More and more, the hideous burrowing larvae at this rotten artichoke’s core becomes exposed. Respect is earned and never a birthright. When incarnate anywhere in the physical universe, the most important asset to possess, is intellect. So you don’t like blacks, and who pray tell are you to the people for whom Jazz is culture, high art and everything?
So never mind Archie’s skin colour; what about his hair colour? All along the Sussexes have cleverly hidden from view Archie’s hair colour, indeed his true identity; he was photographed being returned home from preschool, wearing a large toque. Also, at Christmas 2019, he was photographed with his proud pa whilst on Vancouver Island, wearing a toque to coverup his flaming Spencer mop. He was filmed on Oprah Winfrey’s interview with his parents in a manner such that much of the colour was edited from the film, making it appear as if filmed in black and white.
Last Christmas’s card was an illustration where the colour was a smeared auburn. Archie was filmed in sepia holding ballons which yet again, left his identity ambiguous. Then after having dropped the race bomb on the Oprah Winfrey interview, Archie’s shock of red hair is finally revealed. Just as Meghan executed the most elegant display of controlled anger, during which time in her sit-down interview with Oprah Winfrey, she never once mentioned Prince William, she went one further and subtly taunted Prince William by having HSH Prince Alex Lubomirski reveal to the world Archie’s true ‘colour’.
Not only does Archie have the Spencer redhead gene – like his cousins George McCorquodale and Louis Spencer Viscount Althorp – but unlike William and his three offspring, Charlotte having the same hairline and forehead as her uncle King Felipe VI’s two daughters, Charlotte unlike Archie is not a redhead. Archie’s freckled mother, Meghan Duchess of Sussex, has the redhead gene as well as his father; and both Archie’s maternal grandparents are likely carriers of the redhead gene.
William being the obvious Bourbon lovechild that he is, only has the Spencer redhead gene; he did not inherit said gene from his father, King Juan Carlos of Spain – notice King Felipe VI and his offspring do not manifest the redhead gene. Sadly, William’s bullying, emasculating wife, Catherine, does not have the redhead gene to pass on. So in the end, Archie by being born, further revealed William for the Bourbon lovechild that he is.
Just look at all this staged tomfuckery, passing for good old-fashioned, wholesome family togetherness…. mon blasted cul!
Indeed, on recently watching the Oprah Interview during the holidays, I realised that by conspicuously never once mentioning William, Meghan thereby outed him. Elegantly, Meghan unmasked Catherine for the monster that she is by clearing up the lies of just who made who cried. Of course, it was Catherine, she of the 9 energy body with a task companion husband, William, who has a 9 attitude – toxic specimens to the core.
The tabloid medium vilification of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, speaks to William’s grudging, petty, malicious nature. At the time of William’s wedding April 29, 2011, the media spun the story that Sarah, Duchess of York was not invited to William’s marriage to Catherine because HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh did not speak to Sarah and did not want her present. Seven years later, HRH Prince Philip was still alive, yet Sarah, Duchess of York attended Harry’s marriage to Meghan because Harry wanted Sarah present; it was after all his wedding and not HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh’s. Of course, if now what we know of Andrew, Duke of York’s sexual proclivities and legal troubles were then rumoured, William damn well would have seen fit not to have Andrew attend his wedding in April, 2011.
It was William who told American, Dave Clark that he did not approve of him and would not be permitted to wed, HRH Princess Beatrice of York. Indeed, conveniently enough, as he wished not to be overshadowed at his wedding by Harry, Chelsey Davy was told to get lost. Indeed, she could attend the wedding, just not as the fiancée of Harry’s. This is how controlling and petty William is… indeed, how all 9s are. All true to his numerology and second number of 9, his mindset, William is snobbish, prejudiced, interfering and obstinate.
In another of William’s moves, there was Pippa Matthews at 2021’s Carol Service at Westminster Abbey; however, she was not accompanied by her spouse James Matthews. William would never want him there, since Matthews senior, David, is legally accused of sexual assault, involving a minor, in France. To say the least, it was also obvious that William has never suffered his wife’s brother-in-law, Spencer Matthews as he was flatly dismissed at Pippa’s wedding to Spencer’s brother Matthew in 2017.
True to form, William has used an arsenal of fellow 9s to do his dirty work of sabotaging and bullying Meghan out of the picture. Little did the Bourbon dolt know against whom he was dealing. From Lady Colin Campbell, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, Piers Morgan and Thomas Markle Sr., they all did his dirty work whilst he hid, like the wizard of Oz not too well, out of view. Without doubt, they have all been sanctioned by William, in his obsessive animus towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, as they are all possessed of 9 (save Princess Michael of Kent) as are he and Catherine.Everyone of these nines, like all nines, are the most blasted conceited boors imaginable. Quelle fuck-all joie indeed. Good god, who in their right mind but a toxic 9 energy body (just like Catherine) like Thomas Markle Sr. would be obsessed with sabotaging and slandering their own child? Remind me again when Doria Ragland was out vilifying her own blood. Everyone of these people, Thomas, Lady Colin – that blasted big-handed, dick-tucking, Trenchtown jaggabat, Piers Morgan, both princely Kent males et al, are merely manifestations of both William and Catherine’s well-guarded true nature in all their 9 toxicity.
Chief weapon in William’s arsenal is the listless, inarticulate, talentless, gurning, hyper-competitive ghoul, who will stop at nothing to try and outdo Meghan, especially since Meghan so elegantly outed her by stating that, she is a “good person” (ha), as in William most certainly the fuck is not. Stay tuned, like all racially predatory, obsessed-with-blacks white females, look for Catherine next year to release a Jazz album… Lawd Jesus! Of course, this little mad turn of hers, even more risible than Diana, Princess of Wales’s dance with Wayne Sleep, had been pre-taped because god only knows, there must have been 2 million and 9 takes to get the blithering off-key errors edited and enough gurning captured. This staged bit of madness only deftly illustrates how utterly small-time Catherine truly is, to say nothing of shit-disturbing, petty and sabotaging. So, Catherine, you lamely banged on a keyboard, well, so too my dear could Michael Jackson’s chimpanzee, Bubbles, who also gurned throughout.
Of course, as the BBC currently is at war with William and Catherine, trust royal correspondent, Nicholas Witchell to take a swipe at William as HM The Queen does not let slip the opportunity to tell off William as they were gathered last year at Windsor Castle. This was a report by Mr. Witchell on Christmas Eve 2021, which included at the 01:19 mark an outtake from HM The Queen and family on the steps at Windsor Castle during Christmas 2020. At the time, last Christmas, this was not aired; however, if you are going to come out and act as though you are already sovereign, the BBC is swiftly going to put you in your place as damn well they ought to.
Naturally, the unflattering clip, which brazenly lays bare HM The Queen’s dismissive rage at that damn incompetent fool Bourbon dolt, was beautifully edited and immediately followed by a glowing review of the Sussexes’ Christmas card for 2021, which was released the day prior as was their card for 2020 also released on December 23. With 2 & 5 in William’s numerology, sooner or later infamy and dark secrets of a sexual nature will be whispered about; however, as with BBC’s interview with an implicated Prince Andrew, the BBC will not think twice to ruthlessly go after William.
That’s right William and Catherine, you may control the narrative vilification and slander of Meghan through the sleazy tabloids; however, you will never win in war against the BBC – they are real journalists, who will not think twice, just like HM The Queen to put you in your damn conceited place. Sooner or later, William’s body will be lowered through the floor at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. Starting that day, history, which is callously unforgiving, will cease being sparing with the truth of just who this stubborn, controlling, pernicious, interfering and petty human, William, was.
There was William sat such that he could have an unobstructed, hawkishly predatory view of Meghan so that later, back at Kensington Palace, he could lace into her about every blasted thing that she said and did as a mature scholar soul with a chief feature of stubbornness and an attitude of 9 can be expected to do. Naturally, it is precisely because of William’s volatile toxicity why Meghan made it perfectly clear to Harry that they were going to have to move to Frogmore Cottage rather than live next-door to the perpetually rowing Cambridges with their toxic 9 numerology.
If equally self-toxic Catherine can’t stand William, why indeed should the Sussexes have moved in next-door to them at Kensington Palace, let alone remain in the kingdom when HM The Queen does not have another 20 to 40 years on the throne.
Provoked, the BBC will not pussyfoot in a fight with William. Respect is earned and with no discernible intellect, you can bet your bottom dollar that the BBC will not be threatened by a bully to say not of a damn fool. Sycophants do not abound at the BBC. As royals happen to be human, the BBC is keenly aware that William too shall pass and as such is no threat to the fourth estate, of which the tabloid media are not members.
Blind with prejudice of a people, how can a fool ever be expected to perceive the beauty of all humanity. Go on, sit there openly ridiculing before the entire world and time itself a very people, you damn Bourbon fool; history is never kind to those who know nothing of truth. Jazz is the very essence of a people about whom you know nothing and can never be expected to perceive their humanity.
I share here the above dream, which was dreamt in July 1997 of Diana, Princess of Wales. It was the eve of my move from Vancouver to Montréal and a month before Diana’s tragic death. At the time of the dream, which was set on the astral plane, Diana was clearly resigned to her fate. Also, as is obvious from her concerns for William’s safety in the dream, as she was imminently about to pass, Diana was worried that anything should happen to her firstborn, William. Naturally, if Charles were not William’s father, there was a real danger that Diana’s firstborn could altogether be removed from the picture. The moment, mere weeks later, that I heard of Diana’s car crash, I knew that she would perish; I knew then the meaning of the above dream.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
What this blissfully toxic couple – they are both self-toxic and also toxic towards each other; plus, to top it off, they are task companions, which means that when not harmonious, it is Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf 24/7. He is snickering and they are probably bitching and hissing at each other in the above shot. As the Sussexes no longer eclipse them for being active senior royals, the Cambridges no longer engage in copycat behaviour of touching, holding hands, looking lovingly at each other, for which the Sussexes remain known. That aside, what the Cambridges fail to grasp, is one of the most important laws of the universe – one has no right to interfere in the lives of others. You own no one. Neither Harry nor Meghan are property of the Cambridges. Period. Just as Emily Maitlis had no qualms about eviscerating the barrel-hipped (common Porchester body type) no-sweat tool with a proclivity for lamb, veal and other minor meat, so too will the BBC bring its considerable full weight to bear in exposing the Cambridges for who they truly are if further bullied by William. It has frankly gone too long and too far – no one taking to task the Cambridges for their racism, bullying, interference, using the tabloid medium to do their dirty work and, most of all, what it has cost HM The Queen’s legacy with Barbados being but one example.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
A few weeks ago, after I bike rode along the pathway between the two condo towers at Scrivener Square, I had the most awesome epiphany this past week… Back then, a white male about 6′ 4″ bike-riding ahead of me, was looked at by a tall, silver-haired white female well into her 8th decade. She had had nice work done through the years and having stood aside with umbrella in the downpour and watched him go by as I approached, she came over towards my ebike, her face becoming warped with hatefulness when demanding that I not ride through the path again, her bony warped right index finger stabbing at me – as it was raining and I wore my pine green poncho, my bodycam was not on display.
Breaking the snazzy ebike, I leaned in, doing a pretty damn good Betty Davis impersonation in Cabin in the Cotton, smartly shot back, “I’d like to stay and chat but I’m afraid you smell like a mouldy crate of rotten oranges…. bye now!” Hopping onto the spiffy machine, I merrily scatted through upper middle class hell, Rosedale, en route home whilst enjoying the rain, chill and fall of beautiful-coloured leaves. When will the moneyed classes ever realise that they occupy the most squalid ghetto; naturally, as that ghetto exists beneath their ears, they haven’t a fucking clue. Days later as I rode through the familiar streets of Cabbagetown, I suddenly realised the significance of the interlude with the septuagenarian which occurred outside the towers where previously Meghan, Duchess of Sussex lived when filming Suits here in Toronto. Honest to god, who the fuck on Avenue Foch knows that woman on the rainy Scrivener pathway exists or could possibly care?
Now with a thankful job relocation, a dog-walking female on Sumach with the warmest large blue eyes smiled at me as I rode past, vocalesing and said, “Jazz in the rain, how lovely…” My god, somebody wake me, this must be the most lucid of dreams. Then on the ride to work a couple of days later, as a couple diagonally crossed Sumach on leaving Riverdale Park and onto Carlton along which TV journalist, Valerie Pringle’s parents lived, they smiled and said hello. That was when it all fell into place. I had long been wondering whence the animus towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex came. I knew that their combined 9s were the focal point and though Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge is the stronger of the two, I always doubted where the impetus for Meghan’s rejection lay. Yet there it was, not only was it a matter of race, which of course it is, it was also a matter of classism.
Like the petit, class-conscious burghers of Rosedale, I suddenly had all the clues fall into place and there it was. Not only is it a case of women being socially conditioned to mistrust one another and create rivalries where there needs be none; however, it was most definitely about classism. The affectations of the class-conscious parvenu royals – clan Middleton, is the most odious, damaging ill to beset the House of Windsor. There she was, Catherine, on the steps of St. George’s chapel and in a display that betrayed her numerology, upper middle class snobbery and overleaves, she made sure to stay clear of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s mum. Doria Ragland represents that most otiose of undesirables known to the white middle classes, she is black.
Catherine it was who saw to it that Meghan did not come close to her as they and families watched their husbands playing polo. Not once did Catherine’s children so much as go over to curiously interact with the infant Archie, who only happens to be their cousin. Of course, it is obvious from the distancing and rejection of Meghan by Catherine and family at the Polo that the Cambridge royal kids were groomed to not recognise Archie as family – the only cousin they have is Pipa’s offspring.
Indeed, it was the same Catherine who saw to it that Meghan was excluded from attending her sister, Pipa’s wedding by laying down the rather arbitrary law: women not engaged or married could not attend the church service. Nonetheless, there was HRH Princess Eugenie of York, who attended the wedding with her lover, Jack Brooksbank to whom she was not then wedded nor for that matter engaged.
The hatred, animus and dread that Catherine bore Meghan was always palpable. The introduction of the dubbed ‘Fab Four’ was a dud as Catherine sat there, saying nothing and unmistakably telegraphed how much she did not consider herself anything but a solo act with William as her sidekick. Sat there onstage expectant with her third child, there were times when she looked at William and openly ridiculed Meghan in her suppressed laughter. At Wimbledon, Catherine wore her shades and her best ‘fuck you, get lost’ smile, which she readily slapped in Meghan’s direction at every chance. This is the same Catherine who had made Meghan cry because little Ms. Social Snakes & Ladders Hoochie Mama had gone from middle class gurning wallflower stalker of the Bourbon bastard, to ahead of the aristocracy and given birth to the future Sovereign. At the Sussexes’ last Commonwealth Service at Westminster Abbey, in March 2020, Catherine walked up turned around avoided Meghan in an open snub and focussed throughout on Sophie, Countess of Wessex and never so much as acknowledged Meghan to say nothing of Harry, who until she gave birth to HRH Prince George of Cambridge, future Sovereign, perceived her as the sister he never had – what did Catherine care what Harry thought, she already had a brother and birthed a future Sovereign. William, his beloved mother’s son, did the honourable thing, knowing well the optics of the situation and acknowledged both his brother and sister-in-law. This vulgarly classist behaviour by Catherine towards Meghan, is precisely the sort of ugly parvenu posturing that an aristocratic woman like India Hicks or Diana, Princess of Wales would never have engaged in. For one, both persons are/were far more travelled, socially skilled and emotionally intelligent to know that one simply does not go there, especially when the monarchy is at the heart of a commonwealth of nations, which is racially diverse, for which one has to be at all times conscious and sensitive.
The impact of the damage that Catherine has caused with her animus towards Meghan, will have long-lasting, generational effects. Unlike Diana, Princess of Wales and India Hicks, two members of the aristocracy, neither would, for being of aristocratic birth, have behaved towards Meghan the way that Catherine has. Indeed, Catherine has unfairly, for being future Queen Consort, painted the aristocracy as racist, classist boors. In the immediate, it has caused Barbados to replace the Sovereign as head of state with a recently installed President. It will also see more predominantly black Commonwealth member states break away and appoint presidents as Barbados has recently done. Also, it is going to cause in a generation or two, the end of the haemorrhaging of Oscars to Britons when the award is after all an American and not an international one.
Just as she never is seen going anywhere near black children or having black children featured in school visits, Catherine has also seen to it that she has yet to tour a predominantly black Commonwealth member state. Recently, she, William and their children were in Kenya to film the conservation special with Sir David Attenborough, yet they saw fit not to have included an official tour of the Commonwealth member states in the region. She simply does not give a damn neither does she care what it looks like. Catherine will not touch a black child; all that, when her sister-in-law is a black woman.
Blissfully unaware, there was Catherine with her emasculated, over-sexed and sexually submissive Bourbon dolt, sat across the less than 20 foot aisle of the quire before some of the most keenly astute professional psychologists, the television auteurs and executives, who attended the Sussexes’ wedding. That’s all that television is; it is about knowing every nuance and angle and how best to manipulate such so that one can convey and lay bare all the ranges of human emotions and character desired. Clueless were the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge to the fact that Rev. Curry was a tool for laying bare their sketchy-as-fuck characters to the world and for generations to come at that. Sat there were they before persons who would have written out their colleague, the bride, Meghan Markle, in season one of Suits if she were a bully and not a team player. If Meghan as the Palace, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge and sycophantic British media, especially the tabloid medium, would have you believe, were the bully that they allege, she would never have made it to season two of Suits; for being impossible to work with, Meghan would have had her character, Rachel Zane, written out of the show by way of being killed off, leaving town or some such. The Cambridges actually think that they are more aware and sophisticated than are Meghan and her television professional colleagues and industry executives, who sat across the quire from the Bourbon oaf and his cannibalistic hoochie mama – and all by virtue of something as quaint as being of royal birth in the British Isles.
Stalker to the core, until the day Catherine dies, Meghan will live rent free in the empty hall of mirrors between the vindictive, future Queen Consort’s ears. Having succeeded in banishing Meghan, Duchess of Sussex from the Kingdom, ruled by the mousy inarticulate Queen of torpid intellect, there was Catherine further cannibalising Meghan by wearing the same dress as Abigail Spencer wore to Meghan’s wedding to beloved Diana’s son, HRH Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex. This happened after Meghan’s triumphant reception at the Global Citizen’s concert in New York City’s Central Park. She was adored and the love for Meghan was palpable, despite the ritual lynching she receives from royal household mouthpieces like fetid tabloids such as DailyMail. The significance of Catherine wearing the identical dress as Abigail Spencer wore to Meghan’s wedding, is an invidious attack on Meghan, which precisely is the kind of ‘cunning’ tactic that a petty, shit-disturbing woman possessed of a first (energy body) number of 9 would indulge in. Abigail Spencer was born August 4, 1981; that’s right, the same day as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and that is Catherine’s indirect way of stalking and unrelentingly bullying Meghan as she did leading up to Meghan’s wedding, which resulted in Meghan breaking down and crying but which the million little arse-eating, lisping queers in her court, rushed off to their tabloid mouthpieces like the DailyMail and spun yet another lie to further malign and slander the Duchess of Sussex, who happened to prove more popular and possessed of more star power than their mousy-as-all-fuck, cannibalising androgynous queen.
Meghan in New York City with briefcase whilst en route to speak and conduct discussions at the United Nations. Mere weeks later, the copycat, cannibalistic stalker Catherine carries a briefcase for the first time ever en route to making a speech or more appropriately en route to channelling mice at a séance – honest to frigging god.More importantly, as a dog can always be expected to lick itself, Catherine traipsing in with a briefcase, is also about throwing serious shade and openly ridiculing Meghan, that N-Word Yank, who had the nerve to come anywhere near the mousy little inarticulate, bitchy, shit-disturbing, classist boor of coalmining pedigree. Look at her guffawing with the two wee little closet queer minstrel leprechauns. Ever plotting and scheming; how she must love cocksucking a fag indeed.
Meghan wears a hat not usually worn at the Remembrance Sunday ceremonies at the Cenotaph in 2019. Now with Philip’s death and the Queen fast immolating, Catherine knowing that with the Queen’s absence in 2021 at the same event, she will be in the middle in the Queen’s usual position, rather than Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, because Catherine rather than Camilla is a future Queen Mother which Camilla never will be. So Catherine with another opportunity to cannibalise Meghan, wears a replica hat as Meghan’s two years earlier, in 2019, to telegraph her obsession and stalking of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Never before had Catherine worn a broad-brimmed, downturned hat to the Remembrance Sunday ceremony at the Cenotaph. Ever, like all women possessed of an energy body of 9, Catherine couldn’t resist to tear her flat arse in Meghan’s face. “That’s right, I am the one who wears that hat better than you and you will never stand on this balcony again. Now fuck off and stay gone….” How Meghan has that pernicious hoochie mama stalker – she whose stage presence can best be described as sodden cardboard… but it gurns! – of trifling pedigree and no class thoroughly possessed.
HM The Queen has not yet died, to say nothing of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales still being very much alive, yet there is Catherine, having William demonstrate the future of the monarchy. No doubt in due course, James Middleton with two well-endowed brothers-in-law, every bottom’s dreams come true, will be styled the Earl of Boomf. On arrival at the Sussexes wedding in May 2018, there is James hissing and being adversarial with Tom Bradby as by then, it was known to the scheming Cambridges that Tom Bradby supported the Sussexes.
Of course, that support by Bradby for the Sussexes would culminate in Meghan’s confiding to Bradby in that incendiary interview whilst on their African tour in October, 2019. With both Prince Philip’s death and the Sussexes’ sit-down interview with Oprah, Catherine has stepped up her campaign of attrition against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Now that the Sussexes are not resident in any of the royal households – remind me again why Meghan refused to occupy the newly refurbished apartment at Kensington Palace next-door to William and Catherine but headed instead to Frogmore Cottage – Catherine’s inability to control the media narrative against Meghan has lost its grip.
So there was stalker Catherine, she most definitely not of aristocratic birth, playing catch up and alas, she has an original thought – she is going to conduct an interview. What does that Oprah know anyway? Of course, there was Meghan on Ellen, being adored and displaying a degree of emotional intelligence and charm, which no doubt caused the gurning, mousy silent film ingenue to chain smoke and wolf down a half dozen lima beans.
Back in June 2017, I was staying in Chelsea when on returning from a Royal Ballet performance, soon the mood was broken by the sounds of multiple fire brigade sirens peeling into the night. Looking out, the sky was ablaze with an orange beacon and with time calls came through that there was a tower on fire. The next day, HM The Queen arrived at the site of the Grenfell Tower fire, followed shortly thereafter by HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. There was no Catherine in sight. This past Remembrance week, 2021, there was Catherine, the little elitist kiss-ass, looking like everybody’s favourite little shabbos goy. Running and dispensing hugs, a thing her parvenu classist bigotry could never bring herself to do with the impoverished in her Kingdom. Imagine her dispensing hugs to the little people of Grenfell indeed. Meanwhile, there was Meghan, Duchess of Sussex “Boots on the ground” heading into the Grenfell community, volunteering, giving back and soon enough there was the Together cookbook to which she contributed in a bid to assist the devastated community getting back on its feet.
Why do the Cambridges think that America is yearning for a tour by themselves in 2022? Just as they outed themselves before the industry professionals at the Sussexes’ wedding, who were sat across the quire from them and the rest of the world, everyone knows damn well who is at the centre of the vilification of the Sussexes and chiefly Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Catherine, enabled by her bullied husband, and a frankly racist British tabloid medium, idly sat by and allowed the narrative of Meghan the bully who made her, Catherine, cry at the time of the Sussexes’ royal wedding in 2018, when it was patently not true. How then are you supposed to believe these godforsaken boors. Again, someone please inform the blissfully unaware Cambridges that America has not been a colony going on three centuries; there is no need for a tour of these utterly useless, clueless, racist boors.Go on, go tour all those predominantly black Commonwealth member states instead.
That’s right so says Billy shiny pate, which like St. Paul’s Cathedral’s copula is rather high and mighty but empty nonetheless. A head full of petty, perniciousness and bigotry that betrays his nineness – second number of 9 as per his mindset – how William perceives all reality. God only knows, there aren’t too many people in both India and Pakistan, which likely explains why he has toured both countries with his pale, one-dimensional gurning boor. Oh and let’s not forget that trip to Bhutan so that he could predatorily get close to one of his potential conquests. The royal rota and British tabloids truly are stupid if they think that persons, most especially Americans, are not aware how the Cambridges are given a free pass and all that is wrong with the status quo is Meghan. You banished her, resoundingly got rid of her without somehow no one in British journalism asking what role the Cambridges have played in the whole affair. Now with Meghan banished, the Great & Perfect White Queen has emerged and yet she still can’t get enough; on and on, she continues with her cannibalistic campaign of stalking Meghan and thereby betraying her guilt. Britons are simply small-minded, small-island simpletons if they can’t see that Americans are not readily fooled. One thing is certain, Americans are second to no one and they most definitely do not like to be attacked and treated unfairly by persons whom they successfully fought a war to be rid of. Americans are about being out there and being self-made and representing and my god, how Meghan has brilliantly succeeded in doing just that. She is the very epitome of the American dream and no amount of racist slander and trying to paint her as bully and liar is going to change Americans’ opinions of Meghan. And therein lies the explanation of Catherine’s obsession with Meghan. Meghan is American and self-made, did it all on her own with her own drive and inordinate talents. Catherine on the other hand, represents the British paradigm, you only matter for being of noble birth or if as in Catherine’s case, you did sweet fuck-all but stalk, fuck your way to a walk down the aisle at Westminster Abbey with the Bourdon bastard’s balls attached to your garter.
That crass, violent public display is what caused Meghan to cry. Meghan cried because incredulously and impatiently it was a way to take Catherine to task and address her monstrous vulgarity by asking, “Bitch why don’t you grow a pair and be a real woman… a fucking feminist?” Catherine is as common as muck and her using the race card to demonise and banish a more charismatic and popular sister-in-law from the kingdom via the lies planted mostly in the tabloid medium, is a keen example of Catherine being a product of the vulgar middle classes. There positively is no way that Diana would have been so callously brusque in her ongoing war with Charles when in public as Catherine was towards beloved Diana’s firstborn whom she, Catherine, has clearly emasculated as per the unedited contretemps which the BBC chose to keep in their show, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas – more like, Bullocks! It’s A Bullied Royal Christmas. Catherine does not give a damn; she has no class. William is irrelevant to her; if he died tomorrow, she would fast become Regent on Charles’s passing until HRH Prince George of Cambridge came of age and acceded the throne. Catherine knows and understands her power and in that sense, she has driven the narrative of cannibalising and driving Meghan from the kingdom and she doesn’t give a fuck what it looks like. She is of the middle class and as such erroneously gives the aristocracy a bad name; however, on closer inspection, Catherine truly cannot give the aristocracy a bad name – Catherine gives herself a bad name and no one else. She has certainly done more to damage and sabotage HM The Queen’s legacy than any other single member of the BRF and that includes HRH Prince Andrew of York’s proclivity for deflowering minor meat.
Just look at her family, the Middletons, at the Sussexes’ wedding. They stood there, an absolute island, isolated and onto themselves; they never so much as once spoke to anyone else because they had gone from coal mine to Palace faster than one could dynastically sneeze where monarchies are concerned. No more than lepers; frightfully middle class, they stood there without the aristocracy paying them any mind and of course dynastic parvenu, they stood there snickering at tout le monde.
At long last, someone has the balls to stand up to these slithering bullies and set the record straight. Naturally, the royal households: Buckingham Palace, Clarence House and Kensington Palace all shrill and moan in protesting the BBC’s The Princes and the Press. Finally, the fissure has revealed itself to paraphrase Andrew Marr and unmistakably, the slithering saboteurs’ faces will finally be unmasked to all of Britain. That’s right, Catherine, no matter what you do, being a future Queen Consort & Queen Mother does not enable you to escape the karma of your numbers. 9 in the first position and in time, for all history, Catherine will be exposed as a shit-disturbing boor and a petty middle class bigot.
As for William, much like King George V, with whom he shares the exact same numerology, he hates Americans as George V hated Wallis Simpson and all Americans – ergo his loathing of Meghan, who serves to show up that androgynous sodden cardboard, Catherine, for all she is – nothing… beyond her ability to gurn with sociopathic élan. Furthermore, William will go down in history as William the Oaf, completely and utterly unaware as when he shot off his clueless mouth, criticising Jeff Bezos for going into space rather than working on climate change then having to suck up to self-made American, Jeff Bezos at Cop26 because… he’s a frigging, goddamn tactless fool. William is looking for funding for his Earthshot Prize and more importantly, he would rather Jeff Bezos not retaliate by throwing funds at the very American, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and the Sussexes’ Archewell Foundation. William is milquetoast and his partner in crime is a petty classist boor, to say nothing of bore, who is rather ill-equipped to be on the world stage in any meaningful capacity. Never forget that whereas Harry has only one brother, William has two; his older brother, like William will in time, is a Sovereign. There is no randomness or coincidences when it comes to genetics; there is no fluke in the current Crown Princess of Spain, having the same teeth and gum aesthetics as William.Yes, Diana strayed but the timeline plus when and with whom she strayed, is falsified to hide the very real fact that HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales is not William’s father.
Catherine’s got that alcoholic’s dead eye. Always, she loves a good stiff drink in public – just imagine what goes on behind closed doors – and at such times when in public, she is always aggressively playful and in so doing further emasculates William, who at all such times becomes catatonically wooden. But y’are Blanche, y’are a fucking dump! That’s right, just another common as muck, middle class boor. What’s more, she’s just a coal-mining Bucklebury hoochie mama and she sure loves her liquor! Having resoundingly stalked and cannibalised poor William, as she hustled and stalked the backwoods runway in Scotland, what else was she, Catherine, of no discernible class or sophistication to say nothing of intellect and stage presence, to do but turn icy hoochie mama and cannibalise Meghan with the aide of the rabid castrati who work the royal biography, journalist racket – most of whom have a 9 somewhere in their numerology.
Sad really, but unwittingly they and Catherine are blissfully unaware that they are doing nothing but undoing much of the work done by HM The Queen, for which, of course, they ever turn around and start laying blame at Meghan’s door for causing HM The Queen so much grief and distress in her twilight years.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Last night, on the eve of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’s 73rd birthday, I dreamt the most spectacularly lucid dream in long decades. In the evening of Saturday, November 13th, 2021 when I don’t even know the lunar phase and have not audio-cassette recorded my dreams since 1997 when then living in Montréal, I simply had to share this dream. I awoke from the dream being saddened that I had to come to so soon.
At once I was come to in the most lucid dream set on the astral plane. Astral plane dreams are possessed of lighting that is uniquely found there and nowhere else. Vibrationally, it always feels in such dreams as it does between 0400 and 0600 with the intensity of this magical time being closer to 0500. In any event, I was in the midst of a flying dream above what can only be called the boulevard. It was a street wider than any in the waking state. The focal point of the dream, in this astral metropolis of at least 3 billion souls, was the gates to an ancient church, which was set back from the boulevard at the end of a long narrow straight pathway. It was exactly as the Anglican Church in the parish of St. Anne in Sandy Point St. Kitts. It was a church which was millennia old and all along the path to the foreboding wrought iron gates were clergy – all male – of the Anglican faith. As at the Anglican church in Sandy Point on either side of the pathway between the church and the gates were graves with the most ancient tombstones imaginable. There was a lone grave which was open, the earth on either side black and rich. There were clergymen at the grave concluding their business. As I alighted and took my place along the boulevard, HM The Queen walked alone in a green crew neck woollen dress; it was the same colour as a young artichoke, green fig or green guava. She carried no handbag. There were no corgis; about her neck was a single strand pearl necklace which was so ancient that its nacre had become diffused, time-yellowed and on the very cusp of looking like browning rotting teeth. She was reserved and poised and as the rear of the giant Rolls Royce faced the gates of the church and cemetery, she walked around to the right rear door and entered; her hair here was beginning to grey but predominantly brunette. There was no foot person to open the door. She got in and was seemingly in her late forties to early fifties, which is more in keeping with her soul age, that of being an early mature slave soul.
Myself for not being an astral plane habitué, had the ability to fly on the astral plane and, of course, though the habitués themselves could, they of custom chose not to. I was for being an observer referred to by the habitués as a visitor. On exiting the grounds – just as in the Sandy Point, St. Kitts arrangement, there was a crescent in which the massive Rolls Royce sat with its rear facing the open gates to the cemetery and church. The car carrying the arrivée Sovereign was expected and eventually did turn right onto the ridiculously large boulevard where the astral plane throngs along the boulevard’s route were as claustrophobically packed in as it must have been at St. Paul’s Cathedral for the Duke of Wellington’s funeral. Here the atmosphere was electric.
What had initially drawn me to this marvellous place, was the distant sound of several bugles, playing the rouse. I knew instantly what it meant. On my arrival, there were hills all around this sector of the astral plane metropolis; this seemed to a very layered astral plane London where different epochs in the city’s history simultaneously co-existed. On one particular wooded hill were the largest stags imaginable – they looked almost sentient whilst regally standing in small mobs. They had majestically arrived to the top from the other side, stood there for a long while then en masse sat down to onlook. Along the route, there were the most massive black steeds and when they walked and stood along the route, they were buried in the astral landscape such that the underside of their bellies were submerged.
The arrivée astral plane habitué Sovereign was then taken on a celebratory parade. The wood was an exquisitely polished oak that framed the exterior of this astral plane version of the Rolls Royce that seemed to have been from the late 1920s to early 1930s. On pulling out onto the boulevard the slow-moving single vehicle motorcade turned right and went down to the shorter arm of the boulevard. Along the right, as it were, of the boulevard and on either side were the most opulent, massive astral plane replicas of each and every stately home in England. The closest house on the right on leaving the cemetery was Blenheim Palace This astral plane version was easily 30 storeys tall and at least 15 millennia older than its waking state counterpart; I suppose that they were this massive as they served as suites for past Dukes of Marlborough as with Blenheim Palace. Even the stately houses which were demolished at the end of the empire, which saw families that didn’t marry robber baron Americans to stay afloat, were here represented. Longleat House, Althorp House, Highclere Castle, Knole House, Hampton Court Palace, Kensington Palace, Mapperton House, Waddesdon Manor, Wilton House, Castle Howard, Chatsworth House; you name it, they were all here behind wrought iron fencing and they stood side-by-side without massive ground anchoring each. This astral plane Blenheim Palace counterpart had sapphire-blue cupolas at the towers and center; every astral plane counterpart was here replete with sapphire-blue copulas. The walls of each house on the astral plane was made of marble that was time-yellowed, betraying the multiple millennia it had existed on the astral plane. Just as the skyscrapers on New York City’s Avenue of the Americas from 42nd to 57th Streets are tall and easily in excess of 30 storeys, so too was each of these astral plane counterparts for familiar English stately houses.
All along the route, which was teeming with astral plane habitués, there were different sections that towered up for several storeys. Directly opposite the gates to the church and cemetery from which the astral habitué Sovereign Elizabeth II emerged alone, was regally sat Sir Winston Churchill; he was surrounded by all the astral plane habitué Prime Ministers who had served HM The Queen. Here, there was a section reserved for astral plane-focussed English aristocrats; one recognisable such habitué was Gerald Grovesnor, 6th Duke of Westminster. At no point, however, did I ever see the following habitué relatives, HRH Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh, HM Queen Elizabeth Queen Mother, HRH Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowdon or Diana, Princess of Wales. Constantly, persons were arriving to take their place, even when the parade was begun. This dream was so vivid, so electric, so lucid that the stimuli was so overwhelming that I times, I had to alight to ground myself. Indeed, at times, it proved laborious to try and fly where the amount of stimuli and the outréness of this astral plane milieu proved overwhelming on my ability to stay aloft to project myself whilst astrally projected into this utterly rhapsodic dream. As this dream was set on the astral plane, there were astral plane habitués here who wore the dress of the age in which they lived when incarnate. I readily assumed that these were past-life personae with connections to HM The Queen from past lives.
As I soared in flight into the astral plane air some three storeys above to get my bearings, I saw a phalanx of swashbuckling courtiers, progressing down the boulevard to take their place. They had all the swagger and style of dress as King Charles I in the masterful van Dyck tableau, Charles at the Hunt, which hangs at Musée du Louvre. They walked down the boulevard which housed the stately houses on either side, and well ahead of the habitué Sovereign’s Rolls Royce, which glided along the boulevard as if in bucolic slow-motion.
Still, there was a section of the immensely long boulevard which seemed as if longer than New York City’s Fifth Avenue, which on either side housed waking state visitors who were in attendance. Naomi Campbell, who was recently made Commonwealth ambassador to replace the Duke and Duchess of Sussex on their departure from royal duties, was here present. She was there in an enclosed section where all the waking state guests were kept. Also notable was fellow supermodel Kate Moss. I found it utterly fascinating to hear Ms. Campbell speaking in flawless Jamaican patois as she was gobsmacked by the beauty of this astral plane ritual. Taking a break from the laboriousness of dream flight in this particular dream, I had sought refuge in the glass enclosed stands where incarnate persons were focussed. These stands existed opposite each other across the ridiculously wide boulevard.
Once returned to flight I soon realised the immensity of the life that HM The Queen had lived. Here along the astral plane boulevard, on which I suppose that the Circus Maximus was modelled, were habitués who had lived during HM The Queen’s long life and reign and who had immensely admired her. These spanned the range of human civilisation with not just every racial stratum of Commonwealth member states but all other humans who had so immensely admired this extraordinary human being. Here were astral plane habitués from the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010, 2020s. From her earliest years of being the much admired Princess of York to becoming the young Sovereign and onwards, there were adoring astral plane habitué admirers. Absolutely everyone was here represented. It was simply overwhelming to see so many tens of millions of persons focussed in one place and all experiencing rapture at the arrival of someone in whom they had focussed much of their admiration, respect and love. This was a truly remarkable dream.
Pushing of again and exploring more of the unique dreamscape, I flew slowly in the opposite direction of the habitué Sovereign’s parade down the boulevard lorded over by palatial astral plane counterparts to known English stately houses. In one section there were humanoid creatures whose look suggested that these were animals which were long extinct long before animals were documented in earnest. One particular creature was pure white with liver spots markings. This large-headed male was singing whilst perched on a floating dais. Cloaked in a white ermine robe, the three to four thousand pound male creature sang with a range that went from whale song to counter tenor bravura. His voice was simply healing. Light seemed to emanate from beneath his skin and in varying intensities based on his emotions. His performance was so powerful that I had to alight again just to gather my energy reserves as flying does take considerable focussed energy.
Further along the boulevard, as every corner of the Commonwealth was here richly represented and this was a celebration of the life of the arrivée Sovereign, there were African women in colour garb, singing and dancing with jubilation written all over their cul-de-sac of the astral plane. From time to time, feeling the spirit one or more African woman would step into the boulevard and let their spirit jubilantly soar whilst in trance from singing and dancing their souls out.
The further along the boulevard one explored in flight to the left of the cemetery gates and to which the arrivée Sovereign had yet paraded, I explored whilst flying. Eventually, the lone Rolls Royce would come past a section of the boulevard where the astral plane habitués though humanoid, had heads that were akin to those of many gods from the Egyptian pantheon. Still, there were those who closely resembled Kiwi bird-headed humanoids. As astral plane-focussed dreams go, this contingent of totemic beings was not that unusual a sight. When the arrivée Sovereign’s motorcade of one turned to return and tour past the cemetery, I took to the air again and this time soared higher than usual. This enabled me to fly more swiftly than when lower to the electrically charged activity along the boulevard’s route. I returned to the far end of the boulevard to a stately house which sat at the end. Inside this royal residence, there truly was a battle royal underway. At the centre of this feud was Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Here, her voice was a booming commanding business. She was powerful and was settling scores. When she spoke, the walls of the stately house cracked, glass and art flew off the walls. Eventually one of the stately house’s cupolas cracked and eventually collapsed. It was a noisy, violent business.
The last time that I had dreamt of an astral plane-focussed dream wherein the past was being prosecuted, involved the recently passed Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Maria Callas. That, too, was a battle royal where scores were being settled. That dream is as follows:
*As per the urgency of this dream, I rather suspect that HM The Queen may already have passed by the time of the 2021 Remembrance Service at the Cenotaph; however, London’s hotels would have to be cleared of the Veterans and tourists before the death announcement would be made.
As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Within days of George’s 44th birthday on February 9th, 1990, I had been to his McCaul Street loft, which looked east to the buildings lining University Avenue. There, on the top floor’s tiny balcony, we would retreat for some privacy, late at night and suck each other off with his son spying on us… ever he spied on us and it became a definite source of one of our many volatile breakups that George wanted to watch whilst his son and I fucked. I am not about doing anything that I find repugnant. George’s son’s legs are ridiculously bizarre; the space between the knees and ankles inordinately short – he also has too much gum for my liking. Did not matter to me that he was very thick and big; I was not playing. End of discussion. In any event, that winter, after George and I had riotously fucked with his son’s conspicuous silence in the open loft definitely indicating that we were being spied on, I fell asleep whilst George, thoroughly, noisily ploughed right, went to shit and shower, which was always alone and a very lengthy affair. On exiting the bath, as I soundly slept, awaiting my turn to shower, George grabbed his polaroid and took several snaps of me in his sole pink armchair as I remained sheathed in a used full and droopy condom.
By the time that George would present me with the iconic, masterful serigraph, he and I were not then on speaking terms on conclusion of the work. Months earlier, in November 1989, Merlin had passed and as George made it perfectly clear that he did not want to be in a committed relationship, I walked away. He was, of course, pissed but I was not getting the support I felt that I then needed. Truth be told, the relationship with George was ideal, I could no more have given two fucks about his friends anymore than they did me. George was totally controlling – energy body of 9 – and in that way, I was his muse and a great fuck; this left both his family and friends off limit – of course, there was obsession with his son, which meant me fulfilling his fantasy. Not happening. So as I did not play along and began taking lovers of my own, as George wanted to celebrate my life in the event that I, soon after Merlin, perished of AIDS – at that point, I still had not gone out and taken an HIV test; I was simply then too solipsistic to have been any support to Merlin who was then slowly dying of AIDS. So not able to bring himself to name the serigraph after me, it became Pink Chair; of course, for his friends, it was a great dig at me whom they thought of dismissible and an utter non-entity. Of course, I never said more than two words to anyone at that point in my life – that is, if I did not think you worth my time why bother saying fuck all?
For the next three years, George and I saw each other on and off. During that time, I was rapidly self-exploring. Of course, at the core of it all, there was the one ritual that grounded me, each day as I went to bed, I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that on awaking, I would recall a plethora of dream experiences which before sleep, I could not readily have fathomed. Each morning I woke up, grabbed the tape recorder and began audiocassette recording my dreams. For this reason, as it had been a promise made to Merlin, I had no desire to be in a living relationship. No, I do not want to meet your fucking family, most definitely do not want to be caught dead, wasting a nanosecond of my time, listening to your loser friends and their redundantly specious regurgitated anecdotes – been there… fuck that. With Merlin’s passing, I had found a new groove: go to a few bathhouses, fuck a couple or a couple dozen hungry bottoms, head home by bike and listen to either classical or Jazz and get on with reading, writing and looking forward to travelling to the next art exhibition or Jazz concert and, of course, collecting art.
At one point, George moved out of his McCaul Street loft and with his possessive son remaining at the loft, this opened the way for us to get back together. This, of course, was not without its angst. One evening, I was hellbent on ploughing George to the hounds but he kept on begging off and finally blew up at me and told me to fuck off and, perhaps, he wanted to fuck his brains out with someone else. Are you fucking kidding me? No need to sit about when possessed of that irrational cocktail of obsession, passion, lust and mistrust. With regards his sexual activity, George always lied… I knew this. The first time that he had lied, I noticed the tell-tale sign – his right index finger and middle finger would involuntarily quiver and he would always try to cover it by rubbing his right index against his right nostril. Whenever this occurred, he would always get up and walk away to try and better cover up the physiological quirk. As ever, nothing escaped my eagle-eyed perception.
That night, unable to sleep and more importantly being robbed of valuable dreamtime, I got up and hopped on my bike in the middle of a bitching winter’s dead of night. George, who then lived at 62 Austin Terrace, had me pedal like mad in the biting cold and after locking my bike down the hill, made it up to 62 Austin Terrace, which stood right at the northeast corner of Bathurst Street and Austin Terrace. Truly possessed, I hopped onto the mountain ash tree and began scaling the damn tree as though at 0300 on a cold winter’s night with a street lamp nicely illuminating things, my being a black male, climbing a leaf-bare tree in the Annex, was a perfectly natural thing to be doing, among other illogical considerations. The lights were on in the bedroom; alas, he was not being ploughed by someone who was not me. Of course, George always spoke in his sleep and in one of his little pernicious moves, days earlier as I ploughed him good, he let out someone else’s name whilst pretending to be more asleep and or drunk than he was. Of course, seven years of being the lover of an award-winning director, Merlin, I knew fucking bad acting toute de suite.
There were clothes on the bed that were not George’s but he could not be seen. Undaunted, I scaled and scraped my way down the tree with simian ease, passion-possessed and made it up Bathurst to the rear of the property where I scaled the slippery stone side of the hill and made it atop the garage where for walking across packed, crunching inches of snow, found George being plough on the large draught table in his study. I was beyond livid but wanted and gotten definite proof to slap down his lying when confronted. His response was, of course, feigned indignation at my having had the temerity to spy on him. As with all passionate lovers, that entangled, drama-rife bit of Sargasso was soon traversed to calmer seas. Months later, we got in from dinner, sat down for a drink at his Austin Terrace apartment and laughed and savoured our cognac, after having been out shopping in the early afternoon to choose a new frame for Pink Chair. As ever, George wanting to be plough long and hard, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies – ever, I favoured the London Symphonies. I had just returned to Toronto after amour fou absolu had attempted to steal a dozen pieces from my art collection, among which was Pink Chair.
By March, 1993, I was hanging out in Washington D.C. with Bahamian relations when for walking out on my host, would meet Yuri, the most thoroughly consuming S&M bottom. This, of course, was at a time where all I did was crawl bathhouses partout, ever on the prowl, as finally I had discovered my metier with Merlin’s passing. S&M was the right groove at the right time in my life. So as I crawled predatorily the halls of yet another bathhouse, this one on the edge of a military base in the U. S. capital, I was hotly pursued by Yuri as my swagger and riding boots were just what and more his wildest dreams were in search of. We fucked for several hours, he professed his love and we returned to his place just southwest of Dupont Circle in Foggy Bottom that was the epitome of house proud faggot and way too minimalist for my liking. Alas, we went to his bedroom, which had a bed that was custom-built and made to service his every S&M whim. We were insatiable and it was just right. I looked past his drinking and excessive use of poppers, which second hand ever left me with a splitting headache, he had an actual freezer in which he kept handled bottles of vodka and the salacious bottom with the thick Russian accent was allmine.
Soon he took me to dinner, presented me a ring and demanded that I move to America and his position as lawyer in a queer law firm would allow me to live without the worry of working and the ideal Daddy to come home to. A city full of museums, he had season tickets to Kennedy Center and just a short flight to New York City for more culture and art, it was not very hard to say yes. Soon we went looking at places as I came down every other weekend from Toronto; we dined out and did all the things he had not before. On the off weekend, he had to himself with friends and family, which I made it perfectly clear were a non-negotiable in our relationship.
No sooner than having brought down choice pieces of art and much of my wardrobe as we chatted daily three to five times, I was returned that Sunday evening to no calls or calls going unanswered. Finally, that Thursday evening, he coolly answered the phone and wanted to know what I was bothering him for as, said he, he thought that he had made it clear that it was over between us. Perhaps, I was in denial but now he was with Tyrone who had a big 11.5 inch cock that he just couldn’t get enough of. Putting my master numbers to good use, I morphed and pulled out personalities 33, 47 and 56, all the while not so much as appearing remotely upset. Soon, he was answering the phone whilst being ploughed by Tyrone. Alas, my diamond cutter charm wore him down; we did after all have concerts to attend at Kennedy Center. So fool him, he accepted as Tyrone was going home to Philly for his mama’s 50th birthday – as if I could give two point five fucks.
Returned to Washington, I charmed him though he was wary and mistrustful – his guilt not mine. Finally, he gave in and we had one last S&M session. Tied up, he stood upright in the leather bedding with black bath sheets everywhere to catch his piss as I ploughed his arse, exposed by the thick leather chaps, rough, long and hard. I then slipped beneath the bed and got out the duct tape purchased earlier at Heckenger’s across town – everyone in the neighbourhood knew him and I had no intentions of anyone tipping him off. The hood zipped tight, revealing only his eyes and mouth, I smeared half a dozen strips of the black tape across his lizard-lipped cocksucker mouth and left just enough room for him to comfortably breathe.
As the opera fag neighbours below were in that evening, I turned up the music – Maria Callas CDs on the Denon stereo system – really loudly and pulled his big-boned body from the black leather sheets and hauled him by the harness through the 2100 square foot duplex apartment to the living room, took the strap to him as well he loved it; however, this was not about him, left him slumped and seated on the floor and quietly and meticulously cut my fucking art from the god fugly gaudy gold frames, into which the fucking racist moron had placed my stolen art, 12 pieces in all, including Pink Chair. Having returned my art into the tubes, in which they had months earlier been brought down from Toronto, I called my ride and with lots of time to spare its arrival, I hauled the blasted fool – who to that point had royally pissed off at least half my known 72 personalities, to his large bathroom, where clad in leather from head to toe, I heaved his bulky body – his legs and hands bound as he loved it during play, over the side of the tub, ripped out his butt plug, squatted down, violently ripped off the duct tape, replaced it with my gauntlet sheathed left hand whilst riotously fucking him hard. Hissing into his right ear, still hammering away at his ravaged mangina, ‘you fucking thief… what does that make you. That’s right, you’re a fucking nigger and don’t you ever forget it.’ Slamming the bathroom door shut behind me, my head ached from all the poppers he did. Coolly, I went to the freezer and got the handled bottles of vodka there, where else but America, and slowly undid his suit so that his welted body beneath could really sting from the vodka’s cold, unforgiving bite, after shoving his whimpering body into the tub. When I was done emptying all his vodka on his shivering, enraged body, I straddled his wet body below in the tub and whilst standing on the edge pissed and relieved my bladder which since removing my stolen art from his walls had been straining for release.
From there, I hightailed it to New York City and stayed a few days at Valerie Pringle’s only brother’s West 16th Street walk-up where I grounded anew by going to all my favourite museums by day and crawling the village in riding boots, making further conquests, which usually began whilst gyrating and face-fucking on the tiny dance floor down the mirrored winding stairs at the historic Stonewall Inn. Returned to Toronto with my art, over dinner at a tiny Spanish restaurant off Yonge Street, after we had taken Pink Chair to be framed, raising a glass of red, I winked at George and said of the vanquished amour fou, the best way to piss on a fool’s grave, is to do so before they actually are dead and buried. Dinner was beautiful and with that, we returned to his apartment at 62 Austin Terrace and George was no end of happy, reaching back and holding on to my riding boots, his arse high in the air, as I ploughed and staked my claim to his heart centre as never before.
‘What the fuck are you calling me for?’ On my return to Toronto, I lethally hissed down the phone at the racist boor in Washington D. C.. ‘We have no business together. Obviously, all you can handle, is nothing more than 11 IQ points. Let’s make this perfectly fucking goddamn clear, since your HIV status – that’s right, I have known all along, precludes you making it across the border, you will stay the fuck where you are and get over it. You’re a fucking thief.’ He then violently demanded that I return ‘his’ art and be man enough to bring it back. ‘What the fuck has AIDS and poppers done to your fucking pea brain? Bitch are you fucking nuts? You are dead to me. Shit, I already pissed on you… you are as good as fucking dead! Cutting him off as he launched into his foul, drunken nigger this, nigger that, I boomed down the phone into his gutted soul, ‘Hang it up! Hang it the blasted motherfuck up! Now! Go on, hang up your fucking phone now. You fucking drunken diseased rat. Now! Hang it the blasted motherfuck up now! Hang it up! Finally, the line dropped, collapsing his weak sobbing. A bottom to the core, he never dare dialled my number again.
Also, at 62 Austin Terrace, I announced to George that I had accepted a job offer in Vancouver and would be leaving in mere days. George was devastated as he felt that he was being abandoned for not having been fully engaged in a committed relationship. In the end, not long after I was happily ensconced in Vancouver’s West End, that George visited. We had some of our best sex deep into the musky wholesomeness within the woods of Stanley Park, lorded over by centuries old Sitkas. There in the dead of night, George buried his left cheek in the mud, held on to my riding boots as ever he loved to as I plough and took us both to beyond the edge of ecstasy. George’s first visit to Vancouver – there was a second, was passed going to galleries, having an early dinner, likely on Davie Street, going home for a nap before getting up late at night to go do that most primal of deeds, fucking surrounded by the sublime beauty of nature.
On the eve of Bob Marley’s birthday – a very brightly, crisply cold Friday in 1999, my wife and I emerged in full African garb onto Saint Laurent from Montréal’s palais de justice accompanied by George and my sister, Pandora, both serving as witnesses. That evening at our lovely Cote des Neiges home, the four of us were joined by a lovely Jewish boy from Hampstead. George and I were reunited after too long on the cusp of his 53rd birthday and among other things, we warmly celebrated his upcoming birthday. The evening was beautiful. Five years later, my wife and I relocated back to Toronto as both our fathers experienced health crises. My first visit to George’s Borden Street penthouse was beautiful, the view looked north to one of my favourite high-rises in the city; it is a deco affair at the northwest corner of Spadina & Richmond Street West. I am always reminded of Merlin and New York City where we met and how much he loved the architecture of 1930s New York City. Paris, my wife, and Pandora were invited to dinner in the late afternoon.
George seldom hung art about his homes, and rarely any of his; there was one however which moved me the moment I walked into the room. Who is it, I asked, to which George laughed and said, ‘it’s you, of course. It’s the companion to Pink Chair… it is Pink Chair. Back in 1987 when we first met, George had asked me to sit at his loft on Brock Avenue in the Queen West Queen neighbourhood. As a result of our carnal passion, George experienced a new creative drive; he became more creatively focussed and produced more. George’s attack was dazzling and he created with feverish speed. He was always grateful for that time, he was not yet 41 when we met and for him, it proved the mid-life crisis he needed. It was great, too, because Russell, a lover of his, had slowly been dying of AIDS and I became the anchor that kept him focussed here and now.
I was invigorated by this second Pink Chair, which had been completed in 1992 but which he had never shown me. Finally, George and I met separate of my wife, Paris, who has since transitioned and become Denver, for dinner at his Borden Street penthouse condo. Even though I had become a portly little cock-bottomed, short-breathed eccentric with age, I still wanted to return to being George’s muse and, of course, lover. As ever, we dined on another exquisitely prepared meal, which featured a George staple – asparagus and another sublime sauce with the right accompanying wine.At this dinner, however, George began opening up and told me of a murder at University of Toronto where he taught printmaking; it was a murder, George shared, for which he was a major suspect. For the next couple of hours, I watched George come undone as he talked of how unrelenting the authorities were in surveilling him. At one point, as he slumped in the chair across the table from me, George sprang back to life and said that he wanted to apologise; said George, all the years of hearing me speak of the insidiousness of racism and the effects it had on one’s wellbeing, he had dismissed and for that he wanted to apologise.
George trembled at times and he seemed to age before my eyes. Keenly, I kept a raptor’s gaze fixed on his every move. Never once throughout that dinner did I fail to look out for George’s right index and middle fingers’ movements; they never once quivered. George shared that he was terrified of sleeping because he constantly suffered nightmares of losing everything with his being pinned with the murder, going to and dying in jail. George said that he constantly felt as though his every action was being monitored, analysed to discern whether he was the murderer or not. Getting up, I went and knelt at his side at the dining room table and held him, hugged him. I let him know that I was there for him. Slumping forward, George hugged me and dissolved in tears, we both cried. I cried because I realised that there was no way that George could ever be passionate again; there could be no sleepovers – he talked constantly during sleep.
George and I never met at his condo again. Walking away that evening, I was struck by how neutered and consumed with fear George had become. At one point during dinner, with his back turned whilst cooking dinner, one of my notoriously loud sneezes exploded. Though George had heard that loud explosion countless times before, he responded as though a high speed train had unexpectedly zoomed past. George and I seldom spoke by phone and rarely emailed after that dinner. As a matter of fact, apart from meeting twice to catch a movie, we only saw each other whenever I turned up at Dr. Tsang’s. It was one of these visits – whenever I went to the doctor’s, George happened to have been there, George shared that he had cancer. I was stunned. Over time, George’s stomach became more distended, his look more wounded and what pained me most, was how much he remained as if possessed, thanks to having been a major suspect in the murder of a colleague.
After dinner, as I made to leave and we hugged long and hard, we then looked at Pink Chair, another of his masterpieces, George kissed me and said that whatever happened, it was mine; George wanted the piece to eventually become mine but for now, he was holding on to it because it reminded him of the passion we shared and how intensely I had inspired him to create and drove him, drove each other mad with the passion we shared. Getting down to Borden, I was so immensely drained at George’s despair that I walked with bike a block south to Adelaide, hailed a cab, securely tucked the bike in the trunk and silently wept on the ride home. I got in, lit beeswax candles everywhere, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies, then had an extra hot soak in the tub with rose petals and Epsom salt, smudged my home afterwards with sagebrush, crawled into the pyramid, gathered crystals and upped my frequency whilst collapsing through the labiate folds of sleep’s sweet, welcome embrace. George died a dozen years after my return to living in Toronto from Montréal, and all attempts to acquire Pink Chair have proven unsuccessful. A lover scorned… indeed.
As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Let’s show those crass, Yanks some class! Who does she think she is, parading about New York City… as if? World premier, it is. We’ll pull out all the stops and banish their coverage. Alas, always missing the mark, these island dwellers. Then again, it is the year of the cicada, replete with dragging wings… ha! Coming thru y’all… Princess Gurn and Squeak de Bourbon y Bucklebury, looking so on point – her outfit like yet another discarded cicada shell this summer. Though, truth be told, it does bring back memories of that god awful shower curtain at my Côte-des-Neiges apartment.
Suddenly, I feel some Johnny Cash coming on…. gurn gurn gurn gurn… poom pee doom doom dooo… yee-haw! The dead eye, the mouldy sillage of sodden cardboard weighs down the air… Soon, another face-hurting outing completed, she can lamentably go home with the bald, simpleton Bourbon bastard, argue, bitch some more, have a drink, eat a lima bean or two then control that figure by chain smoking well into the night… charmant. How appropriate the choice of gown that deftly mirrors the shell of a life of ennui and playing dress up.
As for this absurd reinvention of the listless, mousy, Edward Gorey, gurning ghoul, by Britons one and all, Catherine has, truth be told, evolved into every bull dyke’s wet dream.
All she said was, ‘Hi everybody’ and all New York, alas, all America was besotted. Though the British media have all but burnt the negro at the stake, there she was in Central Park and more radiant than Jeanne d’Arc, after having survived the isle of racist boors by whom she was no doubt spiritually crushed.
I will never forget standing in Whitehall on Remembrance Sunday 2018 and being exhausted from the hatefulness being directed towards the Duchess of Sussex from positively everyone around me.
Sorry Yank haters, the camera does not lie… stop pretending you did not notice that snippet into their true relations… Like Andrew’s seedy proclivities, you cannot indefinitely explain the truth away.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Just when I thought there could be no tea more sublime than soursop bush tea – a favourite since childhood in the West Indies, I discovered Fortnum & Mason’s elderflower-flavoured green tea. As my latest order arrived just in time for what would have been Merlin’s 74th birthday on July 21, [21/7/1947 Pig 3.1.4 = 8] I thought to go one better and try and get myself a lemon and elderflower cake for my birthday on August 2 [2/8/1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11]. After all, it was the Sussexes’ gorgeous-looking lemon and elderflower wedding cake that got me thinking. Soon, I was on the quest for an elderflower-flavoured cake for my upcoming birthday. Daniel et Daniel, which really is not what it was in the 80s when Merlin and I got choice pastries and at least one dish per week there, carried no such cake. Restless, I called partout and eventually got around to placing a call to another of the Weston family’s refined businesses, the Loblaws at Maple Leaf Gardens. Eventually, I was put through to the bakery department where I got an haughty prude, who seemed too bothered to have to take the call. For the third time, I repeated that I was looking for an elderflower-flavoured cake, when Ms. Krakow, 1978, third runner-up dismissively bulldozed back, “Elderflower? No! We only use white flour in our cakes!” Well, there has to be a first time for everything because early in my seventh decade, I laughed so damn hard that I fell onto the sofa, clapping, tearing up and simultaneously experienced the most mind-altering trifecta of ageing: leaking, farting and feeling damn near on the cusp of what one assumes an aneurysm must feel like. I am determined to yet have that lemon and elderflower-flavoured cake.
The tea photographed is actually not elderflower; it is a far more pale, sublimely subtle affair.
Beyond these gates, at a royal Roman villa, recently occurred the most sublimely magical theatre…..
Unescorted by her father, Lady Kitty Spencer proved that Spencer women are indomitable whether her aunt, Diana, Princess of Wales or for that matter, Georgiana spencer, Duchess of Devonshire. Ah those fabulous, formidable Spencer women!
30/12/1990 (Horse) Lady Kitty Spencer-Lewis 3.6.7 = 7
Georgiana Spencer Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire…. a Spencer woman to the core.
7/6/1757 (Goat) Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire 7.4.6 = 8
A Spencer woman who more than measured up to Georgiana – standard bearer of Spencer fortitude, Diana, Princess of Wales.
1/7/1961 (Ox) Diana, Princess of Wales 1.8.7 = 7.
Diana despite what has been claimed, was immensely uncomplicated and the most dynamic Spencer woman. She was 1 energy body, which means that regardless of her artisan soul doe-eyed fawning, she was a loud, combative, bossy bully-arsed Amazon and as tough as they come. Diana’s second number of 8 simply means that she was going to earn even more money than that into which she was born, which was true – though the Spencers are infinitely more ancient a family than the Windsors. Most of all, Diana was possessed of double 7s. All 7 persons can see beyond the veil and know exactly what is going down at all times. They can see ‘dead people’ as the saying goes but tend to rarely advertise this. They see auras and they more than anyone else can penetrate beyond the veil such that they can be as readily focussed on the astral plane as they can the physical plane. They are master manipulators and they are the ultimate power in any dynamic. Diana was neither pawn nor unaware. Most of all, all persons with more than one 7 in their numerological makeup and when the fourth/destiny number is a 7 run the very real risk of being murdered/assassinated.
29/5/1917 (Snake) President John F. Kennedy 2.7.7. = 7.
There are only 2 deaths of persons in public life in the West during the 20th century, which to our very core collectively broadsided us and shook us to our soul… all of us. President John F. Kennedy and Diana, Princess of Wales. The President was openly assassinated as it was a message to all future presidents not to ever think of trying to dismantle the Federal Reserve, which is a private rather than government entity. All persons in public life who are assassinated if they are politicians will have a 4th number of 4, 5 or 8; however, when that public person has a 7 as fourth number they were assassinated by a institution in Kennedy’s case the cartel families which own the U.S. federal reserve and in Diana’s case the dynastic institution and power behind the Windsor dynasty. Diana was pregnant and as mother of a future sovereign and future head of the Church of England, she could not be allowed to start a rival dynastic house, which would doubtless be after she had converted to another religion.
21/4/1926 (Tiger) Duke of Lancaster 3.7.7 = 8.
Diana was a damn bully and her two 7s were no match for her ultimate rival, the very powerful Duke of Lancaster, who also happens to have two 7s and the fourth number is 8, which is the ultimate sign of ruthless power. More artisan souls get knocked off for being a pain in the arse than any other role. Flaunting her pregnancy in the South of France was the final straw for the Duke of Lancaster. Diana had bullied the Duke of Lancaster’s son, Charles, Prince of Wales. Indeed, it was quite one thing for Diana to have provoked the Duke of Lancaster’s ire by producing a firstborn who only happened to be an obvious Bourbon bastard but it was quite another to be hellbent on further ridiculing and insulting the Duke of Lancaster by starting a rival dynasty and of a totally unacceptable faith.
Diana’s death was such callous open warfare. It was such vicious business that we became for a week, and longer, unhinged. How could this have happened? How could every effort not have been made to save Diana when clearly she had survived the car crash? Well, when make it look like an accident, does not work, then you scream down the phone, “then kill her goddamn it! I want that damn woman dead!” Like John F. Kennedy’s open assassination, we collectively fell to our knees and came undone with Diana having been ruthlessly assassinated.
Time is a most callous business and sooner or later, like shit, it always surfaces the secrets and lies and lays them irrefutably bare. One of the features of Diana’s two 7s is that the fourth number being 7 means that such persons once assassinated, have the ability to avenge their murder from beyond the grave. This is rare but does occur when there is more than one 7 and the fourth number is a 7. Prince Andrew’s undoing and the Sussexes quitting royal life in a blow to the Duke of Lancaster’s Commonwealth legacy, seem in part to be influenced by the long shadow that Diana’s assassination has caused. In quitting royal duties, Diana’s revenge has also struck a blow to Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, who treated Diana so horribly. Indeed, as the Duke of Lancaster has shrunken with age so, too, it seems that the longer the Duke of Lancaster lives, the more Diana’s revenge exacts its toll.
Just as the Duke of Lancaster grew drunk sipping on Diana’s warm blood whilst seething with contempt for the rabble drunk with grief, so too time will reveal why the Duke of Lancaster refused to honour Diana’s murder for days on end. Time will callously reveal the dark visage of the most deceptive Duke of Lancaster yet – double 7s notwithstanding.
Though in utero, enwombed in this photograph is the most fascinating Spencer woman of the modern age after, Diana, Princess of Wales. Lilibet Diana Mountbatten-Windsor born 4 June 2021 an Ox, she will have Diana, her paternal grandmother’s inner strength. Most of all, what this reborn soul has is an inner fortitude that will be a force to be reckoned with. 4/6/2021 Ox 4.1.6 = 11. This Spencer woman is a powerhouse, who will stand shoulder to shoulder with Diana and Georgiana before her. Lilibet has 3 numbers in common with her father, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 Rat 6.6.1 = 4 and, of course, she has two numbers in common with her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11. Having master numbers of 11 means that just as Meghan is more famous than Harry in their dynamic so, too, is Lilibet Diana going to be more famous than Archie her older-souled brother. It matters, too, that during a near recent past life of Lilibet Diana’s, she was famous and a seasoned performer – she has reborn, having already mastered the fame game. More than that, like her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, she is as tough as they come and with master numbers of 11, Lilibet like her mother will be iconic and a lone panther. Persons will drop in and leave her life – they will never stay a nanosecond longer than necessary. She was born to rule… and will.
Michael: This young fragment is a third-level mature sage – second life thereat. Lilibet is in observation mode with a goal of dominance and has an attitude of idealist.
Lilibet has neither centreing nor chief features at this time, owing to her age – this occurs during late teen years.
Lilibet’s body type is Mars Mercury.
The fragment Lilibet is second-cast in the third cadence. Lilibet is a member of greater cadence four. Lilibet is a member of entity two, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418. (Adjacent entity, same cadre as her father, mother, brother, Prince George and The Queen).
Lilibet’s essence twin is a sage and the task companion a warrior incarnate at this time.
Lilibet has shared 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.
There is an agreement with the older brother for emotional support.
This fragment, Lilibet, has been a revered performer in a recent past incarnation,primarily operatic but with some aspect of light entertainment. She was also present in several lives of note in European aristocracy (Italy and Spain)
End (August, 2021).
22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5
Speaking of Spencer women… Always follow the numbers for clues as to just how history is likely to repeat itself; of course, with each generation the players and the drama may change but the numbers always produce the same personae; however, the results may vastly vary. Want to know how Prince George of Cambridge is going to turn out? Apart from the fact that like his maternal and paternal uncles, he is gap-toothed and thus in his immediate past life, like both uncles were, also black. George is a king soul, not that that should make him superhuman; however, the template for this royal role-play is Edward VIII, Duke of Windsor.
25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7
14/11/1948 (Rat) HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 5.7.2 = 5
23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5
25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7
Also, possessed of two 7s, like Diana, Princess of Wales and the Duke of Lancaster, was Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma. Just as with Diana & President John F. Kennedy, one of his multiple 7s was in the fourth position, which resulted in him having been assassinated. Of course, the line at the time and possibly still floated was that it was an IRA hit job. Nonsense. Louis when in India as Edwina his stylish wife openly saw Nehru, this freed up Louis to be with his one true love, Edward, then Prince of Wales, who was truly besotted with the charming, manipulative double 7 lover. This is why, they were sequestered in the colonies in India where their love could be fully flagrant and that it was. Persons with 2 and 5 in their numerology, King George V, Prince William, Duke of Windsor, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Prince George of Cambridge are sexually addictive and indulge readily and with whomsoever. Whether male or female, they will have long, passionate, abiding, same sex-focussed love affairs, though, will marry and procreate as is expected of them. All Edward, Duke of Windsor wanted was to marry Louis Mountbatten and fuck night and day but that could not have been. So, the very mannish, bullying Wallis was a useful beard. Of course, Edward would have gotten off on being bullied by Wallis and likely Louis also got off on watching them at play whilst Wallis would definitely have gotten off on Edward, Prince of Wales and Louis lovemaking. Eventually, the well-hung Louis Mountbatten would move on to Edward’s coveted great-nephew, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. Equally as besotted, Charles, Prince of Wales would have loved Louis Mountbatten as deeply and passionately as his great-uncle, Edward, Duke of Windsor had decades earlier in India and thereafter.Of course, it was not until Louis was assassinated that Charles finally sought to get over the assassination of his lover, Louis Mountbatten, by marrying not the Rottweiler beard, rather the conveniently clueless virgin, Diana who faster than a sneeze grew wise and more importantly shrewd and gave the Windsor’s something to gloat about, the flat-footed Bourbon bastard heir to the Windsor dynasty.
19/2/1960 (Rat) Prince Andrew, Duke of York 1.3.1 = 5.
Where 2s favour being bottoms and being bullied, 7s however, are sadistic and among their sexual fetishes apart from S&M, is having sexual slaves and also power-tripping by way of having sex with minors. It is a known fact that Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Edward, Duke of Windsor and Charles, Prince of Wales’s special friend, Louis Mountbatten got himself assassinated for his sexually predatory exploits with male minors, which saw the IRA having no part in his assassination. Whereas one could lie and cover in the past as in 1979, today, and thanks to American irreverence, Prince Andrew finds himself exposed with nowhere to hide for cover and mummy’s ermine coat just won’t do. Andrew is a bully, 1 energy body, and it is no surprise that with a fourth number of 5, Andrew has been exposed as a sexual predator; infamy is a common outcome when 5 is in the fourth position. Andrew is also a rat and more rats cause their families to stay up late at night in the near-dark, looking at the ceiling and wanting the rat curse to go away.
3/6/1865 (Ox) King George V 3.9.2 = 5
23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5
21/6/1982 (Dog) HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 3.9.2 = 5
5/1/1938 (Ox) King Juan Carlos 5.6.9 = 2
King Juan Carlos is also possessed of 2 & 5 in his numerology; however, his 5 is in the first position – the energy body. This is the signature of the serial womaniser who likely has fathered multiple offspring. Prince William has three numbers in common with Juan Carlos whereas with Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, William shares only two numbers. William also shares no numbers with his mother whereas Harry shares one with Diana, Princess of Wales.
9/1/1982 (Rooster) Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9.1.3 = 4
22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5
With the tyranny that is both his parents’ 9s, apart from the usual 2 and 5 mix, which will leave Prince George sexually addictive, he does possess one feature that is mildly alarming. He has 8 as his third number. This position of 8 usually manifests as massive financial setbacks and losses. All in all, 8 in the third position likely means that during his lifetime, George will possibly lose his title to the crown jewels either by abdication; quite simply, George can find himself displaced, for doing something that has not been done before. In short with that 2 & 5 mix of being sexually fluid, George just might end up becoming the second Spencer woman named Georgiana!
Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England
Michael: This fragment is a fourth-level mature king – third life thereat. George is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, George, at this time (December 2019) does not yet have centreing.
George does not yet have chief features.
George’s body type is Jupiter/Mercury and a small tertiary of Venus.
The fragment George is fourth-cast in the seventh cadence. George is a member of greater cadence seven. George’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.
George’s essence twin is a king – they are likely to meet at a later date and also head of state. The task companion is a warrior.
George’s three primary needs are: expression, power, security and freedom.
There is a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, for training and preparation for ‘duties’.
There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 2 with Merlin.
END. (December, 2019).
With a predominantly Jupiter body type, HRH Prince George of Cambridge, like King George IV before him, will tend towards having a large overpowering body; his 5 does run the risk of him being gluttonous.
4/8/1900 (Rat) Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother 4.3.4 = 11
4/8/1981 (Rooster) Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4.3.4 = 11
Both women are mature souls: Meghan (mid-cycle mature artisan soul) slightly older-souled than Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (second mature slave soul). Numerologically, both women are vibrationally exact in every way. How you would respond to one, is exactly how you would respond to the other in a one-on-one encounter. However, aristocratic Elizabeth married a royal and though an outsider (Scottish) was not baited and hounded by an as yet out-of-control tabloid press. Meghan, self-made, black and an American exposed everything that is ugly about British society in an age where post Charles & Diana, the tabloid media are way out-of-control and hold to ransom the BRF. In marrying Meghan, Prince Harry has exposed what ‘yank’-hating, ugly, racist, truly small-minded, classist boors inhabit the small isle of England.
19/6/1896 (Monkey) Wallis, Duchess of Windsor 1.7.4 = 3
23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5
Let me start by making it perfectly clear; the only 3 similarities between Wallis and Meghan are these: both are women, both are American and both are human. They have positively nothing else in common. Secondly, before you can reincarnate, you must first die and Meghan was already very much so alive before Wallis, Duchess of Windsor died in 1986. All men with both 2 and 5 in their numerology are innate bottoms regardless their sexual focus; they love to be dominated by strong sexual and emotional partners. 2 introduces fluidity with regards sense of self to all such men. With the combination of 5 which rules excess, gluttony, perversion and insatiable indulgences, all such men need to be sexually dominated, owned and submit to their partner. 1 in the first number, the energy body, is that of the bully, the bossy, emasculating woman. Such women would be driven to be with men who wish to be dominated and who were born to strong, controlling women. The combination of 2 & 5 in a man’s chart always leads to sexual intensity, perversion and being gratified by fetishes of one type or another. From being yelled at, punched, bullied, cursed, pissed on to being strapped such men are also turned on by men and love to be controlled by strong men with whom they are prepared to indulge but would never consider it homoeroticised. Wallis with an energy body of 1 would perceive Edward, Duke of Windsor as her bitch and may well have referred to him as such during their very intense, ritualised and heavily fetish-focussed sexual relations. Edward, Duke of Windsor was as he was because 2 causes fluidity in men which is readily perceived as weakness, effeminacy… or both. 5 persons will always rebel against the rigidity, judgmental, controlling, stubborn restrictiveness of 9. Even though possessed of 5 himself, King George V’s 9 proved too overwhelming for Edward, Duke of Windsor and would have caused him to rebel which resulted in his relationship with Wallis because of her 1 and also because his father’s 9 meant that he positively despised Americans and their culture. Wherever you find 5 in a numerological chart, you also find both excess and infamy.
Well isn’t that just marvellous! Look at little Billie Bourbon Flatfoot! Pussywhipped by the dominatrix fakester from Bucklebury. Go on, yada yada all the blasted frig you want but ever bliss eludes this sorry pantomime one decade and counting.
Horowitz, Vladimir 1/10/03 Kiev<O>5/11/89, NYC
Michael: This fragment was, in his immediate past life, a mid-cycle mature scholar in passion mode, with a goal of growth, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.
Vladimir had a Mercury/Lunar body type.
Vladimir’s was a strong primary chief feature of arrogance and a weaker secondary of stubbornness.
This fragment was second-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. He is a member of entity five, cadre two, greater cadre 14, pod/node 449.
He and the fragment who was Wanda Toscanini are task companions, both now discarnate. The fragment who was Wanda was a fifth level mature warrior.
Vladimir’s essence twin is a scholar and is incarnate on the physical plane, is female, age seven years. There are plans for them to complete the mother/son monad in Vladimir’s next incarnation, which will probably occur during the third decade of the next millennium.
So here was an artisan-cast scholar with a great deal of sage energy, most of which was expended in his personal life. This fragment’s relationship with his task companion was passionate, explosive and mutually satisfying.
This scholar’s demeanour in public contrasted greatly with his behaviour in his private life.
It is interesting to note that this fragment has had only one other life as a practicing musician and that was as an organist at the Chartre Cathedral in the early part of the nineteenth century.
However, this fragment has a long stage history, beginning in Greece during its Golden Age.
This fragment also built harpsichords during the latter part of the eighteenth century and actually built one for Leopold Mozart.
As a highland warrior in the latter part of the seventeenth century, this fragment distinguished himself both on the battlefield and in fashioning bagpipes.
He was an exemplary soldier in many lives and many guises.
However, the place where this fragment was most at home was on the stage or behind the scenes.
What I love about the Horowitzes is how much so they are like Felipe VI’s step-brother and his dominatrix frau. Both Wanda Toscanini Horowitz and Catherine are fifth mature warrior souls who were/are married to their scholar task compaanion – Vladimir Horowitz and William the Bourbon pretender.
Just like the Horowitzes for being task companions the Bourbon-Bucklebury duo are a combustible, combative couple, who’ve openly rowed and cussed sotto voce in public their entire marriage but alas who is going to be so daft as to break from fairy story to either perceive or acknowledge the truth of this sorry pantomime?
Wanna know what Catherine & William are really like, take a long hard look at two more intensely soul-bonded lovers, Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton – they are essence twins, in Mike Nichols’ “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.” Like Martha, Catherine also is a heavy cigarette smoker.
They, el duque y la duquesa Bourbon y Bucklebury, are a rivetingly complex but utterly volatile couple – all task companions and essence twins are; however, for the British tabloid media to pretend that they are all that is risible in the very least. They both have 9 in their numerology and all such persons are archly self-toxic, which therefore dictates how they relate to everyone. Want to imagine what the Cambridges worldview is like, just listen to Lady Colin Campbell and Piers Morgan speak. They, the Cambridges and the aforementioned two media personalities, are argumentative, scathing, fault-finding, abusive, manipulative and bigoted… all 9 persons are.
Their contempt for their subjects notwithstanding, the Bucklebury muggles are also stressed to the gills from the perpetual rowing they witness when around their oh-so-tightly-wound-to-saccharine-perfection-fake parents.
It should be noted that during several dream encounters with HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge that I’ve had – as someone who dreams lucidly and recalls dreams each time that I sleep, it is not uncommon to dream of persons known or unknown to me – when he sits, he favours doing so with his legs gathered and folded. I remember the first time that I made the connection when visiting a friend’s family in the Eastern Townships on the drive from Montréal whilst en route to a long weekend in Québec City. Not only did the co-worker’s cousin exclusively sit with his legs gathered beneath him all times when sat; however, he was made ever acutely and openly hostile by my presence. Like another co-worker at another job whose stepson was on the spectrum, that man was also acutely uncomfortable in my presence and sat with legs gathered beneath him whenever sat. Like William, all these persons have a vacant look about them; though, William has been intensely groomed to be normal, he is normal simply because there is so much vested interest in how we perceive him.
He is a prince. He is Diana’s boy. He is the future king. We collectively are at once somnambulantly caught up in the fairy story and in his tightly choreographed outings, he is deftly able to pull the wool over our collective eyes. However, when he is challenged, like all 9s and spectrum-focussed persons, he will go off-piste and betray the intransigent stubbornness at the core of his being as a scholar in stubbornness and a spectrum-focussed human being. William betrayed his spectrum-focussed prejudice and oafishness by lacking sophistication when stating, “We are very much not a racist family.” Merely, by his statement’s ambiguity, its basic double negative, William thereby betrayed the racism rife within aspects of the BRF. Full stop! Alas, whatever is a trapped spectrum-focussed oaf to do? Stayed tuned, there is yet to be a sequel, this one in future will be deemed, the Madness of King Wills.
Ten years of rowing on the way up the Mall from their wedding ceremony, to all the private hissing, to the dominatrix brush off of the tedious spectrum-focussed oaf whom Catherine at best is damn sick and tired of having to babysit, especially when it cannot damn well stop pursuing his bits of roughs on the side and one should never rule out his male relative – no, not King Felipe VI rather his violent wife’s brother; there is a reason why James is never photographed anywhere near William. Just look at these two photos released to mark their 10th wedding anniversary, Catherine does not once look at William. He is an oaf and what she prominently displays is Diana’s engagement ring. That’s right, I am the one possessed of the womb, which brought forth the future sovereign, I don’t give a damn and if I made the little negro cry…. so damn fucking what. I am a bitch… deal with it.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Time and again, the British tabloids, media and royal sycophants keep repeating that there is no racism within the BRF and that it is rather a damning allegation to have made on the part of the Sussexes in their sit-down interview with Oprah Winfrey on CBS. What the hell are these people on about? There she was Princess Eurotrash of Flat-Arsedom, going full gansta in her blackamoor brooch; yet, there is no racism within the BRF tabloid sycophants loudly protest.
Of course, right on cue, along came the knock-kneed, flat-flooted Bourbon, displaying his frightful lack of awareness, tack… to say nothing of intellect. Indeed, let’s take Meghan & Harry detractors one and all to task as well they damn well ought to be. Please know this, if you don’t like black people… fuck you!
That’s right, Britons are not in the least racist. God only knows, it is at American baseball, basketball and football games that fans make monkey noises, make Nazi salutes and toss bananas on the field/court… indeed. From top to bottom, whether emboldened royals ie HRH Princess Michael of Kent to chavs and others at a football game, Britons are hideously racist and this need to deny their ugliness is betrayed by their need to sublimate all that by forever masquerading the aristocracy in cinema and art as though to entice and beguile the wayward, rebellious kin across the pond.
Petra…. seriously. Unlike you, Meghan married a blood prince. You, however, fittingly wedded a greasy-looking, conman with obvious substance abuse issues… Come on, you actually laid there and had that walrus slither atop you and pass out after another drunken orgasmic fit… Ew fucking ew! Moneyed trash is still trash… you are but another bigoted, spiritual blackhole aimlessly flitting about from beach to yacht to shopping whilst waiting to finally lay your casket chic looks in a casket. Not surprisingly, that chaviola father of Petra’s has proven himself, vis-à-vis Lewis Hamilton’s phenomenal F1 success just another moneyed bigoted pigmy.
Child, after a lifetime of being all god’s children’s favourite windup fool, there you’ll be all smiles and perky only to hear St. Peter say, “Do me a favour, go on over there and grab that candelabra, I could do with some light…” Honest to fucking god, self-loathing fools are the most contemptable of fools. Leave Meghan alone… you know nothing, save looking for another opportunity to make yourself beloved by those for whom Billie Holiday sang Strange Fruit.
A veritable chavfest of pretentious elitist boors. Imagine the fuck-all temerity of these jackasses to insist that CBS and Oprah postpone the Meghan & Harry interview out of consideration of Prince Philip, HRH Duke of Edinburgh, spouse of HM The Queen, being hospitalised. Naturally, it never once occurred to these ugly-of-spirit, racial predators how their unrelentingly racialised aggression in the media against Meghan & Harry was affecting not just the Sussexes but HM The Queen and her spouse Prince Philip, HRH Duke of Edinburgh. For nine long excruciating months, they badgered away at the pregnant Duchess of Sussex for having dared to have wedded at the apex of their racist society but to go on and start breeding mongrelised royal blood, was simply untenable an affront.
There is not a single white female who would have been racially preyed on by the British tabloids the way that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex has been. Whilst this racially predatory feeding frenzy has endured, not a single protest ever emanated from the BRF or the Royal Households on their behalf. The tabloids knew that in an archly racialised society – apeing black footballers on the field – the business of open racial animus towards the Sussexes was big business…. indeed, not since the phenomenal business that Diana represented for them, had they enjoyed such profits. What neither the royals nor the tabloids had envisioned, was the Sussexes not playing along; they had never fathomed the notion that an American, a black American, would simply pick up, take her blood royal prince and son and relocate to a society where for being a self-made woman, a self-made black woman, she could be challenged, engaged and supported rather than being eclipsed, dehumanised, demonised, silenced…. lynched. No star ever takes second billing to a dull as sodden cardboard ingenue of neither awareness nor discernible intellect… ditto Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. The problem with the British tabloids and media who cover the BRF were how homogenous they are; with the exception of BAME Roya Nikkhah, this semi-feral herd of racist cattle are overwhelmingly white, which means that everything that they plotted and schemed about meting out to Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, was gleefully done with a racially predatory agendum – it is in the nature of the rabid beast.
By extension, both Oprah Winfrey and Gayle King have relatively demonstrated what a racially suffocating society Britain is. There simply aren’t any paths to success in British media for blacks as in the case of American society. This all begs the question, why again when America has ceased being a British colony, is there a need to lionise British actors in American cinema and all but relegate and ghettoise American actors to the hinterland that is television – although what with the devastating restructuring that the Coronavirus pandemic has caused, Netflix and by extension all cable, have become the newly dominant medium rather than cinema.
Thomas Markle deftly validates the Michael Teaching knowledge that from lifetime to lifetime, you have only one parenting agreement with one of both parents. Obviously, in the case of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, who was formerly Margaret Beaufort, Doria Ragland is the parent with whom she has the parenting agreement in this life and that’s that. In a manner which deeply rips off the scab of American racism, Thomas Markle in essence treats his own daughter as property… as a mere runaway slave, who needs to be punished at all cost for disrespecting him and not staying her arse on the plantation where she belongs. It can never be forgotten that Thomas is possessed of a 9 in his numerology which would make him just as archly bigoted, conservative and interfering as the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge.
There are two families in each lifetime; the one chosen by soul into which to reincarnate and once incarnate, the onus is on one, to use the greatest discretion in choosing in whom you trust and such persons are family. Sadly, Samantha is like 7 of 10 white females who simply hate Meghan because she married a blood prince; this reality has proven an affront to their lifelong cherished fantasy, indeed, their sacred notion of whom a prince should marry – clearly, it should not be a black woman or else the white female tribal psyche goes on the warpath… as most definitely it has. Meghan has never been perceived by Samantha as anyone but the otiose, nappy-headed bastard who needs to be pinched, bullied, spat at and reviled at every turn and Samantha in her blind rage, was not going to miss her chance to get on the stage before the world and remind us all what ugly malaise of spirit this thing called white privilege is and how it thoroughly immolates thusly focussed persons.
What more proof does one need? Thank you, Master Archie Manners for doing right by your namesakes’ honour; your slight of hand was truly masterful. The whole lot of these blasted dogs have been exposed and as for Victoria Arbiter, she needs to be fired by CNN. Sorry, it is the vicious lynching of the American Duchess, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex by this group of racial predators, empowered by the hideous Bourbon-Bucklebury duo, which drove Meghan to being suicidal.
See this right here; these blasted fucknuts would like to have the world believe that there was no racism to which Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and by extension Harry, Duke of Sussex were subjected and that because the Sussexes chose to have a private moment whilst being counselled by the clergyman and romantically take their vows, which could not have been legal, thus it was a lie, somehow, everything else was a lie. Well see here duckies, the big, flat-arsed princess Eurotrash’s racist shade-throwing could not possibly have been racist, right? Bullshit! Not only was it vile, racist cowardly social aggression, it was also completely and utterly sanctioned by the Cambidges who do no give two fucks, which is precisely why HRH Prince Charles was not allowed access to HRH Prince George for long months after his birth. These are the same Cambridges who leaned forward across the quire aisle from the keenly observant and savvy Mulroneys at the Sussexes’ wedding to hiss and ridicule as well persons possessed of 9 can be expected to do. One should never forget that as a mature soul warriorin perseverance mode with a primary need for power, Catherine knows and understands full well her power.
The moment that Catherine gave birth, and to a firstborn who proved a prince no less, she immediately became the second most powerful woman in Britain after HM The Queen. This is precisely why she showed her power by retreating to Bucklebury and refused her father-in-law access to her child and future sovereign as this was a direct snub of Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall who at most would be Queen Consort, though, never Queen Consort and future Queen Mother. Hers was the second most valuable womb in Britain, she had given birth to a future sovereign and fuck everyone else… all the social/classist aggression that she had endured was, like an irritating mirage, suddenly collapsed into nothingness. Like Camilla, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex could not eclipse, challenge Catherine… What other response could one expect of an inarticulate mousy woman of another who is articulate, self-made, charismatic and unacceptably non-white. Again, all women with a 9 energy body are the biggest shit-disturbers, saboteuse and are fiendishly controlling. I love the official portrait of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge at the National Portrait Gallery as it truly captures the complexity of a mature soul warrior in perseverance mode with a primary need of power. She was wedded at her Saturn return and it is at that point that you truly start manifesting, who were born to be. Power corrupts and it is obvious in Catherine’s face in the later photos in the above set. Seven years into her marriage and mother of a future sovereign, Catherine was power mad at the point of the Sussexes wedding and there is no way that she wanted Meghan at court anymore than she suffers the non-threat of Camilla who will never be Queen Mother.
Some fucking how, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex was supposed to have endured the unrelenting racially predatory harassment never before experienced by any other black woman in history and, somehow, these bipedal dogs were in essence braying, “Come on, you’re a nigger, come on play along, come on, you can take it… it’s only a poplar tree, what’s the big deal? Why are you afraid to be lynched? It’s your birth right; this is your role in our national sport… we decide and you are not allowed to be in our fairy story. It’s your history to be lynched for fuckssakes. Stop whining and fall into line.” And whilst all this endured the culpable Cambridges, used tampon et al simply sat around inebriated and somnambulant, chuckling, “one ibble dibble, two ibble dibble.”
Sharon Osborne, fired! Now get out of America. Piers Morgan, fired! Fuck you, you rabid racist coward. Victoria Arbiter, CNN needs to fire this charlatan Briton and soon; that exposé by Archie Manners is all one needs to get a fair assessment of these clowns, claiming to be royal expert this and royal expert that. These same clowns in a post-Oprah CBS Interview are claiming victory as the Sussexes poll numbers have plummeted. Seriously, the Sussexes now live in America; trust you me, neither they nor Americans give a rat’s arse about what island-dwelling xenophobic bigots think. No matter how you keep grasping at straws, the Sussexes are well out of your lives – they do not give a blasted damn.
This now frees you up to focus your jaundiced tabloid and fabulist biographies on the rest of the royals… you know, the one with a proclivity for minor fare. Then there is the knock-kneed, flat-footed Bourbon oaf whom you have yet to have a million body language experts opine about the royal brushoff during Mary Berry’s A Berry Royal Christmas Special. That’s right, their marriage is a volatile, shattered affair, which was just as plainly obvious during the BBC Christmas baking special as it was the day of their marriage a decade ago as they rowed all the way up the Mall and whilst on the balcony at Buckingham Palace. Even their miserable-looking kids betray the froideur of their sado-masochistic arrangement.
William is a flawed, weak oaf who hasn’t a clue. Catherine, however, is as rapaciously shrewd as they come. This is why the day after Oprah’s Interview for CBS with the Sussexes when asked by the reporter if the royals were a racist family, William walked right into the trap and spoke up, declaring: We are very much not a racist family.” Catherine, though, pretended not to have heard any of it and simply kept on walking away – indeed, she knew it was best to run away as every coward does. The Cambridges are the architects of it all and unfortunately as he has had to be screamed at and brushed off time and again by Catherine, William stupidly fell for the bait and shot off his mouth where he most definitely ought not to have.
This Betty Carter tour de force, Thou Swell, deftly sums up the superior strategists that the Sussexes are to the Cambridges. Meghan was a Queen Mother too and what is past is present is always future. I played this tune for a couple of hours after William outed himself as the Sussexes intended in their interview with Oprah for CBS, enjoying the deliciousness of their groove which like Jazz, is sophistication most rare. Jazz touches those for whom it is native, it is breath, like it does no one else… go on ape the culture all you want but we both know that, like Billy flat-foot, it don’t mean a damn thing…
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Windsor, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9/1/1982
Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior – third life thereat. Catherine is in the perseveration mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Catherine is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Catherine’s primary chief feature is stubbornness and the secondary, arrogance.
Catherine’s body type is Saturn/Mercury/Venus.
The fragment Catherine is fourth-cast in the sixth cadence. Catherine is a member of greater cadence one. Catherine’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6 pod 208.
Catherine’s essence twin is a warrior and the task companion a scholar, her husband, HRH Prince William Duke of Cambridge.
Catherine’s three primary needs are: expansion, power and expression.
There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 8 with Merlin. _____________________________________________
Reputed to have the largest collection of tiaras, odd isn’t it that prior to having attended HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace when HRH Prince Henry’s affianced Meghan Markle made her inaugural attendance, never before had HRH Princess Michael of Kent worn this brooch. A brooch it is that is decidedly offensive in its racially focussed animus towards blacks. How does one account for this bold, racist display, if one did not have the sanction of those who matter?
HRH Princess Michael of Kent 15/1/1945 Monkey 6.7.8 = 3
For, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, the person who matters is not HM The Queen – we have no idea how HM The Queen is perceived by senior royals, though, there are obvious factions who see HM The Queen as having overstayed her tenure. Who could HRH Princess Michael of Kent have been sucking up to by wearing that brooch? Who were the puppet masters of that emboldened display of venal bigotry? Who was “Princess Pushy,” HRH Princess Michael of Kent taking orders from?
Lord Frederick Windsor, 6/4/1979 Goat 6.1.9 = 7
The male royal with closest connection to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s only son, Lord Frederick Windsor. Indeed, Freddie & William are so close that it was to Frederick’s daughter, Maud’s, school in Battersea that the Cambridges’ firstborn, HRH Prince George of Cambridge, began his schooling. Why are they so close – apart from a possible soul connection (entity, cadre, pod) and past-life connections, Frederick Windsor, William and Catherine, The Black Queen all have 9 in their numerological makeup. The hallmark of persons with 9, is that they are all shit-disturbers and love plotting, scheming and sabotaging persons of whom they do not approve. No 9 person ever misses an opportunity to fuck with someone… anyone. 9 persons are incredibly insecure.
HRH Prince Michael of Kent 4/7/1942 Horse 4.2.9 = 6
Though these persons do not see themselves as being racially prejudiced – they simply are defending their way of life and how they perceive that their way of life ought to look – its makeup and exclusivity. Also possessed of 9, Frederick would have been much informed by his father’s worldview and perception of reality. All four persons being 9s, would willingly support William and Catherine, The Black Queen’s edict not to have to countenance blacks being deserving of being in their midst, indeed, being socially acceptable in their midst. The impact that this would have had on the royal households cannot be overlooked. This bold racist slight against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex would have left much of the royal householders at Kensington Palace feeling themselves fully entitled to be openly racist towards both Harry & Meghan. Without doubt, this toxic environment would be a significant factor for the Sussexes not to have moved in to the newly renovated apartment next-door at Kensington Palace to the Cambridges, rather they would end up setting up their household at Frogmore Cottage.
Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9/1/1982 Rooster 9.1.3 = 4
HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 21/6/1982 Dog 3.9.2 = 5
Lord Frederick Windsor’s close friend, the future sovereign, William, the Duke of Cambridge is also – along with his wife, Catherine, The Black Queen – possessed of 9 in his numerological makeup. Above all else, William is noted to be a petty, fault-finding, toxic (like all 9s) intensely discriminating, stubborn man who is also inordinately dense and unaware.
HRH Prince Henry of Wales & Meghan Markle December, 2017.
Be that as it may, both the royal rota journalists and their racist hateful fans would readily conclude that in a bid to garner sympathy, Meghan actually presented the brooch to HRH Princess Michael of Kent and asked her to wear it to HM The Queen’s 2017 Buckingham Palace lunch, with the senior Kent princess not having any idea of the brooch’s racially offensive symbology. Indeed, both the print media and Meghan racist detractors have simply glossed over that pivotal episode, which signalled the declaration of a warring campaign of harassment, racism and bullying that would be focussed on both Henry & Meghan and coming chiefly from the Cambridges and all their cronies, the Kents and royal households alike.
TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge with HRH Prince Henry of Wales.
When was HRH Prince Henry ever reported to have been rude and disproving of Catherine Middleton because she was not a suitable spousal candidate for a royal and his much-loved brother?
William is carefully studied and great at slight of hand; at least, this is the case when he is making tightly choreographed appearances, which do not allow for moments of spontaneity. He enters, hands clasped, he makes a speech with a joke that displays the same saccharine, clipped laughter. In the above GIF, Catherine, The Black Queen, is seen brushing off her husband, the future sovereign, HRH Prince William. This quintessentially is the response of someone (Catherine, The Black Queen) possessed of a first number of 9. They are rude, dismissive and never mask their true feelings. William is truly beneath the thumb of his wife, Catherine, The Black Queen. Look at the way that William ducks down, neurotically rubs his arm and then looks to see if anyone has caught the behaviour, which clearly is never supposed to be observed beyond the walls of either Amner Hall or Kensington Palace.
Royal Wedding HRH Prince William & Catherine Middleton, 29.4.2011
Though there were multiple examples of William’s lack of awareness and his inability to mask his appalling lack of sophistication when in spontaneous live events, as at his wedding in April, 2011, a prime example of his behaviour on leaving Westminster Abbey with his new bride. At the second hour and 9th minute of the above video, [02.09.25] and the next two minutes William is totally self-absorbed and completely unaware of his new wife, Catherine, The Black Queen. He fidgets and is unable to properly put on his white gloves. Next, he gets into the Imperial State Landau and sits with his back to the horses; he, as it were, was sat such that his back potentially was to the crowds during procession. When finally he was directed aright by the footman, who knowingly looked at Pippa Middleton whose response validated that it was common knowledge that William is a fool, he then shifted to correctly sit, facing to the back of the horses. Naturally, totally unaware, he simply shifted from one seat to the other and remained seated as his new wife entered the landau. Selfishly, he is then observed shoving Catherine, The Black Queen‘s, beautiful Alexander McQueen gown out of the way and off his uniform.
Royal Wedding HRH Prince Henry & Meghan Markle, 18.5.2018.
At the fourth hour and 7th minute [04.07.00] of The Royal Wedding of HRH Prince Henry and Meghan Markle, Harry takes the time to speak to his new wife and then puts on his hat and gloves.
Windsor, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 London, England
Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior -– fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William. Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth. A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Body type is Mars/Saturn.
Henry’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.
The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three. Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II.
Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion.
Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange.
There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin. ___________________________________________
Henry, infinitely more aware than his brother, then gets into the Ascot Landau and does what his brother never did. Throughout, he remained standing in the Ascot landau, gave his new wife a hand inside then after she was comfortable sat, like a true gentleman, he then sat besides his wife. Their father, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales also did the honourable thing and stood whilst his new bride, Diana, Princess of Wales stepped into the Imperial State landau and was comfortably sat at the foot of the steps at St. Paul’s Cathedral one glorious July day in 1981 whilst I then lived in Winnipeg during my studies at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s school.
Duchess of Sussex, Endeavour Fund Awards 2020, Mansion House.
What Meghan possesses in spades is intellect and emotional intelligence, which eclipsed and served as so glaring a foil that Catherine, The Black Queen, would not have been human if she would not have felt threatened by Meghan. Unlike Catherine, The Black Queen & William, Meghan is a keen strategist because like her mother-in-law, Diana, Princess of Wales, she is an artisan soul. As Diana deftly illustrated during her interview with Martin Bashir, she was not an airhead and clueless lost soul as she was mistakenly perceived. This is not uncommon a response to artisans; however, what all artisans possess, is the ability to see through to the heart of anything and anyone. When you know the structure of anything, right down to the subatomic level, you can never be threatened by it.
Diana, Princess of Wales.
One of the most powerful women in the 20th century lets her mask down and reveals how deeply misunderstood she was. What you are looking at, is an artisan soul in essence, being fully lived in and fully in control. Diana, Princess of Wales was always three steps ahead of any of the sharks with whom she swam. The parallels between Diana and Meghan are not coincidental. Both women are artisan souls who whilst within the Firm were feared and great pressure was exerted to impede the progress of both feared women.
That there were no doubts that Meghan wanted to send a message as to who was the architect of the racist campaign against her and her husband, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex and also why she would choose never to have her black son brought up amongst such persons, is revealed by the choice made to announce their stepping back as senior royals; the announcement to step down as senior royals was done on the eve of Catherine, The Black Queen’s 38th birthday – thus, she sent a parting shot, making it perfectly obvious who needed to be wiped arse with on Meghan’s departure. Meghan is an infinitely more shrewd and complex artisan soul than was Diana, Princess of Wales. Meghan has master numbers of 11 – such persons will always leave their detractors dazed and unaware; they are visionary, bold and decisive… as is Meghan. Unlike Diana, Princess of Wales, Meghan did not feel that all she had was the comfort of the Firm; a self-made woman, Meghan knew that she could walk out the racially predatory and suffocating confines of the Cambridges’ court and not just survive but thrive.
Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, The Black Queen.
Catherine, The Black Queen, is a scorned wife and a mousy, jealous, petty, small-minded boor, who was perfectly at ease with the blackamoor brooch being used. Catherine, The Black Queen’s husband, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is moving centred. All such persons are inordinately high-sexed individuals. Not only are they physically active persons but they have a voraciously engaged sexual appetite. As a warrior, Catherine, The Black Queen, is amply able to fulfil such needs of her husband’s. Nonetheless, as a moving centred individual, who also happens to be both male and a scholar soul, it is virtually impossible for William not to have a roving eye and to act on those urges… always.
Catherine, The Black Queen’s behaviour on taking a seat, along with her task companion, that equally dense plank, William, at Westminster Abbey at the 2020 Commonwealth Day Service, betrays what a crass boor, the perpetually fake-grinning, inarticulate, mousy pretentious toff she truly is. Look at the Cambridges from the 6th through 9th minutes. They are clipped and William makes a point to mask Catherine as they take their seats so that Catherine, The Black Queen will not have to acknowledge Meghan. When sat, Catherine, The Black Queen makes a point of turning directly to speak with Sophie, the Countess of Wessex behind her whilst being sure to never look in the Sussexes’ direction.
What 21st century woman would go trotting out a pre-mid-twentieth century pram but an aspirant, insecure lower class Briton ever intent on impressing her overlords. Both of them, the Cambridges, are so frighteningly pretentious; just one look at that photograph and how possibly could Meghan not have been scoffed at by such starchy, uptight, mean-spirited perpetually fault-finding persons both numerologically possessed of 9. They, the Cambridges, were prepared to racially attack with their royal household gang of low-browed bigots, Harry’s wife as it was pure sport; it is always sport to racially prey on blacks. Indeed, how better to make that lazy broodmare, Catherine, The Black Queen have to work and go tour the predominantly black Commonwealth nations than by stepping down?
Look at William at the 04.00.00 mark on and his interactions with his father, whom he does not even realise, is embarrassed by his behaviour as before all the world’s 2 billion persons onlooking, he openly ridicules the preacher and by extension his brother, his brother’s new wife and her people and culture. This is the same little kiss-arse who ran to Israel to solemnly place his hand on a millennia-old wall, which no one on Haida Gwai could give a living shit about.
Windsor, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 21/6/1982 London.
Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat. William is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre.
Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn.
William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary arrogance.
The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven. William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208.
William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge.
William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin.
William lacks sophistication and by his every action, he betrays what a small-minded bigot he is and thereby reveals himself working in tandem with his task companion that listless Edward Gorey somnambulist of zero spontaneity, zero stage presence and who is incapable of speaking articulately, eloquently and convincingly. In short, Catherine is just someone who after having persevered and ingratiated her way well beyond her class, ended up being settled on when Cressida Bonas’ sister saw no winning hand in having to pass a life, babysitting a boor, adulterer… to say nothing of bore. All Catherine, The Black Queen is capable of doing, in her glaring emotional immaturity, is focus on working with children and early this and early that developmental mental health psycho twaddle all of which has positively nothing to do with frig all anything.
A family void spontaneity… always on… always staged. This on the heels of William’s latest adulterous dalliance. Both on either side of that path with the kids divided between them. What is Catherine, The Black Queen to do but be a saccharine, utterly transparent dolt in her response.
Both Diana, Princess of Wales and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex are artisan souls, who proved unfathomable women, women who proved too powerful to not be threatening. Look at them both, where did they get this power from? Where did they intend to use this power and why do they want for change? In the case of Diana, hers was a fairy story in which both the media and public were vastly invested. With Meghan, however, hers was a fairy story that simply could not be tolerated. In every way, the affront of a black duchess, a black royal simply had to be challenged at every turn, in every way… every day. Both the media and public were hellbent on invalidating, obstructing and destroying the marriage of Henry & Meghan, if alas they could not have prevented their wedding.
Windsor, Diana Princess of Wales July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.
Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second-level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.
She had a Lunar/Mercury body type.
Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation.
Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380.
This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation.
Here we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction.
*These Michael Overleaves were channelled in early September, 1997 just after Diana’s death by Sarah J. Chambers who was part of the original Michael group and part of the composite Jessica Lansing in the Chelsea Quinn-Yarbro Michael Teachings books. END.
Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother-in-law fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales — third life thereat. Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre.
Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience.
Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar.
The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence. Meghan is a member of greater cadence four. Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 — she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry of Wales with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, The Queen.
Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.
Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.
There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.
Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before. Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII. As such, she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor. Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth I.
This artisan in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church being included in the newly established college system. She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well.
Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before ascending the throne after George II. In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure. He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery.
Incidentally, in the current incarnation, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has suffered from gastroenteritis, which is related to the last-life health issues – this is the immediate past life and not that in 18th century when the artisan died aged 28.
Without reason, even when it was obvious that Diana was no saint, however, so strong was the investment in that fair story that both the media and public were prepared to turn a blind eye. Diana like every artisan was a shrewd strategist who was always three steps ahead of her enemy.
Diana was at war with Camilla Parker-Bowles – interestingly, the media never refer to the latter as such, yet going on a decade after her marriage, they continue referring to Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as Kate Middleton, so strong is the need to be classist boors in British society – and unlike any royal bride before her, Diana aired her linen in public with the Andrew Morton 1992 biography. Only an artisan soul would have had the balls and vision to pull that off, knowing that by so doing, she would win public support.
Windsor, Camilla HRH Duchess of Cornwall 17/7/1947.
Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat. Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Body type is Lunar/Venus.
Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance.
The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven. Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129.
Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior.
Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power.
There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. (July, 2017).
An older soul than Diana, Princess of Wales, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall is better suited to be HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales’ spouse. In general, Warriors and Scholars make better companions and, of course, in such pairings, the warrior is always the dominant partner. This is why no matter how you cut it, Catherine, The Black Duchess is the dominant partner in the Cambridges’ marriage – they, of course, also happen to be task companions, which only adds more texture and complexity to their bond, which is rigid in terms of who gets into their inner circle – they both do have a primary chief feature of stubbornness.
The Cambridges in their every outing with Meghan and Harry wasted no time in telegraphing just exactly their displeasure at having her in their midst. Meghan was a welcome addition to the monarchy and the royal family as a senior royal for as HM The Queen saw it, in a Commonwealth whose member states are predominantly black, having a Commonwealth Youth Ambassador’s wife be black was a masterful move and one which would assure The Queen’s legacy as she comes to the end of her life. However, William and, more importantly, Catherine, The Black Queen could not give a damn; they are the imminent future of the monarchy and they do not care about Meghan or anyone who looks like Meghan. Again, this is a couple who have chosen not to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation since being wedded nine years ago. There is no such thing as happenstance. Both William and Catherine, The Black Queen have a chief feature of stubbornness and such persons never change and are never open to change or deviation from the norm and their position on any subject. They – persons with a primary chief feature of stubbornness – are difficult, intransigent persons and both the Cambridges’ 9s only add to their difficult nature.
In the Cambridge’s world, they want a realm that is Brahmanistic as per their worldview: Whites, Asians and blacks somewhere comfortably distant with the rest of the uncivilised teeming humanity. They are no different to the average white of their generation – they are alarmingly racist; however, their brand of racism is so sophisticated that one never ever discusses race. Why would they? That would be giving away the power enjoyed by those who thrive on racism. Their realm is mirrored by the teeming trolls who in the tens of thousands flock to tabloid online outlets to spew their vitriol at this fairy story that should never have been that they, the print media and the Cambridges will stop at nothing to nullify. Now that they have succeeded in banishing that black bitch from the realm, their current focus is on divorce watch.
At every turn that goddamn black bitch was to be lynched, unrelentingly vilified and ostracised in no uncertain terms. At the core of it all are the Cambridges, who have smugly, idly sat back and watched their scheme unfold. Of course, like HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York, the Cambridges’ have failed to realise that they do not have absolute power to have things turn out as they would wish them to.
At their core, all racialised persons are cowards. Indeed, how cowardly have the Cambridges proven themselves as they have fled to Amner Hall yet try and remain relevant with these PR outings that only highlight the source of Catherine, The Black Queen’s grudge of Meghan. Listen to Catherine, The Black Queen speak; she is a weak, mousy, inarticulate bore who no doubt is bullied by the boor next to her for being such a dense, listless plank. Catherine, The Black Queen is as wooden as HM Queen Mary was a dour, starchy-looking, mean-spirited boor.
In two short years, the Cambridges managed to have reset the fairy story to better reflect their sense of what a fairy story should be. How like all the childless, spinster white females for whom the fairy story of being rescued by a prince, like Harry, the Cambridges had to wage war to restore order to the realm. Not only is it an attack on an individual; it is also an attack on an entire people. The Cambridges have decided that you do not belong; you are not welcome within upper echelons of the epitome of civilised, classist society.
If for a nanosecond you think that race has nothing to do with how Meghan was treated within the royal households, the print media and British society at large then you sadly have failed to realise that fairy stories are not real. The callous truth is that if HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex had taken a Jewish, East Indian, East Asian or Muslim wife, there is positively no way in high hell that such a wife would have been meted out the same treatment in general and especially in the print media’s tabloid cesspool as has so racially predatorily been meted out to Meghan… and Harry. There is no way, had Harry married a Jew, East Indian, East Asian or Muslim, that one would want to give offence to Jews, East Indians are way too favoured to be openly ridiculed and discriminated against and god only knows, the very real threat of retaliatory violence from radicalised Muslims, would have Britons making of such a marriage a fairy story like no other and proof that they were no longer a stuffy classist society; rather, as per a marriage by Harry to a Jew, East Indian, East Asian or Muslim, the United Kingdom was truly an inclusive, modern society.
After the blackamoor brooch incident, seven months earlier, you can bet that Meghan did not want that vile, flat-arsed woman, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, at her wedding. Clearly, though, she was overruled. Just imagine if Meghan were Jewish and HRH Princess Michael of Kent had shown up wearing a swastika to The Queen’s Christmas Lunch in 2017 at Buckingham Palace; there would have been outrage across the globe and there is positively no way that she would not have been banned from the wedding. Even if Meghan were to have objected to her presence, she would clearly have been overruled and was.
Much of the decision to step away, is due in part to the Cambridges; however, HM The Queen has to take some ownership of this turn of events. This has always been her MO. Perhaps, it is because she takes seriously her role as supreme governor of the Church of England; however, HM The Queen has one weak spot and it played out with the Sussexes treatment in the media as has previously occurred. The Queen simply does not become involved; instead, she would rather that things play themselves out.
Previously, this was the same response that Her Majesty employed during her sister, HRH Princess Margaret’s life when tormented by the politics of whom she had fallen in love with. Rather than get involved, The Queen was cold and resolute in not getting involved and letting the thing play itself out – much to the detriment of her own sister.
Again, with Diana, Princess of Wales, The Queen was cool, indifferent and just hung back and let the thing play itself out. There was a great deal that HM The Queen could have done; she could better have protected Diana, Princess of Wales when she clearly knew that the young bride was but a lamb to the slaughter – look at HM The Queen’s indifference to Earl Spencer on the carriage ride back from St. Paul’s Cathedral to Buckingham Palace after her heir had just wedded a woman whom she, HM The Queen, knew her son, HRH Prince Charles, Princes of Wales, did not love. Look at the HM The Queen riding back from St. Paul’s Cathedreal with Earl Spencer; she clearly could not have cared less about him and his soused babbling.
Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, The Black Queen has been the architect of all this vicious vendetta against the Sussexes. Back in November 2016, HRH Prince Henry of Wales, released a scathing attack on the print media for their focussed agendum of vilifying, demonising and character assassinating his then finacée, Meghan Markle. Months later, in May 2017, though, it was an established fact that HRH Prince Henry was committed to and in love with Ms. Markle, Catherine, The Black Queen and her family banned Meghan from attending, Pippa Middleton’s marriage to James Matthews; Meghan was, however, permitted to attend the wedding reception. This act betrayed Catherine, The Black Queen’s petty, mean-spirited persona. She is possessed of a 9 energy body and like females with 9 energy body, Catherine, The Black Queen is possessed of a spiteful, malicious, sadistic disposition. Catherine, The Black Queen has always been the dominant partner in her marriage to the hapless, dolt, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, who is an emotionally juvenile, spiteful boor as a result of his parents’ loveless marriage and divorce; William has also never recovered from his mother’s death, which he considers murder. As with Catherine, The Black Queen’s rude dismissal of her husband, the future sovereign, during the taping of the BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas in 2019, this woman, Catherine, The Black Queen, simply does not give a damn. She has had a tough go of it not being of aristocratic birth as with all past Queen Consorts; she suffered mightily in the cutthroat world of Britain’s rigid class system and damned if it did not leave her scarred and compensatorily arrogant, discriminating and a vulgar boor.
No matter how the print media try and paint this woman as elegant, stylish and the epitome of class – all of which are just non-too-veiled racialised language – she is an inarticulate, bland, sadistic boor who for being a warrior soul – in perseverance mode no less – would compete with Meghan or any other woman who married her brother-in-law. Even if HRH Prince Henry of Wales had wedded Cressida Bonas, Catherine, The Black Queen’s reaction to her would have been the same. Catherine, The Black Queen would have been less favoured by the public than blonde Cressida and for that, there would be nothing but misery meted out by Cressida by Catherine, The Black Queen behind the scenes. The fact that racism is so rife in classist Britain, gave Catherine, The Black Queen the upper hand against the threat of her brother-in-law’s wife.
Added to all that, Catherine, The Black Queena warrior – all warriors make the most formidable foes – is in perseverance mode, which means that she would stop at nothing to see that Meghan was literally driven out of the kingdom. It does not matter that like a disproportionate number of Caucasian persons born after the mid-1970s, Catherine, The Black Queen is averse to being around blacks, thus it would have been to Catherine, The Black Queen’s advantage as HM The Queen deemed having the black duchess, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex going on those Commonwealth tours to predominantly black Commonwealth nations which she, Catherine, The Black Queen, still cannot bring herself to undertaking. No matter how prejudicial HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is, he is ruled by a wife who is more prejudicial and sadistic than he is. Anyone who intimately knows Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would readily admit that hers is a bitchy, biting, sarcastic sense of humour that is given to being vengeful, mean-spirited and adversarial.
Here in the 02:14:00 minute mark Catherine, The Black Queen on her wedding day is supremely in control. Of one thing she is assured, she is now to be the mother of a future sovereign and in time Queen Mother. She has a confidence which befits her knowledge of her place in dynastic history but she also has a focus which betrays her being a warrior soul in perseverance mode.
From the 04:20:00 minute mark, Meghan proves a contrast and validation of her role in essence. As an artisan soul, she becomes almost manic-euphoric as her multiplicity of channels become engaged and she becomes caught up in fantasy merging with reality – the same artisan soul euphoria was evidenced as newlywedded Diana, Princess of Wales walked down the aisle at St. Paul’s Cathedral in July, 1981. A warrior would never do this and certainly, Catherine who had focussed on becoming Queen Consort for years and also a warrior in perseverance, was singly focussed on being poised, regal and glossily plastic.
By the time that Meghan came along, Catherine, The Black Queen had morphed into the unpleasant aspects of her nineness and comfortably secured in her role in history and within the Windsor dynasty as future Queen Consort and future Queen Mother to HRH Prince George – should William predecease her. Warrior souls compete with everyone and everything and where Catherine, The Black Queen is most admirable is as Sporty Kate. Her athleticism is truly admirable – I often wonder what she must be like racing on horseback. However, in all other areas of her life, she is surpassed by Meghan. Catherine, The Black Queen lacks the stage presence, she is inordinately inarticulate all by herself, to say nothing to being compared to trained thespian Meghan who excels at being centre stage. Meghan can command one’s attention where Catherine, The Black Queen never can.
Catherine, The Black Queen has a power which befits her role as a warrior in essence. Catherine, The Black Queen is supremely confident in the fact that not only is she a future Queen Consort, she also is very likely to be Queen Mother; this is a role which Camilla will never fulfil as she did not give birth to any blood royal child. Until Meghan came along, all that Catherine, The Black Queen had in the way of competition was Camilla – she who would never be mother of a future sovereign; indeed, where is the threat to Catherine, The Black Queen from Camilla? This awareness of her place and power had Catherine withdraw to the Middleton seat in Bucklebury, Berkshire rather than visit with her father-in-law HRH Prince Charles and his wife, Camilla with whom he has no heirs after HRH Prince George of Cambridge was born and for months thereafter.
Thus, Camilla is no threat to Catherine, The Black Queen. Indeed, both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen are comrades-in-arms as they both are solid, single-channel roles which preyed on artisan soul threats to their power. Artisan Diana, Princess of Wales was bullied and driven to divorce by Camilla, who considered Diana a nuisance and a threat. Similarly, Catherine, The Black Queen has considered Meghan, also an artisan soul like Diana, a threat to her power. What Diana & Meghan possess is the artisan’s inability to remain singly focussed on the task in hand. Also, both Diana & Meghan were/are emotionally centred artisan souls who would have found it virtually impossible to stay the course when subjected to the campaigns that each uniquely met in the way of Camilla and Diana, and now Meghan and Catherine, The Black Queen.
Look at Catherine, The Black Queen in action; she hangs back and says positively little to nothing, allowing Meghan to shine… or does Meghan actually shine? Of course, in the tradition of a nine energy-bodied female, she hangs back because in the tradition of being a snide, snarky passive-aggressive, condescending Caucasian who traditionally fault-finds, criticises and is negative in response to everything about someone black, Catherine, The Black Queen, knows that to hang back wins her favour throughout the realm. Catherine, The Black Queen, hangs back grinning like a Cheshire cat as she knows that she has the non-blacks of the realm in her palm; she knows that the more Meghan speaks, the more she will be resented. This is good for Catherine, The Black Queen because she simply cannot speak whilst sharing the same stage with Meghan; however, in a society and world where race is everything, Catherine, The Black Queen’s liability proves an asset.
True to her role in essence, warrior soul, for Catherine, The Black Queen, clothes are uniform. Indeed, the future Queen Consort, like the sovereign, is at the apex of the United Kingdom’s Armed Forces. With a chiefly Saturn body type, Catherine, The Black Queen, is tall, angular, steely and given to being power-focussed and competitive. Another reason where both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen were destined to succeed in their campaigns against their perceived biggest threats is seen in all four royal women’s body-types, their centreing plus primary needs.
Both Camilla & Diana though rivals had the same body types: Lunar/Venus; however, as they are very different soul types Diana (artisan), Camilla (scholar) their use of those energies, especially the lunar energy, would be markedly different. Catherine, The Black Queen is Saturn/Mercury/Venus body-type whereas Meghan is Venus/Solar body-type. For an artisan soul, this puts Meghan in a league stratospherically above and beyond Catherine, The Black Queen and she would always have greater mass appeal than Catherine, The Black Queen, as a result.
How could Catherine, The Black Queen, not be jealous of Meghan; moreover, what tempers that friction is that Catherine, The Black Queen, is focussed in the intellectual centre as compared to Meghan in the emotional centre. This is precisely why in her interview with ITV’s Tom Bradby, Meghan focussed on how she was feeling and how no one took the time to ask how she was doing? Both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen are focussed in the intellectual centre and similarly, as with Meghan, Diana was focussed in the emotional centre. Both Camilla and Catherine, The Black Queen would perceive their rivals, Diana and Meghan respectively as weak and a nuisance for being focussed in the emotional centre.
Not only is Catherine, The Black Queen, a warrior in perseverance mode, which is as devastating a foe as one can encounter, she also has power as one of her three primary needs. The woman is bad-ass maniacal when threatened and to top it off, she has a task companion, William her husband, who is moving centred. Everything she utters in her scheming pillow talk, like an attack dog en chaleur, William would unfailingly execute.
The Black Queen, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge with a nine energy body with primary need of power does cast quite a long sadistic shadow. Like Anna in V in the clip above, the Cambridges with their 9 numerological makeup, wanted not to have their dynasty diluted/sullied by the presence of Meghan; she is not fit to be within their realm. In her campaign to dispense with the threat of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, Catherine, The Black Queen, needed the obsequious sado-masochistic loyalty of persons, also numerologically possessed of 9, in the media.
Lady Colin Campbell 17.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9.
Pay close attention to minutes 1:14 through 2:05. Listen to that laugh; if that is not a likkle Trenchtown skekkle, I don’t know what is. So goddamn fake, you can almost smell the formaldehyde. More than that, like Thomas Markle Sr., TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, HRH Prince Michael of Kent, Lord Frederick Windsor, the failed fluid-gendered, old bat has got that archly toxic and bigoted 9 in her makeup. She is no more aristocratic than the paucity of nacre sliding down her orangutan breasts are decidedly Poundland fare. A true pity that Lily Safra pulped the wrong work of fiction.
Piers Morgan 30.3.1965 Sheep 3.6.9 = 9 Double 9s.
Double the toxicity from the drunken, racist eunuch, who as can be expected, sees nothing remotely racist in his and other media Brits’ lynching of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. No matter how Piers et al try turning their stale piss into wine, Catherine, The Black Queen, has not found her voice – you cannot find what you never had to lose, is not the epitome of class, style and royalty. Catherine is The Black Queen, a paragon of 9 toxicity grown rabid with power; the media and Britons at large still have yet to address her rude dismissal of their future sovereign during BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas.Catherine, The Black Queen, is, like Anna, the usurper Queen in the American TV series V – there can be but one queen and Diana her mother on the TV series V had to be slain. Just as these venal 9s in media refuse to expose or fixate on HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York’s sexually predatory behaviour and paedophilia, is precisely why they have yet to expose Catherine, The Black Queen, for precisely what she is. Both the paedophile and racial predator are white; besides, perpetuating racial animus towards blacks is the most lucrative business venture in media.
Fact is, if Meghan were difficult and given to being a toxic diva, there would have been reports from ‘sources’ advantageously leaked, of course, by Catherine, The Black Queen, that Meghan refused to attend Pippa Middleton’s wedding because she was not a royal. Indeed, if Meghan were truly difficult, after having been excluded from the church ceremony, clearly by Catherine, The Black Queen, and by extension William, Meghan would then have insisted to Harry that she was not going to attend the reception – especially the reception of a non-royal. That is how a diva would have responded.
Nonetheless, in keeping with the media narrative, in collusion with the Cambridges, of vilifying, demonising and racially preying on the black duchess who does not belong, as soon as the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex was concluded, the divorce watch was on – a media blitzkrieg against the Duchess of Sussex was begun with every effort made never ever to mention her race as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex fast became the most famous lynched black woman in history.
Well, there you have it. Go think twice if you believe that the Duke & Duchess of Sussex are going to be suffering for leaving the royal fold and being successfully driven out of Britain by Catherine, The Black Queen and her pussy-whipped dolt, William, in collusion with the royal households and the media spinning lies in place of the truth.
My first reaction on seeing this masterful portrait of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge during my visit in 2017 to London’s National Portrait Gallery was visceral. Straight away, I was reminded of all the times to that point – once every weekend for at least the first 18 months after their marriage, you simply cannot capture everything on one viewing – that I had looked at the Royal Wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge and how much they rowed on the way back to Buckingham Palace during the imperial state landau carriage ride, as well as how utterly dismissive of him Catherine, The Black Queen, was whilst standing on the palace balcony. This portrait perfectly captures Catherine, The Black Queen’s false personality, her sadistic/Saturn body type and primary need for power. Most of all, this is the portrait of a woman whose first number – her energy body – is 9.
After having been successfully lynched in the British tabloid media, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, The Black Queen went one better and made her point by having her place as mother of future sovereign, Queen Consort and future Queen mother solidified against the threat of the abundantly more popular Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Just as she had stood, grinning sarcastically at Royal Ascot sticking her tongue out whilst being regaled by senior royals, Catherine, The Black Queen had her campaign of banishing the otiose black threat magnified by tearing her arse in Meghan and Harry’s faces with the 2019 Queen’s Christmas message where the photos on display eclipsed and banished the Sussexes’ existence by including sovereigns and their direct heirs.
Alas, history is the most callous of whores and she is never economical with the truth. In time, history will reveal Catherine, The Black Queen as truly unsavoury fare, who was the architect of all that transpired in the Sussexes’ banishment from court. Actions ever betray the truth and it is not happenstance that Catherine, The Black Queen has refused to undertake a tour of any predominantly black Commonwealth nation 9 years into what is not the most loved up or blissful of royal marriages. Her 9 betrays her true nature. More than that, that Catherine, The Black Queen was not of aristocratic birth is precisely why this hideous racism has blossomed within the royal family, royal households and media. You most certainly cannot accuse aristocratic persons like Ashley & India Hicks of being racist boors as has episodically manifested with Catherine, The Black Queen being a warrior with need for power and the most powerful royal at court at present. More than any other royal, Catherine, The Black Queen, is the most powerful royal at present. HM The Queen is at the end of her reign. Charles has no power as his Queen Consort will never be loved as long as the memory of Diana, Princess of Wales survives. More than that, Camilla also has no power as she will never be Queen Mother and no issue of hers will ever be sovereign. William is weak, unaware and bullied by his wife, Catherine, The Black Queen. Catherine, The Black Queen is the most powerful royal, especially since she does have a primary need of power in dynastic Britain. When HM The Queen passes, Catherine, The Black Queen will set about cutting adrift the predominantly black Commonwealth nations with the same disregard as her campaign to banish the threat represented by the blackamoor brooch – Meghan, the self-made vastly more articulate, charismatic American outsider and black to boot.
Most of all, what Catherine, The Black Queen has unleashed with her grudging campaign against Meghan has taken on a life of its own, which as with HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York, she could not have fathom. Catherine, The Black Queen, in collusion with William, the royal households, the tabloid media engaged in the deliciously indulgent game of racist bullying which has seen an explosion of racist attacks against the Sussexes and by extension the British Royal Family. This is not to be taken lightly and one of the chief reason for the Sussexes having removed themselves from the cesspool that is Britain is the very real threat that they faced for being in Britain. This all began with a scheming, jealous, bigoted nine-energy body insecure woman who has never fully gotten over her being not of aristocratic birth into a world where she now finds herself at the apex of power. Of course, just as with Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall who for causing Diana, Princess of Wales to experience sheer hell, Catherine, The Black Queen will also – for not being of aristocratic birth – always be insecure and Meghan’s ascendancy only heightened how woefully ill-equipped Catherine, The Black Queen ever will be. All of that was assured, when Catherine, The Black Queen chose to be racially predatory towards Meghan – by extension Harry and everyone else – thereby revealing her true nature to all who are not blind. History will be callously ruthless to Catherine, The Black Queen; indeed, how utterly prophetic Paul Emsley’s portrait of Catherine, The Black Queen has proven. Remarkably, that portrait will stand the test of time to best illumine the dark, sinister and sadistic persona which lies beneath the façade of Catherine, The Black Queen as she beguiles the blind in the here and now.