outed as racist boors. This was not easy for Elizabeth II as she spent her entire life projecting the image of the great matriarch of the Commonwealth and all its disparate races. Meghan was supposed to have sustained that legacy and been the bridge to the Commonwealth when racist Prinz Wilhelm & Prinzessin Ekaterina had no desire to make forays into predominantly Black Commonwealth nations – they still have not toured one of the predominantly Black 19 commonwealth nations in sub-Saharan Africa.

Ekaterina & Mary. Ekaterina & Stephanie of Luxembourg. Ekaterina & King Wilhelm-Alexander

Ekaterina has never once toured any of the 19 African Commonwealth nations. How do you justify being a senior royal and mother of a future Sovereign yet in 12 years of marriage never once having set foot in not one of those 19 predominantly Black Commonwealth nations? Twice she has undertaken Commonwealth tours on behalf of Elizabeth II when she was clearly no longer able to undertake such taxing tours. Instead of her lazy racist hide going on tour, Caligula II and Anne have done the lion’s share of this work and merkin-predisposed Sophie taking up the slack. Ekaterina, the Queen of the Karens, has been on tour to a mere 9 Commonwealth nations, whilst having visited 13 non Commonwealth nations. Ekaterina does not like non-Whites and most definitely, she does not like Blacks. Ekaterina, the overindulged never once had to undertake a royal tours whilst pregnant, yet there was Meghan on her first royal tour, days after it was announced that she was expectant with Prince Archie. Ekaterina has speciously claimed that she has stayed put rather than tour as she wants to bring up her kids; obviously, from the looks of Louis/Damian, Ekaterina has had little to no time to spare on the damaged fruit of her toxic womb.

Ekaterina Holding Dress Avoiding Blacks. Belize Standoff. Ekaterina Rebuffs Jamaican Olivia Grange

If 2022 were not a Jubilee year, Ekaterina would not have undertaken a royal tour of Commonwealth nations. She was loath to have to do so on Elizabeth II’s behalf. At the start of the tour, there was her outright rudeness to the local Blacks in Belize, and later in Jamaica she rudely brushed off the Minister of Sports, Olivia Grange, who tried to take her hand. Ekaterina is as common as an Ozarks redneck full of anti-Black racist venom. The white t-shirt photo perfectly captures the penny dropping moment for the racially predatory pair; if only they had not chased Meghan from the kingdom, she would be the one undertaking this damn tour to be amongst the natives, whom they are so loath to have to tolerate for a damn nanosecond.

Caligula II à La République de la France. Brigitte, Milonia Caesonia & Incitatus. Milonia Caesonia in Dior

As was plain for all to see, there was Caligula II on his official visit to La République de la France with his lover, the kilted Incitatus openly walking alongside Madame Brigitte Macron & Milonia Caesonia on the Champs-Élysées no less. Of course, having Meghan perpetually, unrelentingly lynched takes the spotlight off debauched and buggered Caligula II. Meghan has to be hung from a tree and the White tribe get its jollies so that god forbid Milonia Caesonia should be booed or openly rejected for the pain she caused the beloved Diana, Princess of Wales. Too, Meghan serves the purpose of keeping whispers of the kilted Incitatus being more than Caligula II’s equerry at bay. No need to have whispers persisting as to why Caligula II lives apart from Milonia Caesonia with the virile Incitatus at Highgrove. I for one, as I flatly replied to friend, don’t give a damn what her Dior cost but I do care to know what it cost to replace all that shattered glass at the Palais de Versailles!

Serena Ohanian-Williams. Meghan, HRH The Duchess of Sussex. Abigail Spencer, NYC Baby Shower.

No matter how much Caligula II and his henchmen in the media cast their nets far and wide, they will never be able to affect Harry and Meghan’s success and happiness. One thing that they will never do, is remove Harry & his heirs from the line of succession as some of the media racist boors bleat on. The moment they do any such thing, their greatest fear would be realised: a memoir of Meghan’s detailing the racist abuse that she suffered at the hands of senior royals. Meghan knows her power, this is why she does not set foot anywhere near the lot of them when charitable work takes her to England.

Harry & Meghan with Oprah Winfrey. David Foster & Prince Harry. Meghan & Harry with Kevin Costner

More than all that, showbiz is all about knowledge and the power of secrets; the land of make believe, is all about power to ruin someone by exposing their secrets. Everyone in Hollywood knows the goods on the senior royals at this point. The baby shower in New York City in February, 2019 was for Meghan to decompress from the racist maelstrom that she faced whilst pregnant. Ekaterina & Wilhelm wanted her to suicide; Meghan needed a break from Wilhelm and Ekaterina’s campaign of convincing Meghan that she was carrying Rosemary’s Baby – talk about irony as per Damian’s coming at at the Platinum Jubilee. Talk about karma; they serve up their petty seating for the Sussexes and the next day the universe had the last laugh as Damian, finally let out of his cage, pissed and humped the dominatrix’s leg .

Jessica Mulroney. Janina Gavankar. Sophie Grégoire-Trudeau.

Lindsay Roth. Misha Nonoo-Hess. Delfina Blaquier

Oprah stated that there was a lot more tape to that interview. Tyler Perry pointedly stated that there was a lot more that Meghan could have said in her Oprah interview, which would have proven injurious to the House of Windsor’s senior royals. David Foster’s wife is Katherine McPhee who went to the same high school as Meghan. The Fosters know the senior Mulroneys, plus Ben and Jessica, not to mention Sophie Grégoire-Trudeau & husband, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. All these people socially overlap and at their level of society, they do not have fallings out – relationships and connections are of immense financial worth. These are tight, well-guarded, upper social strata bonds that transcend politics and social whims.

Molina Caesonia, Caligula II, Prinz Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted, Prinzessin Ekaterina von Rictus

No matter what the dog whistling Windsor media henchmen speciously allege on their silly little island, they have no power and their unmasked truth is a known open secret, which makes it the most bankable commodity in Hollywood. Meghan is a devastating threat because with her departure and by taking Harry and their children with her, the House of Windsor is suddenly exposed as utterly vulnerable and frankly irrelevant.

Vichyssoise. Brown Sugar & Butter Roasted Squash. Ossobuco on Roasted Pine Nuts & Baby Carrots

Back in late spring of 1987, Merlin and I hosted an old friend of mine to dinner at our Cabbagetown home. Back in the late ’70s, Ivan was an eccentric artist: painter, sculptor and former dancer from New York City. He lived a rather bohemian theatrical life in a loft across Markham Street from Ed Mirvish’s Honest Ed in Mirvish Village. One day, after I had been by for tea and great conversation, he took me across the street and introduced me, grandly stating that I was now going to start working for them that very day, and I did. Eventually, I was off to Winnipeg to study dance which proved the most soul-crushing, racist experience imaginable. I remember sitting there in the theatre, the house lights going down and the full dress rehearsal for Romeo & Juliet was begun. The only Black in the school, I also had the humiliating experience of being the only student who was not allowed to take part in the production. I was crushed and this was after having suffered the indignity of having another male in the school piss into my locker’s grated door into my shoes and socks, which meant having to venture home in -30°C and colder in the driven snow in piss-sodden socks that were frozen to my feet by the time I made it home to my tiny apartment on Assiniboine. That late spring, Merlin and I slaved away in the kitchen, prepping for dinner with Ivan. As a rule, I never once cooked a meal for any of Merlin’s friends; most of all, none of his friends were ever invited when I had friends of my own to dinner. We started with vichyssoise, followed by halved, baked squash with butter and brown sugar, into which was placed purple rice smothered in melted white cheddar and slivered almonds. The main course was Merlin’s favourite, the most sublime ossobuco sat on a bed of liqueur-sautéed pine nuts and adorned by baby carrots. Ivan was a great raconteur, with the loudest, most irreverent fuck-that laugh, and a ravenous appetite; it was always good to host him and repay his kindness from the decade earlier; moreover, Merlin genuinely loved his company.

Chicago. Halved Lobster Meal. Washington D. C.

Ivan it was who had introduced me to a wealthy friend of his, who was a patron of the arts and lived in Chicago, New Orleans and Washington D.C. He thought that my experience in Winnipeg was ridiculously hellish and I needed to get out. Naturally, his friend’s lover got wind of my existence then called the school and reported, “Ms. Thang was trying to thief her man!” This was great ammunition for the school’s principal who treated my existence in class as though I were truly invisible. Next, the scheming, bigoted principal, an ex-lover of whose told me that I would never get into the company so arch was his hatred of Blacks, went all out to exterminate me. He then set me up with someone for lunch whom I assumed was the hotel manager at the local Holiday Inn. Large-bodied but kind and reserved, I replied after he asked why I was not eating, starved though I was, that my mother’s name was Miriam, a Jew and we neither ate pork nor shellfish. The halved whole lobster before me truly made me feel nauseous. He called a waiter, had it replaced and asked where I was from as I ravenously tucked in whilst schooling him on Nevis. He then gave me his business card and that of the banquet supervisor. Days later, I called him a few times to thank him for getting me the job of waiter/bartender at the hotel – god only knows I was at 105lbs dying on a diet, noon and night, of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I then had a sit-down interview with the school principal, who let me know that there was a complaint against me for repeatedly calling my host at lunch in the hotel. Imagine that, calling someone to say thanks for their kindness and getting me a gig, is deemed suspect? All along, I had assumed that he was the banquet manager, it was Ivan who told me that that manager, Izzy Asper, was one of the richest Canadians who owned the damn hotel! Furthermore, the principal then took it on himself to announce to the whole school that it did not reflect well on him and his school to have students with sugar daddies or any student aggressively looking for sugar daddies in his school. Looking back, the thought that the principal actually used Mr. Asper as bait to accuse me of being a male whore when the gentleman was not remotely Queer, was truly repugnant to me.

Mirvish Books on Art, Mirvish Village. Christina’s World, Andrew Wyeth, MoMA. New Orleans.

Years earlier whilst Merlin was in Toronto filming Fraggle Rock at the CBC studios with Jim Henson, I was still resident in New York City, dancing and spending much time with milliner Frederick Jones & former dancer, Attila Isaksen, who had the greatest feet of any dancer I have ever seen, male or female. Attila laughed at life and was a great spirit whose brief dance career took him from Houston to New York City. Attila born March 7, 1955 had two numbers in common with me and was also possessed of master number 11 – he is also an artisan soul like me and an entity mate. Attila thought that my experience in Winnipeg was beyond absurd. One evening after we had had more fantastic sex, we sat in the tub talking, laughing and sipping on red wine before more robust noisy sexual play. “How did you manage to survive that penal colony, my god?” Attila asked to which we both roared. Of course, I then shared with Attila how I charmed the school principal into giving me the job of school custodian, which he gleefully accepted – never underestimate the stupidity of ‘Whites,’ rather than Caucasians, who are ever convinced that one is never possessed of intellect for being Black. I then proceeded to master cleaning the place in record time, when I had figured out how to do the four hour gig in 1.5 hours, I then set about scouring the school principal’s notes that he kept of all students. Indeed, he dismissed me as unaware and not company worthy. More than that, I got keen insights to his opinions of male students, especially the not remotely Gay ones, of whom he seemed ever keen on grooming – breaking them in. Attila, naturally, was not surprised at any of this; it is par for the course in the dance world.

Soul Crooners: Barry White. Al Green & Teddy Pendergrass

Going on, I then told Attila of my casual lover who lived just off Pembina Highway in the city’s south end. I spent at least two weekends per month with him for about a year. He was a tall, jet-black Jamaican nurse, whose house was covered throughout in plastic as he collected two of every item of furniture, the spare one to be eventually shipped home to Jamaica where he would build a house and retire – this is not as uncommon as one would assume. I shared how after each fuck, I felt splayed and truly as if paralysed from the hips down. Randomly, Attila asked if I was familiar with Andrew Wyeth’s paintings; indeed, I wasn’t then familiar. Devon Bradford had the largest, thickest, big Black cock, I have ever seen; it felt arousing of spirit each time to see what my tiny body had just conquered. Attila shared that I was correct in my observation that truly big-dicked Black men always played damn good soul music to hypnotise you into a spectacular, memorable fuck – Attila’s lovers were all Black. We howled at how many times we had heard the same Barry White, Teddy Pendergrass and Al Green songs; Attila of Scandinavian heritage, by way of Minnesota, had the thickest cock and his arms were covered in the same blonde forest of fur as Prince Harry’s. The next weekend, on a Saturday afternoon, Philip took me to MoMa for my first visit and guided me by the hand with his blindfold covering my eyes. We stopped, he removed the blindfold and we both erupted in hushed giggles. There before me was Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World, which perfectly reflected how, having shared with Attila, I felt each time after a soul-jousting fuck with Devon in cold, hellish, racist Winnipeg. Attila thought that I should have lived with Devon, who wanted to put me through nursing school; then again, said I, I would not have met him or Merlin. “Sooner or later that fucker is going to crawl into his casket and rot in hell, eating every pope’s arse,” I quietly told Attila of the racist school principal. Vaffanculo! In short order, Attila and I were returned to marvellously hot sex. There is no doubt in my mind that Meghan’s experience, for being the first Black to have married into the royal family, whilst living in England mirrored and surpassed in its cruelty aspects of the racism to which I was subjected for being the only Black in that school in Winnipeg.

Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex, Whitehall, November, 2018.

Ever, I will be most fuck-all indefatigable in defending Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex against all and everyone and will remain fiercely respectful of her, Prince Harry, Doria, their children, plus the persons who form their secure inner circle… to say nothing of their journey. I stood almost directly opposite Meghan in Whitehall at the time of the preceding photograph and the hatred being directed at this human was devastating. Not since my days in Winnipeg had I felt so racially smothered; Britons are vile racist boors.

Harry & Meghan, The Duke & Duchess of Sussex Invictus Games, Dusseldorf, Germany, 2023

Meghan made it perfectly clear that she will never bow or curtsey to a racist boor by staying away from Caligula II’s coronation. So there was Ekaterina with her team of lisping sycophants at the ready, waiting to see what Meghan would be wearing in Dusseldorf, to replicate it in short order. Well, fuck it! What is Ekaterina to do now? She most definitely cannot be seen wearing YSL sandals in public. Most of all, she cannot break protocol and start wearing shorts to official charity events. The strapless, metallic teal, lace midi was exquisite; most of all, there is no way for Ekaterina to cannibalise that look.

Now That’s What You Call Real Gangsta Cannibalism – Bronzer & an Afro Wig. Foxy Brown Ekaterina!

Silly Ekaterina, that’s what you get for showing up at Grenfell Tower event in June, 2023, wearing Chanel sandals and on the eve of the coronation, wearing Aquazurra bow tie heels. The only way for her to top Meghan’s look in Dusseldorf, is to show up with spray-on full body bronzer whilst wearing a curly afro wig. I would truly piss myself shrieking and you know that Ekaterina is both desperate and competitive enough to do just that.

How to Go Hooking and Sporting; ie Ekaterina Getting the Job Done Whether Bagging Prince or Lover

Everyone keeps carping on about how Ekaterina was so bullied and stressed out by Meghan. Bullshit! Ekaterina is an utterly vapid, shallow, embittered power mad cannibal with the famished soul of a dominatrix. Damn Ekaterina, Meghan is not your bitch to be either pegged or fisted by your febrile, sadistic, terrorising campaigns.

And the Mirror Cracked. Ekaterina’s Mask Slips

Silly woman, didn’t it ever occur to you, Ekaterina, that hating Meghan, is like pulling the pin on a grenade and forgetting to toss it? These mad amateurs think that they can simply demonise Meghan in the media and somehow, they will prove the first time in human civilisation that there aren’t two sides to this historic royal story. Ekaterina has never been on tour whilst pregnant; however, Meghan is shipped off to Australia on tour early during her first pregnancy. Further, whilst she is away in October, 2018 J’anusz der Schmeckel-Snitz is put up to write to Valery “The Fly” du Bout and allege that Meghan was a bully. Prinz Wilhelm & Prinzessin Ekaterina are to their supporters much like Donald Trump is to his followers; regardless the obvious facts, only their warped account of reality sans factual evidence matters and their race, Meghan’s race and that the FSAs certainly see to it.

J’anusz (Pronounced Anus, the J’ Is Silent) der Schmeckel-Snitz aka Herr J’anusz der SS.

As Wilhelm is not the swiftest of souls (3 & 2) he has left himself fully exposed as the complicit architect of so much of this absolute shitefest. If you cannot get the marriage cancelled – Thomas Markle Sr. slipped up on Live Australian TV and said that J’anusz der Schmeckel-Snitz had put him up to the Jerry Springer sideshow before The Sussexes’ wedding, in the hope that the wedding would be called off. In the meantime, since Meghan was pregnant, let’s apply even more pressure and hope that she either miscarries or commits suicide whilst on royal tour in the southern hemisphere. J’anusz, Wilhelm & Ekaterina’s bottom feeder, has access to the FSAs and of course, he knows too much about Prinz Wilhelm’s pegged & fisted proclivities.  For this reason, J’anusz has proven himself indispensable and as soon as Elizabeth II died, he is appointed by Wilhelm himself as an lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order, in December 2022. The little Texan cactus (now there’s a butt plug) merely acted on his own, regarding that email which highlighted Meghan’s alleged bullying of staff, which Prinz Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted releases J’anusz to go afford the court in a bid to assist the Fail on Sunday in its case against, Meghan – Meghan of course won because the courts saw how utterly amateurish and exposed Wilhelm & Ekaterina have left themselves in this entire tawdry affair. Since then as his secrets are too potentially damaging of the Waleses’ marriage and reputation, J’anusz has now become a major appointee at the vanity Earthshot Prize, which is about as meaningless as Wilhelm shucking oyster or was that a diamond encrusted dog tail butt plug that he was in search of? If J’anusz had to be seduced and bedded to get him to go after the senior Markles then so be it. Now like old Etonians, they are practically inseparable, J’anusz even climbing in next to him on the recent boys’ trip to New York City.

Wilhelm & Ekaterina, 2010. Prince Caligula & Diana Princess of Wales, 1981. Wilhelm & Ekaterina, 2021

Let’s face it, Ekaterina, every day is one day closer to the Prime Minister standing in Parliament and announcing that: “It is with regret that Buckingham Palace announces that the Prince & Princess of Wales are to be separated.” Ten years on, and Ekaterina could not directly look into the camera. Notice, too, Wilhelm’s arms no longer wrap completely about Ekaterina’s body ten years on. So glad that Harry let Prinz Wilhelm have their mother, Diana, Princess of Wales’ sapphire engagement ring; the damn thing is clearly cursed.

“All of Me, Why Not Take All of Me…” Sing It, Peggalicious. Wreath Laying in India.

Just look at that two-way pegged and fisted byway being flagrantly advertised; what does J’anusz der SS not know? Indeed, what debauched peggalicious fun did J’anusz and Wilhelm get up to in New York City from which Ekaterina was banished so that boys and lovers could be pegged and fisted boy and lovers. Naturally, J’anusz has conveniently been handsomely placed at Earthshot Prize, making his companionship less likely to arouse suspicion. What’s more, Ekaterina is not going to Singapore because at the end of the day, Diana is not Ekaterina’s mum, she is Harry’s mum.

Birthday Cake, August, 2023. Not Mine, It Is Not a Raspberry Encircled Chocolate Mousse Cake

Birthday cake, which in this family of mine, it can only mean leonine birthdays! I was poring through photographs last night and could not find my own chocolate mousse cake encircled by raspberries. I was sharing with my transitioned wife why my disdain for strawberries and told of my 27th birthday party back in Cabbagetown, in 1987, when I flatly stated to Ivan and a friend of Merlin’s in from Montréal, strawberries are rough on the palate; they are coarse. They are like an uncut cock; big though it may be, it is still ill-formed. Now give me raspberries, smooth and elegantly they massage the palate; sensually, indulgently, they are like a big cock with ample foreskin. How could you ever go wrong? Naturally, there were oodles of laughter as Ivan enjoyed my delivery to which Merlin leaned in and stole long warm kisses. This year the eldest of my three sisters was in town; she had not been up from Nevis since before the pandemic’s first lockdown. As I left Nevis at aged 7 months, she is the family’s historian.

St. Thomas Anglican Church, Nevis, Est 1643

I was delighted to see photographs of her attending a funeral during the pandemic where protocol dictated that only 15 souls were allowed. The service was at the oldest Anglican church in the Caribbean, St. Thomas, in Nevis where Alexander Hamilton worshipped. There giving the eulogy was Spice Girl, Mel B, as her dad, a Brown, whose mother had died, had been a maternal second cousin of my mum’s. My mum’s mother had 17 children of which 7 made it to adulthood, and she had close to a ten siblings. On my mum’s dad side are the Sephardic Levine family. On my dad’s side, he was the paternal first cousin of the actor Cicely Tyson. My father’s patrilineal branch is also descended from relations between Alexander Hamilton’s father and a servant. From that banyan, there have been four governors-general and on the matrilineal side, my mum was cousin once removed or second cousin once removed, so confusing at times, of Oprah Winfrey’s partner, Steadman and as every family has a pariah, Louis Farrakhan. Writers, musicians, painters and legal professionals abound. Penina had photos of Mel B. at the lectern eulogising my mum’s cousin, her paternal grandmother.

Soon I’ll Be Loving You Again. Marvin Gaye. I Want You ©1976 Motown

The Sugar Shack. Acrylic on Canvas. 36 x 48 Inches. ©1976 Ernie Barnes

Strangely, Penina attends every funeral there is and will even island hop to St. Kitts next door or as far flung as St. Croix, Anguilla to attend somebody’s funeral… most odd. In any event, soon it was my turn to start sharing of my latest dream of some recently dearly departed. These are always the best dreams as they are the most intensely lucid affairs set on the astral plane. This Ernie Barnes painting, The Sugar Shack, perfectly epitomises the vibrancy of these astral plane-focussed dreams. At these crossover dreams, there is always a boisterous celebration to welcome the recently departed into the chrysalis state of the soul’s journey. Within these dreams, the music is more elevated and enriching an encapsulation of Black earthly life than you can ever imagine.

https://dreampoetica.com/2023/01/05/oh-to-be-black-jew/

In spring, 2022, an amour fou from childhood passed on and his crossover celebration was stupendous, link to said affair in blog highlighted above. I had not seen so many persons from my childhood as we start dying off; moreover, there were so many souls present whom I was too young to have remembered from childhood. The true elixir that even surpassed the music, was the food. I am still craving some of the dishes tasted then in that dream that I have not indulged since childhood. That birthday proved the most lovely, loving family gathering.

Miles Davis. Seven Steps To Heaven. Full Album ©1963 Columbia Records

Miles Davis – Trumpet

George Colman – Tenor Saxophone

Victor Feldman – Piano

Ron Carter – Bass

Frank Butler =- Drums

Herbie Hancock – Piano

Tony Williams – Drums

©1963 Columbia Records

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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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©2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

The Thrill Is Gone… Or Is It Really?

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge at Mayan pyramid in Belize. This is immensely sad. All is choice and Catherine very strategically is choosing to demonstrate that she is alone, adrift, pained and utterly isolated. It has been simply intriguing to observe the metamorphosis that she has undergone during this trip and it is not yet over. And no matter what, she endures, Catherine is being blindly made to play her role in this pantomime in which the people have exalted her, making her the penultimate icon of the great white hope. She just wants to be human… and clearly, she just wants to be loved and not iced out.

On their arrival they were stiff and awkward, having to deal with as online commenters claimed ‘the natives.’ Of course, much of their behaviour towards the locals was informed by their 9s’ innate need to reject all that is ‘other.’

Just look at HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, he stands there betraying his 9 mindset and having held hands with the Black dance partner, is scratching at the back of his hand as though trying to rid himself of having been sullied in some way. That is quintessentially the behaviour of a scholar soul and most definitely a scholar soul with 9 in its numerology.

Having danced and loosened up, though, William seemed to be wanting to exorcise the blackness to which he had been exposed, soon enough, they would undergo further metamorphosis. More to the point, they needed to be exorcised of the entrapping reality in which they are usually cocooned.

These moments at the Mayan pyramid were painful to have observed. It was here at that Catherine chose to lay her dilemma on the line. There is no way to get around the distance between the royal couple. However, there was hope, having bee surrounded by spiritually focussed Mayans and tangentially smudged by the smoky fire before which they sat.

Metaphysically, the Cambridges’ trip to Belize was in some way a reckoning; they would be more aware of this but as the trip progressed more and more things became clearer. Either way, I think that it is safe to say that they departed Belize vastly different to when they arrived days earlier.

Yet another disturbing moment wherein Catherine chose to telegraph her distress and allowing herself to be portrayed as being moored by drink in an escape from her malaise of being exquisitely alone… set adrift. There is positively no way that HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh would have allowed himself to be photograph next to the Sovereign with a drink in hand. Catherine is away but she also pained and these moments seem a desperate cry for help.

Marvellous shimmering Jenny Packham design that beautifully betrayed Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s innate warrior soul handsomeness. There is never any doubt that Catherine would excel at being winningly stylish whilst on royal tour. With each outfit, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge seems as if finding her power and emerging from a cocoon of painfulness. It is admirable to observe. That drink in hand is a disturbing prop, especially when one realises that warrior souls are more likely to take to drink when not fulfilled… when they are in some way pained. Scholar soul to the core, this speech of HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge painfully illustrated that he has neither gravitas nor charisma; in this day and age of swelling republicanism, this should be of some concern for monarchists throughout the realm.

What a wonderful way to decompress and get closer to nature and to one’s soul centre. This is especially true when one realises that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge are task companions.

And then, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge deplaned in Kingston, Jamaica and Sol shone as never before. This Jamaican trip has been an absolute watershed moment. I am always pleased to see Catherine at those three times of year as previously stated multiple times on this blog. This radiantly yellow Roksanda dress was the most uplifting experience imaginable. The moment I saw that shocking yellow, I yelled triumphantly, ‘Go on Girl!’

Lisa Hanna & Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge conversing.

As stated by Ms. Hanna in an article that she wrote in the guardian.co.uk, at no point did the alleged incident which appeared in dailymail.co.uk occur. The video has since been proven to have been doctored to look as though Ms. Hanna snubbed Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. Curiously enough, I watched the event being streamed and at no point when Ms. Hanna & Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge were sat side by side, did the incident in the manipulated video occur.

The moment that I saw Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge in that yellow Roksanda dress, I thought back to July 23, 2013 when she appeared on the steps of St. Mary Hospital, holding her firstborn, HRH Prince George of Cambridge. Visiting with friends, I raised a glass of champagne and toasted, ‘Hip hip, here’s to the future HM Queen Catherine, Queen Mother!’

The energy between both women was always civil, courteous and harmonious; there was no snub from either woman towards either woman as alleged. This Roksanda dress with its shot of uplifting energy just made Catherine exceptionally shine and if only she could be perpetually in a state of inner peace as the Roksanda design brought forth.

This was not the standard gurning fare with and by which we have all been familiar and bored. This was Catherine, becoming besotted on those Bob Marley vibes and laughing and looking genuinely happy, smiling such that it was infectious. May these fleeting moments in the Caribbean eclipse her pain, which unabashedly she has no qualms with displaying in public as when holding a drink whilst William spoke and her forlorn, pained look as she stood before the Mayan pyramid, looking for all the world to see like a lost Lara Croft.

Bedazzling in her impeccable Alexander McQueen white pantsuit, there was Catherine meeting the Jamaican Prime Minister’s wife, Juliet Holness. Known as the island of amazons, Juliet did not disappoint because in her near 11 years as senior royal, Catherine was come face-to-face with a woman, who was actually taller than her! Indeed, there is a first time for everything. And boy, both ladies looked fabulous.

And then my darlings, Jenny Packham worked more of her incomparable magic, which handsomely spirited Catherine away from pain and isolation, to ravishing über soignée splendour. Who cares that the mad, little Ural Doddy has got oil and wheat prices going nuts, to say nothing of eventual famine, possibly kicking off WWIII and nuclear winter, all the more reason why Catherine (and her cool but distant scholar task companion, William) on royal tour in the Caribbean has proven the right tonic to keep us euphoric, distracted and less – if only momentarily – gripped with fear.

HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge wears the tropical uniform of the Blues & Royal along with his garter sash; he is the 1000th Knight of the Garter, too. Catherine was equally handsome in delicate, white lace Alexander McQueen topped off by a Philip Treacy fascinator.

My second favourite photograph of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge on the royal tour of the Caribbean was her interaction with three Jamaicans at Norman Manley International Airport before departing for the Bahamas. All four humans are genuinely happy and relaxed in their company; who knows, they may all be cadre mates. Catherine wears the hummingbird brooch gifted to HM The Queen on her last visit to Jamaica in 2002 during her Golden Jubilee tour.

By far, one of my favourite outfits worn by Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. As I have family from posh Bahamian society, this dress is the true beau idéal. Wool crepe, it is a heavier fabric, which is just right for the Bahamas, which are farther north in the Caribbean which at this time of year is cooler rather than not. Furthermore, with 700 plus islands, there are no mountains in the Bahamas, so there is always a breeze, at times brisk, and of course at this time of year, cooler rather than tropical. For that reason, this heavy almost quilted-looking wool crepe, for being lined, is positively the proper choice. Catherine would not be reminded of England for being braced against the cool breezes of the Bahamas on arrival.

Beautiful, elegant, 8-year-old Aniah Moss clearly won the Duchess of Cambridge over from her smile… right down to her gloves.

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s Singin’ In the Rain moment. I love this photograph as it is the Carole smile as I like to refer to this look of Catherine’s; she always reminds me when she genuinely smiles as in this photograph of her mum, Carole. I think that it is safe to say that this royal tour brought the Cambridges closer together; they both appeared more relaxed with each other, themselves and it is the most relaxed either has ever looked when in the company of Blacks. This is especially true for HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge as it is not easy for all persons with mindsets of 9 (second number) to ever grow comfortable about persons whom they adversely perceive.

Love this marvellous breezy chiffon pale green dress by Self-Portrait; the earrings are especially beautiful.

This was the old HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. He was completely manifesting as late mature scholar soul – he is sixth-level mature – with a chief feature of stubbornness with a mindset of 9. He, like any such soul, would never mask his feelings; they simply cannot fake it. They have very strong positions on anything and anyone ‘other’ and this was certainly the case in December 2017 when HRH Princess Michael of Kent wore the blackamoor brooch and his brother’s royal wedding in May 2018. William is moving centred whereas Catherine is intellectual centred. Prime example of that is during the royal wedding of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex, William was not able to contain his mirth at Rev. Curry’s longwinded buffoonery. Moving centred persons are spontaneous, react in he moment and are rarely diplomatic then after the fact, realise that they could have been more tactful. It is the shoot first ask questions later approach to things.

This is Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, energy body of 9, caustic, socially glacial, distancing and never touched Black children. Talk about the Oprah effect; that interview and its fallout, along with the Duke & Duchess of Sussex having to leave hideously racist Britain, has caused them to soul-search, be more aware, empathetic. This trip was a major test for their 9 energy to be challenged and it is not every day that one gets to work on 9 energy, which is the most difficult to master and transmute. The Oprah interview led to Barbados removing the Sovereign as head of state and at this rate, other predominantly Black states, especially in the Caribbean, will follow Barbados’ suit when HM The Queen passes.

One cannot possibly begin to fathom how much HM The Queen is loved in the Caribbean – she has never been regarded as ‘white’ because she is not about being White – she meant her vows when pledging to dedicate her life to the service of the people… all people. For me, it is especially passionate a subject as the current deputy Governor-General of St. Kitts & Nevis is a relative and there are two former Governors-General of the federation who were also relatives.

William, of course, does have a black sister-in-law and his gorgeous redheaded niece and nephew do have a black maternal grandmother, Doria Ragland. William a scholar in stubbornness with mindset of 9 actually touching a Black child and genuinely being relaxed in the company of Blacks, is a major spiritual achievement for him.

Code: when William places his hand on Catherine’s back, she is livid and hissing beneath her breath. When Catherine places her hand on his back (mid to upper back) she is telling him to chill the eff out. When she places it in the small of his back, it is affectionate. Again, they are task companions and it will always be a very push-pull, intense relationship. They will row just as passionately as they will be tenderly intimate.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge competing in the Bahamas Platinum Jubilee Sailing Regatta, of which Prince William’s yacht was the winner. Like every warrior soul, Catherine will always be up for an adventure and being competitive; It’s truly engaging at the level of soul for her, and any warrior soul for that matter, to be focussed in any manner of sport. Both Catherine & William are living their third incarnation at their respective soul age, fifth mature for her and sixth mature for him, and as such will be fairly energetic, enterprising, and can be expected to have quite the shockingly impatient tongue on them – as well I should know; this is my third life at 7th level mature (artisan).

Another state dinner and Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge elegantly swans through the evening in a Phillipa Lepley gown with bows at the shoulder, matching clutch with William in smoking whilst in the Bahamas.

Last day of the three-nation royal platinum jubilee tour and TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge packed in a wallop of events. The more interesting was the fish fry and from HRH Prince William’s squirming, likely the least favourite was having to be around somnambulant locals in their repaired church on Abaco after devastating hurricane season in 2019.

When a child, I loved going to St. Kitts’ Warner Park in Basseterre where troops would be on parade. I always loved the large dome-shaped white hats of the soldiers, much like the ones worn by the Bahamian soldiers. HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge looked regally commanding in his tropical Blues and Royals uniform, especially so whilst wearing the blue garter sash.

So long, for now. This was without doubt a completely successful royal tour. Most of all from start to end, one watched both Catherine and William metamorphose into a better more harmonised version of themselves as humans and as a working partnership. What I loved about the trip, is the undeniable spiritual growth that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge clearly achieved.

From the start, the couple seemed pained and broken. It was tough to watch, especially seeing Catherine yet again nursing another drink in public.

Day by day, they got out of the rut of whatever has been keeping them pained and distant as has been plainly evident for the recent few years back at home in Britain.

With every breath, Catherine came more into her true self. Perhaps, it is the cacophony of insects at night that triggers lucid dream-filled sleep, all induced by the smell of ocean overwhelming the lungs.

This proves my favourite photograph of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge; these are the soulful eyes of a older soul warrior soul. From fifth level mature onwards, more of the brain is used and the realms of dreams and creativity expand exponentially. This is an august soul and her eyes betray her agedness of soul. Talk about exorcism, their journey to the Caribbean was a spiritual rebirth of sorts for this couple.

Metaphorically, this hurricane-ravaged building’s window in Abaco beautifully frames the Cambridges’ historic roles. The royal couple are looking out from the painful history of slavery to a future, a future wherein the commonwealth will continue growing, as all things do, in whatever way the people of the Caribbean and that wing of the commonwealth choose. They are walking away but most of all, one hopes that they take away a renewed spark that keeps their personal partnership more harmonious and supportive. I do believe that this trip saw the Cambridges commit themselves to serving the realm in a manner that would do the legacy of HM Queen Elizabeth II proud.

Look, it is in the nature of dogs to needlessly yap; but all this lamenting how disastrous the royal tour has been, is nonsense. Naysayers abound partout; however, at the end of the day, I was pleasantly surprised by the royal couple’s maturity and I do believe that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge can feel justifiably satisfied in a job well done. Hip hip!

Count Basie Orchestra – Corner Pocket.

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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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©2013-2026 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.

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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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©2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Pluto in Capricorn & in Opposition – Pandemic & 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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©2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Funerary Sartorial Splendour!

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as a mature-souled warrior can be counted on, each time that there is an official military-themed royal occasion, to get it pitch perfect time and again. Not a foot out of step. She is elegant, regal and decidedly plus que über soignée. Speaking to an old friend, she chided me for hating Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. Naturally, I stopped her in tracks; for one thing, I do not know these persons, secondly, I hate no one – that’s a waste of time and energy. I do know her numerology, her astrology and overleaves and on these portraits, I comment. Just as at Trooping the Colour, St. Patrick’s Day and Remembrance Day at Whitehall, I always look forward to Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s appearances. Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s sartorial splendour made a sombre event, the funeral service of the late HRH The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, less sad and, indeed, uplifting and hopeful. You cannot begin to imagine how pleased I was not to have seen HRH Princess Michael of Kent at the late Duke’s funeral. Clearly, there has been movement and appreciation of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex’s articulation of the rabid racism that they experienced during their interview with Oprah Winfrey on CBS weeks earlier. That woman, HRH Princess Michael of Kent ought never to have been sat in St. George’s Chapel during the Royal wedding of THR Duke & Duchess of Sussex. They could readily have been scrapped, for her blackamoor brooch incident the Christmas earlier, in favour of Fidelina de Castro and the obvious fag hag cum beard.

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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©2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Pulp You!

17.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Energy body of 8. All persons with 8 are lazy and entitled. They marry with the opinion that their spouse is supposed to afford them the riches to which they were destined – god forbid these slobs should ever attempt being something as gauche as being self-made. Too much work…

Attitude of 7 – the holier-than-thou entitled god complex. Meh! These people are in touch with the other side, see things and can be rather elegantly reserved…. obviously, there are exceptions to everything!

Third number of 3, which denotes intellect and all things literary. Again, in Vedic numerology, there is nothing positive about any number. In other words, this is just another Jamaican skekkle who like fe chat too much. And yes, they are more interested in the sound of their voices and creating a stir than they are possessed of truly stellar intellect.

Most of all, 9 is the soul number – where this one has been and what it is here to divest itself of. All 9s are innate bigots and the biggest snobs and defenders of the flame – whatever they deem that to be.

HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal. 15.8.1950 Tiger 6.5.2=4

As ever, the need to get a rise with the latest shocking fabulist fare and soar above the fray, telling any lie in order to stay relevant and sell more pulpable fare – so that she can keep buying strands that readily scream Poundand Duchess, along comes the specious allegation, spoken as though the gospel truth of course, that HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal was the one to have expressed concerns about the Sussexes’ melanin-blessed offspring. Like HRH Prince Harry, Anne has a 6 in her numbers which means, she is fiercely loyal and not given to gossip. More than that, Princess Anne is a 4 and such persons do not gladly suffer fools nor would they take kindly to someone implicating them in a lie. With that 4, it is very likely in the right circumstance, HRH Princess Anne would readily hunt down our runaway Jamaican skekkle turned Poundland Duchess, hogtie and use the crop on her until she is within a breath of expiring. It was not HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal whom the Sussexes implicated in their sit-down interview with Oprah on CBS.

Obviously, the Sussexes in their sit-down interview with Oprah on CBS were referring to a more senior-positioned royal than the Eurotrash bigot, HRH Princess Michael of Kent. This, of course, the Poundland Duchess knows but if you throw gasoline on HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal’s statute and scream fire, the blind en masse will look and start claiming to see. It was the Cambridges; this was validated by the weak, oafish William outing himself by weakly protesting, “We are very much not a racist family!” Talking crap about ‘some people’ like taking offense at everything. Well guess what orangutan-mammoried one, Princess Eurotrash of Flat-Arsedom’s little blackamoor brooch incident, was not some dream of the Duchess of Sussex’s that she shared whilst in conversation with Oprah on CBS. It occurred, may I remind you, in December 2017 at HM The Queen’s Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace. The blackaoor brooch was as racist as if Meghan were Jewish and HRH Princess Michael of Kent showed up being anti-Semitic and wore a swastika. Put that in your crackpipe, why don’t you?

The Poundland Duchess needs to get real and start writing truth rather than more of the same pulpable fare. Just look at the material on offer: paedophilia, adultery in Norfolk and lots more. Leave the Sussexes alone; these bigoted jackasses have no idea the incalculable damage they cost Britain LLP.

A true pity that Lily Safra pulped the wrong trifling drivel. That aside, sooner or later, you will bend down, pick your shadow up off the floor and crawl you and your Poundland strand-draped orangutan mammaries into your casket. In the age of mercantile excess, you and your throwaway dreck are precisely what are increasingly insufferable. I’ve a copy of Empress Bianca, on which I expect a damn good return. Go on, stop timewasting you casket fugitive and crawl the fuck in your casket. Pulp you!

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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2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

When Things Don’t Go to Plan.

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Just another hotel that looks onto Bloomsbury’s Russell Square. 

Monday morning, November 12, 2018 rolled around with me being a bit on the antsy side.  Just a couple of days before leaving on the trip, I received an email notice that a talk and drinks scheduled for that evening at Spencer House had been cancelled.  That being the case, I emailed, called and prevailed on each day Ronnie Scott’s Jazz club in Soho to try and get my reserved seat for the Tuesday evening show, moved up to Monday evening instead. 

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Finally, the night before, I got a human rather than no voicemail or no email replies from Ronnie Scott’s.  Incredibly, the rep did not know the number for box office and let me know that the Monday show was booked and I could not change my itinerary.  Trying to reason with her proved a nonstarter.  If I could be missing for my reservation on Tuesday, so too could someone booked on Monday be missing which means that I could at the very least stand in the back of the club and sip on a drip.  Nothing doing.  Monday came and passed and not box office nor anyone ever once answered the phone.  

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One of my favourite journeys when in London is to get to Piccadilly Circus and head towards Burlington House.  There, one is always going to be wowed by great art – this trip certainly delivered,  

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This, without doubt, is the show that I came to London highly anticipating.  What I had not anticipated was the sheer scope of the exhibition.   Certainly, it was a welcome change after paying to move through the Klimt / Schiele exhibition.  One thing that struck me, which always occurs regardless which museum or which continent, whenever there is an exhibition of non-white art alongside another of white art, the latter is patronised by a ratio of three to one,  

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Franz Hauer 1914  Egon Schiele

To be sure, the space for the Klimt / Schiele was much smaller than the ten salons for the Oceania exhibition – the same salons in fact which were used for last winter’s, Charles I: King and Collector.  Indeed, there is a certain appeal about being able to view art this up close and intimately.  Nonetheless, the crowd here was predominantly older – the diapered set and they of course can be expected to have little relish for adventuring beyond that which is deemed art or superior.  

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Nude Self-Portrait 1916 Egon Schiele. 

Naturally, not having read up on the exhibition prior to arriving in London, I had assumed that it would be paintings of both artists in the exhibition.  As it turned out, my weak vision could not fully appreciate these drawings and the cramped quarters was no good for my usual wariness of crowds.  

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Female Bust,1916 Gustav Klimt.  

Thoroughly underwhelmed more than not, I made my way in search of the Oceania exhibition.  Imagine having made that treacherous trek all the way up those potentially slippery metallic stairs, only to have been left none-too-inspired.  Oh well, too many old fossils in too tight a space pour moi-meme.  

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Straight away, I was soothed, uplifted and engrossed by the fecund richness of the blue-interiored salons.  Where months prior were hung van Dycks, Rubens and a most memorable Tintoretto, now into these large magical ten salons, I slipped lucidly awakened with wonder.  

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Here, in this marvellous exhibition, the worlds of dreams and spirit were fully realised.  I was in awe, inspired and fully engaged for moving through, as though in a lucid dream, salon after salon of this mammoth, breathtakingly beautiful exhibition.  

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Papuan soul canoe.

Steeped in animism and ancestor-worship, these beautiful cultures of the South Pacific (Oceania) speak to me.  Naturally, much of this is due to strong resonance, owing to past-live memories.    

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What I found rather interesting about this exhibition, is how locals reacted to the art and artefacts on display.  They were actually deferential, which is worlds removed from the usual open ridicule and vile remarks made by persons when touring the Barbara and Murray Frum African Art Collection at Toronto’s AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario).  Indeed, days later, I would be reminded of how archly racist Canadians currently are and with a smugness that defies reason.  

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This exhibition is handsomely curated and the show was staged with the greatest sensitivity and respect for the cultures represented.  Rather refreshing an approach.  

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Marvellous.  Powerful and so like the totemic masks of West African cultures.  

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I especially loved this sculpture and found it vibrationally rather powerful.  

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Sublime.  

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My attempts at capturing this marvellous piece proved frustrating as a German couple who were close by were slow to move along; my impatience is of course legendary.  

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Beautiful textiles featured in the exhibition,  

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Positively love this Papuan mask.  

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Star map for navigating the seas of Oceania’s cultures.  

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August.  Regal.  There is something deeply astral about the cultures of Oceania; these are cultures which are firmly grounded in the worlds of dreams and spirit… indeed.  

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Wow!  This is what I came hunting for; I was most definitely greatly inspired.  What past-life dreams are yet to be triggered by this lucidly awakened journey through Oceania and my own reincarnational past.  

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Hands down, this was my favourite piece in the exhibition; it seemed like some interdimensional craft for travelling between distant worlds and galaxies as is only now possible in dreams.  The lines are so amazingly elegant and masterfully executed.  Phenomenal.  

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What a wonderfully uplifting exhibition!  Bravo!  

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The view on exiting the Royal Academy’s Burlington House.  

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Just look at the view across Piccadilly from the Royal Academy…  Fortnum & Mason.  Well, off we go for some retail therapy; on crossing the street, I delightfully hummed the most memorable melody from La Bayadère.  

Oh look, way below that famous Fortnum & Mason blue beckons.  For now though, I made another feverish perusal of my email.  There is nothing from Ronnie Scott’s and the hotel has emailed to say that they have not received word from them nor have they called back.  

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A gourmand’s wet dream.  

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Art whilst shopping… truly civilised.  

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A trip to the basement and my favourite Jamaican clerk was not on duty.  I did though meet a lovely, lively West African who much reminded me of the spirited gardener in the dreams of July 9, 1993, which proved one of the most beautiful yet of this incarnation wherein I travelled and had the most lucid astral plane dream encounter with Merlin in the afterlife – it will appear in the sixth and final volume of my dream memoirs of Merlin and me, Merlin and Arvin: A Shamanic Dream Odyssey, which will prove human civilisation’s first dream memoirs when fully published.  20181112_124934

Thanks to the West African clerk and how beautifully she spoke of Canada’s Weston family, who own Fortnum & Mason, I was sold.  To hell with dropping money at Ronnie Scott’s when they could not be bothered to accommodate me.  With that, I had a couple of signed copies of Tom Parker-Bowles’ recently published cookbook, Fortnum & Mason Christmas.  For good measure, it is always good to have wonderful fragrances.  

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On getting outside, whilst prowling Piccadilly in search of the Herrick Gallery in Mayfair where a Nevisian artist was having an exhibition, the skies opened up and delivered a monsoon deluge, which readily reminded that this truly was the age of climate change.  The Herrick Gallery was a beautiful affair; however, I had arrived a day early so there was nothing to see as large canvases were being unwrapped and hung.  Getting into Green Park Station, I ducked in to use the toilet and was reminded of 28 years earlier, when you didn’t then have to pay to use the facilities.  That day, in the heat that was London in July, an old, homeless black woman sat on one of the toilets in a stall, which like all the others had no door affording privacy.  She seemed utterly otherworldly and just as removed.  Certainly, she was impervious to the bacchanalia afoot; a tall East African with the most massive cock to that point seen, was actually charging various denominations based on what the throng of near-ululating size queens were prepared to do to that unrivalled wunder schmekelof his.

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Onward, the journey continued.  The next stop was Westminster Station where my main focus was touring the exquisite architectural gem that is the Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey.  Built by King Henry VII as Lady Chapel and deemed as the ode to the Virgin Mother, I rather suspect though that the Lady in question is his mother, Margaret Beaufort.  Hers is the only effigy that is not marble but distinctive bronze. 

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(Though photography is not permitted, I managed rather skilfully to have captured a shot of Lady Margaret Beaufort’s bronze-effigied tomb whilst in the spectacular Lady Chapel at Westminster Abbey)

Of course, that soul is now incarnate and though the most reviled black woman on the planet at present, I have every conviction that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will just as nobly distinguish herself as when a key figure during the War of the Roses, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII after whose coronation she died days later, and great-grandmother of Queen Elizabeth I.  She who founded Christ’s College and St. John’s College at Cambridge University and for whom Oxford University’s first college to admit women, Lady Margaret Hall is named.  Indeed, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has been a feminist for some time.  

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A lone shot of Westminster Abbey from the quire, looking to the altar before being approached by security and asked to cease doing so.  Before departing I took the time to pause at the three wreaths in the stalls of Lady Chapel, which is the spiritual home of the Order of Bath.  In recent months, three knights of the order had passed.  

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The view from the Cloisters from Westminster Abbey, to the courtyard fountain and the grandeur of Palace of Westminster’s Victoria Tower to the rear.  It was also a chance to wait out the downpours.  

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Excitedly the dash back from Westminster Abbey to Westminster Station on the Circle Line was one filled with giggles as I tried to avoid being dowsed by puddles as traffic sped past.  Next stop, Mansion House which eventually led to a break in the rains as I emerged from the Underground.  

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Look at that, the monsoon had eased up and there was even sunlight trammelling the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral.  Always, it is good to mount the steps to this grand shrine.  

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As it is the season of Remembrance, it was time to pause and pay homage at the tomb of Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson whom both Merlin and I knew in our past lives in London when musicians at court during the reign of HM King George III and the Regency of HM King George IV.  

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The Earl Jellicoe. Admiral of the Fleet.  Love that there are actual poppies on his tomb.  

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Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.

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One of the sights whilst ambling after yet another tour of St. Paul’s Cathedral.  

With that, it was back on the Underground and a return to Bloomsbury, where dinner and dream-filled sleep awaited.  

As ever, dream as though every moment is a dream memory of a past life (this one) for you in a future incarnation.  See it, experience it fully – without bias – appreciate it and be richly inspired by it.  Again, I can never say enough how deeply appreciative I am for your ongoing support.  

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©2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Here’s to You!

Just a wee glimpse into my magical life where dreamquests are all begun in the groovy comfort of my collapsible pyramid.  I have had a pyramid since 1984 in one form or another.  This incarnation of my dream chamber, I rather love.  Being surrounded by art is about being greatly inspired.  

Happy New Year!  Thanks for your ongoing support and here’s wishing you the very best this year!  Sweet dreams as ever! 

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©2013-2026 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.