Pink Chair I & II

24.10.202129.12.2025 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

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. More than all that, George’s son numerology was possessed of two 9s, which made any connection between us glacial at best. Both his energy body and mindset are 9; forget that. 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 ploughed 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 ploughed long and hard, listened to Haydn’s Paris Symphonies – ever, I favoured the London Symphonies. I had just returned to Toronto after amour fou absolu had attempted to steal a dozen pieces from my art collection, among which was Pink Chair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Tis The Season… Cicadas Abound!

02.10.202129.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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.

Kate Middleton at the Game Fair at Blenheim Palace, England, August 2004. Photo by: Stephen Lock / i-Images

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.

My silver crown can be seen directly to the right and ahead of the male whose face is covered by :16 from the time with the red line just below my right ear in capture of the YouTube video of Channel 4 coverage with royal commentator, Alastair Bruce on Remembrance Sunday, 2018 at Whitehall.

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!

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Elderflower? No! We Only Use White Flour..

16.08.202129.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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, Princess of Wales & Dodi Al-Fayed**

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.

**HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, Archie & Lilibet in Utero 2021**

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

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Mountbatten-Windsor, Lilibet Diana 4/6/2021

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

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

Lilibet’s body type is Mars Mercury.

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

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

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

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

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

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

End (August, 2021).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England

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

George does not yet have chief features.

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

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

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

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

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

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

END. (December, 2019).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brava!

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

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Oh Quelle Fuck-All Joie Ça!

29.04.202129.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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.

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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.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton 1966 © 1978 Bob Willoughby
WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?, Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, 1966

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!

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Well, Of Course, They’re Frigging Racist!

31.03.202129.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

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.

You Magazine | Emotional Ties Penny Junor pictured at her home in Malmesbury, Wiltshire. 5th December 2017 Photography by Gareth Iwan Jones http://www.garethiwanjones.com

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 warrior in perseverance mode with a primary need for power, Catherine knows and understands full well her power.

Britain’s Prince William and his wife Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge appear with their baby son outside the Lindo Wing of St Mary’s Hospital, in central London July 23, 2013. Kate gave birth to the couple’s first child, who is third in line to the British throne, on Monday afternoon, ending weeks of feverish anticipation about the arrival of the royal baby. REUTERS/Andrew Winning (BRITAIN – Tags: ROYALS ENTERTAINMENT HEALTH) – RTX11WFQ
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with their son Prince George photographed at Kensington Palace, March 2014. Also pictured their dog Lupo. Usage terms: This photograph is strictly for editorial use only, no commercial,souvenir or promotional use permitted. The photograph cannot be cropped, manipulated or altered. OBLIGATORY CREDIT LINE JASON BELL/CAMERA PRESS.

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.

25/12/2019. Sandringham, United Kingdom: Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with Prince George and Princess Charlotte arriving at the Christmas Day church service at Sandringham in Norfolk, United Kingdom: (Stephen Lock / i-Images / Polaris) /// Royals at Christmas Day Church Service

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!

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How Fucking Dare You, Piers!

28.01.202029.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

How fucking goddamn dare you, Piers Morgan use Kobe Bryant’s passing to try and whitewash the ugliness that is the fiendish lynching of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex that you, Piers, and the rest of British media engaged in whilst whipping your isle of hooligan louts to frenzied hysteria of hatred and racism? Then when Meghan wipes arse with you and takes her leave, which never in a million years you had anticipated, you bring proud black women like Afua Hirsch on your show and subject her to the usual white male asshole brow-beating as you talk over top of her for 70 per cent of the time because ‘you are a black bitch and we owned the likes of you for 400 years and we will tell you what to think even when we both know damn well that we are nothing but racially predatory swine.’

Never once during his twenty-year career did opposing fans, when Kobe and Lakers played away games, scream and make monkey noises as is regularly the case on your isle of drunken boors where you swear up and down there is no racism. How dare you! Leave Kobe the blasted motherfuck to rest in peace. He is far better deserving than to have self-serving tributes as revisionist boors like you are quick to engage in. What you damn well ought to be doing is schooling that porcine fuck, Thomas Markle Sr., in the fact that the daughter whom he claims to love, whom you equally speciously claim never suffered racism in Britain, was subjected to racism by HRH Princess Michael of Kent when she wore the blackamoor brooch to The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace. That’s right, I may be a lucid dreamer but I am pretty fucking sure that this did not occur in some dream to which only my lucidly engaged mind was privy.

Please leave Kobe the hell out of your revisionist BS because unlike your racist isle of louts, only in America could Kobe have achieved his phenomenal greatness and this in spite of America’s own brand of racism. Hell, at least in America, blacks are respected and not culturally ghettoised as in your fair barbaric isle.

Please, Piers go and explain to Thomas Markle Sr. that Danny Baker’s incendiary tweet was not in the least remotely racist but mere jest. Please Piers go and convince your knuckle-dragging readership that were HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex were to have wedded a Jew that you would have engaged in an openly vile antisemitic campaign of hatred towards his wife then deny that it was remotely antisemitic. More to the point, had this been the case, you would be damn well unemployed ages ago. The mere fact that at this juncture Thomas Markle Sr. has come forward to state that his daughter experienced no racism whilst being lynched in Britain, shows how desperately Britons are prepared to throw money at the issue of their alarmingly savage racism to make it go away.

Perhaps, the Cambridges want the predominantly black Commonwealth states to take leave as they tear arse time and again in their faces. Just look at them today at the 75th anniversary ceremony on Holocaust Memory Day, all poised and obsequious in stark contrast to their behaviour at the reception for the African heads-of-states last week at the UK/Africa summit.

Perhaps, Piers, you can explain to Thomas Markle Sr. that though Lewis Hamilton has won 6 F1 Championships, he has only been made an MBE, whereas Ben Stokes was made an OBE. And please do try explaining to him that it has positively nothing to do with race that five F1 Championships later, Lewis Hamilton remains an MBE whereas Andy Murray, no Mamba he, was made a CBE for merely winning twice the championship at Wimbledon. Naturally, never in a million years would Jenson Button have been relegated to mere MBE status if he had won 6 F1 Championships. How fucking dare you, Piers! How are you celebrating Lewis Hamilton as your own Mamba, 6 fucking F1 Championships on?

Like Kobe, this woman Meghan is a true Mamba. She came, she saw and like Kobe, would never settle for petty, lazy mediocrity and that is why she took her leave of the Cambridges and their petty grudging machinations, the racism at Kensington Palace as was outed by HRH Princess Michael of Kent – why do you think that the Sussexes moved to Frogmore Cottage… all the more reason why they should not be paying for your entrenched racism by paying for Frogmore Cottage.

Piers, how pray tell can the likes of you aspire to being Mamba when all you and your isle of bigots are, are mere lazy, colonialist, racist boors, who can never cease being slavishly addicted to your truly deluded idea of superiority and entitlement? Did it never occur to you as you racially preyed on, hunted, lynched and celebrated Meghan’s departure that all of this was affecting The Queen whom you claim to cherish, honour and respect? In lynching Meghan, you were also dismantling The Queen’s proudest legacy, the Commonwealth? Well, she is gone and like Thomas Markle Sr., you never knew Meghan and she will never suffer you nor your BS. Stop trying to absolve yourselves of your ugliness… your racism; it is at the very core of your collective isle-dwelling souls.

Go on, if you had treated Kobe as you treated Meghan, would he have achieved his greatness? Fuck no! Meghan knows her worth, as did Kobe, which is why she took leave of lazy, petty assholes like you – and elsewhere royals, royal households – who could never aspire to being Mamba. How dare you, you small-minded, bigoted fool deny your racist birthright? How dare you presume that you could possibly ever be perceived as Mamba? Indeed, you may yet begin to transcend your mediocrity by doing something so bold and Mamba-like as writing about the Cambridges’ crumbling façade as alluded to by BBC’s Mary Berry’s A Berry Merry Christmas TV special at Christmas 2019. Indeed, I dare you, you failed Mamba twat, write about the vile paedophilia within the House of Windsor, which to deny is just as risible as your winded rants about Mamba Meghan never having been subjected to racism by the British media, royal households, royals or society at large.

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How dare you Piers when the very racism you deny is at the heart of why Meghan could not achieve her own greatness in Britain. Unlike the raw spontaneity of sport where Lewis Hamilton, Kobe Bryant, Michael Jordan, Usain Bolt and countless others cannot be hindered and interfered with in real time by the likes of insufferable and ubiquitous racist boors like you, ready to lynch, vilify and criminalise such persons, they unlike Meghan are able to achieve greatness without being hindered, driven out of town and having the mob incited to hatred and lynching them because of your racism and grudge. You cannot warp and interfere in real time events such that you who must always win, must always be superior, come out on top – hell why do you think Simon Cowell is so damn rich? Simon Cowell allows you a guaranteed winner to your liking, of your fragile-sensibilitied likeness every time. No asshole, Meghan didn’t run; Meghan’s greatness belongs in real time, which is guaranteed beyond your isle of bigoted boors – the royals, royal households, Britons at large and most definitely Mamba-challenged assholes like you!

How fucking goddamn dare you?

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By Any Means, We Win!

23.01.202029.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

What William wants, William gets; he is the spoilt, over-indulged man-child, who also happens to be inordinately stupid and lacks awareness in direct contrast to his paternal grandmother, HM The Queen – one only has to recall his behaviour during Sheku Kanneh-Mason’s performance at the 2018 Royal Wedding of the Sussexes which validates this fact.

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What possible strategic import is Bhutan such that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge had to pay the inordinately handsome King a visit? None! William bothered and besotted, clearly had to make that journey and realise his public school boy fantasy.

Obsessively controlling, this is the only known photograph of HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge with a gun whilst hunting. A carefully stage-managed persona, which airbrushes out anything that could possibly cast him in a negative light. Just like when recently stridently denying that there was any bullying on his (William’s) part of Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex or that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge could in any way have been party to the campaign of isolation, racially predatory bullying and collusion with the print medium to slander, vilify and drive the American negro from being within the ranks of the senior royals.

Following TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, everyone fell into line and ignored, isolated, excluded and condescendingly gloated, hissed at Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. The Cambridges, like HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York and his relations with murdered paedophile Jeffrey Epstein, simply do not relate to or engage with blacks. Period. There is no fudging the issue. As such, they would have seen it as a betrayal on the part of HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex to have gone and wedded a black woman, thereby bringing into their midst, the most undesirable of possible wives.

The Cambridges’ bigotry is precisely why that flat-arsed, no-calved freak, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, felt perfectly justified in wearing the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s annual Christmas Lunch in 2017. This display would have been a way of currying favour with the toxic 9s (the Cambridges) who head the court at Kensington Palace.

This is precisely why it was contingent on TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge visiting his shitty little enterprise, there was pea-brained Amir Khan, claiming to all the world that there is no racism in England; however, you can damn well bet that the blithering jackass certainly thinks that there is Islamophobia in England. Matters not how the Cambridges run off to Pakistan and find them more desirable than the predominantly black Commonwealth countries’ citizens, radical Muslims are never going to cease fantasising of putting your skull in the small of your back. So sad to watch the descendants of the world’s greatest empire kiss-arse in a bid not to be hunted by those who will never cease seeing them as the enemy, even in your own land. Alas, such is the cruel justice that is karma.

Here we have another Asian Briton, running off at the mouth and making absurd inflammatory claims as there is no racism in England. That is as absurd as any man anywhere, denying that women experience sexism. If there is no anti-Semitism, no Islamophobia then yes, there is no racism towards blacks. Obviously, no way Muslim Khans, Amir & Saira, would agree that there is no Islamophobia. These Asians as they curry favour with whites, just come off looking as latter day house niggers for stridently denying that blacks experience racism. Just because a Mongolian does not experience anti-Semitism does not meant that anti-Semitism does not exist. Really sick and tired of all these holier-than-though, non-white, non-blacks, stoking racial divisions by denying racism towards blacks exist, simply because it earns then favoured nation status with people they would, in the case of the Khans et al, readily favour the heads of the same whites, they feign defending, in the small of their backs.

Henry & Meghan attending HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace.

Where pray tell were the Cambridges coming forward at Christmas 2017 and stridently defending Harry and his wife and stating that there was no place in their court for behaviour like that of HRH Princess Michael of Kent. Yet, there was William having the clueless Amir Khan, pronouncing that there is no racism in England. Alas, there is no sophistication in the actions of stupid persons. He said nothing about the brooch incident; however, when your brother and his wife are being run out of England, you get a convenient kiss-arse to come forward and deny racism in England.

As fate would have it, it truly would be poetic justice to have HRH Prince George of Cambridge end up marrying one of the many well-heeled and aggressive Indo-Pakistani families that now see opportunity, what with the American negro crashing the gates of the palace. Sadly, of course, George will likely end up converting to his wife’s religion in such a scenario and there would go all those centuries of tradition and history. Just imagine, all the art in Buckingham Palace carted to the courtyard and destroyed like the Buddhist statues in Afghanistan were; thereafter, Buck House become a palatial mosque at the end of the mall Indeed, fitting karma for a history of warring and slavery; more than that, fitting karma for having bullied, racially preyed on and driven out Meghan that undesirable American negro.

You keep on avoiding those predominantly black Commonwealth countries, though future sovereign thereof; you may yet rue the day your bigotry got the better of you. Look at the preceding photograph, both Cambridges are hard-faced and sullen, betraying their desire not to be in the company of people like these, who happen to be predominantly black as they are the leaders of Africa at a UK/Africa summit. All royals with hands clasped as though wanting not to be contaminated by undesirables.

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Just as at Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor’s christening photograph, William had the same look of disgust and loathing for having to be in the presence of such undesirables… blacks.

Both the Cambridges walking into the salon at Buckingham Palace to meet the predominantly black delegation of African leaders at the reception for the UK/Africa Summit with the faces looking hard, vexed and like thunder; apart from the fact that their marriage is a fractious, hostile waste of time, they are also not holding back on their displeasure at having to engage people about whom they do not give two fucks.

All this trip demonstrated, is who William’s advisers are and who he looks up to. There was no import in a future head of the Church of England, kowtowing to any other religion anywhere. HM The Queen has never done it; then again, Israel is not a predominantly black Commonwealth nation. The sad reality is, William could not fathom that to many with a discerning intellect, he looked as ridiculously silly as he found Rev. Curry as he openly ridiculed him to his father during the Royal wedding in 2018 of his brother at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle before his brother’s mother-in-law. William is an alarmingly clueless chump.

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Indeed, there were the Sussexes on the eve of the 2019 Remembrance Sunday service in Whitehall with Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall not turning up; she bowed out at the last minute over claims of being under the weather. Yet, there she was the day following in the balcony in Whitehall next to HM The Queen, looking as prune-faced as ever.

Well before you knew what next, there was Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex emigrated to Canada. Now that’s more like the Tudor matriarch we know and love; damn right said Meghan, ‘Bitch I’m not your dirty tampon!’ Regardless how that sissy-arsed closet case, Piers Morgan loudly farts from the wrong orifice, Meghan is not a quitter. Funny how he failed to have stated that though not the star, Meghan did not quit Suits for all of seven years. Wanna know why pussy-face, because she was not being racially preyed on, disrespected and of all people by persons whom she readily discerned are fucking idiots… to put it delicately.

Just look at the rabid, racially predatory idiot having to soul-search and claim after Meghan has said, ‘Fuck you, I’m out,’ having to run around and defend that they were never being racist. If Meghan had not left, you would not be having this debate, rather, you would be continuing on with the same racialised reportage that got you massive advertising revenue. Well, don’t you worry about it, Americans do not like being treated like shit and they are second to no one. The days of British actors migrating to America and walking off with awards, awards season after awards season are numbered. How many American actors from Julliard end up in BBC dramas or anywhere for that matter on British TV or film? None; it simply never happens!

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Only a self-assured soul who had been highly placed in the BRF in previous lives and one who played just as pivotal a role as the current sovereign, HM The Queen, could be so strong, indomitable and possessed of a true sense of self. Yes, indeed, why suffer through decades of being racially preyed on by royal households, royals both minor and senior? Good of the Sussexes to have gotten out now, in the next decade or two at most, William will likely be sovereign and he and his warring wife are the most ill-equipped persons you can possibly imagine, to carry on the heritage of the current sovereign, HM The Queen.

Ragland, Doria 2/9/56 Cleveland, Ohio.

Michael: This fragment is a fifth-level mature slave – second life thereat. Doria is in the perseveration mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, Doria is in the intellectual part of moving centre.

Doria’s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary, stubbornness.

Doria’s body type is Venus/Saturn.

The fragment Doria is fifth-cast in the second cadence. Doria is a member of greater cadence seven. Doria’s entity is three, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.

Doria’s essence twin is a slave and the task companion a priest who is known to her.

Doria’s three primary needs are: exchange, adventure and power.

There are 5 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. 

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As is obvious, Doria is a cadre mate of HM The Queen, her daughter, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor and HRH Prince George of Cambridge. Archie and George are entity mates; however, whereas Archie is the 7th level mature priest, George is a fourth mature king! The senior Cambridges are in no way connected to any of the aforementioned persons at the level of soul; the former persons, though, share a bond, which would never be marred by anything that the Cambridges would do.

How’s that for karmic dessert for the bloody savagery you meted out to Africa and her descendants even to this day and which, like the smug cowards you are, will rant up and down, protesting that it has anything to do with race as you lynched HRH Prince Henry and his wife for being a goddamn American negro straight out of Compton. These people actually get a high out of fucking with blacks and denying to our faces that racism exists. There is no way in high hell that Piers Morgan would bring a Muslim, Muslim cleric or Jihadist onto his show and take pleasure in fucking with such an individual and claim that there is no such thing as Islamophobia – certainly, his open animus towards Afua Hirsch is standard behaviour towards blacks.

In all this high jinks, William and Catherine had not foreseen the ramifications of their grudging, racially predatory behaviour towards Meghan and her husband. Now that Meghan has taken Harry and her family to Canada, there is HM The Queen’s greatest legacy, the Commonwealth, left in ruins as it is a known fact that neither William nor Catherine have any desire to mix with the predominantly black Commonwealth heads-of-states and definitely they are not the least bit inclined to go visit those nations.

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Archie was the catalyst for the Sussexes to make their break for North America. There was Meghan, refusing to play by the rules and when finally she revealed a photo of Archie with his great-grandmother, there were they all looking on adoringly as though he were the messiah. Further, there was of all things a dread-locked black woman in the photograph and the royal baby’s grandmother no less. If that were not bad enough, without access to Archie as the Sussexes denied the royal rota for attacking Meghan, they presented him at court to Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu, the very reminder of white privilege not being a given anymore. There was Archie, a royal baby, being fawned over by that vile attacker of Apartheid as heroic Baroness Thatcher saw him, to say nothing of Nelson Mandela.

Indeed, Meghan is infinitely smarter than the royal rota realised; this is after all, the same soul who proved the matriarch of the Tudor dynasty. No messing with Meghan. Britons with their inferiority complex towards richer, larger, brasher Americans just had to bully, bray and racially prey on the black witch. Too bad, you never thought that black American woman was going to fight back and pull the rug out from under the bullying royal rota’s feet.

This couple, possessed of matching numbers, and toxic at that, 9 and 3 are as culpable in Meghan deciding that the best move to save their marriage and sanity was to hell with the Cambridges’ games and get out. The royal rota is dead and for being in Canada, who could care less what they think?

Now the ball is in the powerful royal rota’s court and the The Sun’s racist editor can go stuff a cock in every orifice as he does the bidding of his vile overlord, whose oft-passed-around, Texan escort wife pretty much sums up the lack of integrity associated with that racist behemoth. Who cares now what Piers Morgan thinks in his daily shrill, race-baiting sniper fire at Meghan and Harry? All this because it has everything to do with race.

The Windsors represent the lionisation of white privilege; more than that, they represent the purity of white genetics. The irony of all this is that almost all European royals invariably descend from HM Queen Victoria, who was directly descended from the very equally black wife as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex of HM, King George III’s, Queen Charlotte.

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Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor is the manifestation of Piers Morgan and all racist Britain’s worse fears. There is a royal child, who is directly born to the womb of a black woman. Of course, that black woman would be reviled and become the most lynched black in human history. Indeed, why should she suffer it; it is madness, has nothing to do with her or reality and as the Sussexes clearly love each other, why subject yourself to such toxicity? Why be vilified, lied about, openly hated and ridiculed all because you did not give birth to a child who is of pure white heritage.

This ultimately has nothing to do with Meghan. Meghan, though, was the crucible of their worse fears realised; the moment you breed with non-whites, you lose your very less than dominant genetic blonde and blue-eyed stock, which of course is widely claimed as superior. The obvious love this man, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex has for his wife, Meghan, a black woman and their non-white child is at the heart of the open racially predatory animus these ugly people bear Meghan and her family; yet, these cowardly liars swear up and down that it has nothing to do with race!

Well here’s another obvious lie of yours, on which your civilisation is based: sorry not buying it – Mary did not lay down and give birth to Christ without once having fucked. From that one lie, has sprung a culture of lies where everything is based in lies… right down to trying to deny Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex her humanity. To hell with the royal households, the Cambridges and any other royals who would deny this great eloquent, intellectually and emotionally intelligent woman her rightful human respect.

Since the institution and its rabid racists could never be expected to change, on realising this, fast enough, one day Meghan looked herself in the mirror, smiled and said, ‘I am much too tall to be made to feel this small.’ Meghan decided to be the change that the House of Windsor needed, ‘Come on H, we are moving to Canada, you are finally going to be emancipated.’ Free at last were they of the toxic brother (William) and his equally toxic wife (Catherine) whom, I might add, Harry never rejected.

Let them finally get off their arses and do something remotely looking like work and more importantly, looking like a couple in love… hyperemesis gravidarum my arse! Meghan driven out because singly or combined, the Cambridges were outshone by Meghan, indeed, Meghan and Harry.

Like Charles with Diana, Princess of Wales before them, a petulant, jealous William colluded with his wife and conspired to demonise that black witch. They had never in a million years envisioned Meghan, upping and abandoning them and their BS. Look at William in the above clip; he is winded, embarrassed and unfocussed and hardly ever looks up. Whatever are they going to do? Meghan pulled a move that they had never seen coming in a million years. His culpability in the matter is betrayed by his not once cracking a joke, which is his usual approach on taking to the lectern

Well, there you are centre stage, as boring as day-old porridge and just as sodden as cardboard left outdoors during monsoon season. Go on mousy, go on cock-suck that mic and show us how you have found the voice you never had to lose in the first place. Now Meghan can speak before an audience without having the royal household, directed by the Cambridges, scrub the internet of her speeches, as they did with her eloquent speech to the 2018 British Fashion Awards.

Really you two, what exactly have you won? Now centre stage, the spotlight will be most unforgiving as it ferrets out who you truly are. Your collusion with royal rota is up, the beast needs new blood to feast on… and you are it.

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It’s The Blackamoor Brooch, Stupid!

11.01.202029.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

As the seven-headed Royal Rota beast starts attacking itself at the news that TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex have laid down the law, which definitely does not include them, they have elected to declare all out war! Naturally, the American negro whom they spent every inch of broadsheet demonising, vilifying and mercilessly racially preying on, now had to be blamed and attacked. Never having approved of the black, who ought to have been nothing more than a bit on the side, having married a blood royal prince, the first response comes from that pussy-faced bigot extraordinaire screaming like the closeted cocksucker that he is, ‘Take away their HRH titles!.’ Revoking the Sussexes titles is as good as divorce and finally the royal rota and the majority of racists can have a marriage annulled that they never thought should have occurred. Too, all of a sudden, they are concerned about the frailty of the indomitable monarch, HM Queen Elizabeth II.

By the time that HRH Princess Michael of Kent wore her blackamoor brooch to the 2017 Queen’s Lunch at Buckingham Palace, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex would have regularly been subjected to open racial animus from all quarters within the BRF and the royal households. Naturally, the ubiquitous garden variety bigots were all emboldened by the race-baiting narrative being driven by the bemused royal rota. What is their defense for the brooch – Meghan had gifted it to the no-calved freak and insisted that she wear it? Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex makes her Buckingham Palace balcony debut at 2018 Trooping the Colour and she is cunningly eclipsed when it is decided that the four royal colonels who had ridden by horse to and from the palace: HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal, HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge are to stand alongside HM The Queen.

In the following year, again, the four royal colonels were staged, rather than the protocol of precedence, such that TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex were again in the back and eclipsed. More importantly, in 2019, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge were as far away from the Sussexes as possible; this, of course, would only validate the tensions between both of Diana, Princess of Wales’s descendant families.

As whites are always readily indignant when denying the existence of racism, the current feverish quarterbacking, addressing every possible reason for the Sussexes’ decision to forge their own future, covers everything except the obvious – the stinking racism within the BRF and the royal households… to say nothing within the royal rota and British society at large. The obvious assumption is that we owned you people for 400 years. Of course, we damn well have a right to openly hate you, racially prey on you because we damn well can and are damn well right in our perceptions… most of all, our heritage is above reproach.

Copping hauteur and curling one’s hideous, thin lizard upper lip aside, selectively and romanticising the past is all well and fine but the reason for damn well hating Meghan and what she represents, is precisely because were it not for those 400 years of making you fabulously wealthy, Britons would be no better off than Albanians. You can never possibly begin to fathom the degree to which blacks have long ago figured out your own special brand of crazy. Though superiorly armed; crazy the fuck is crazy.

The Sussexes are in the power position, HM The Queen cannot afford the fallout of having the bride of the Commonwealth Youth Ambassador of the predominantly black Commonwealth banished, stripped of royal titles and also removed from her Commonwealth position. Not only does one run the real risk of many of those predominantly black Commonwealth countries leaving, more serious is the threat of the Sussexes doing a sit-down interview with that other Queen, Oprah Winfrey. As it is, Britons come off as the ugly racist boors that sadly they are. Also, if stripped of titles, Meghan HRH Duchess of Sussex would be seen as an admirable American who refused to toe the line and scrape and bow to persons who are bigoted boors, in particular TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Meghan does not have to respect Catherine, she did nothing but traipse after/stalk the oaf with limited communication/body language/emotional intelligence until she got the ring and promptly laid down the law whilst rowing and dismissing him during her first appearance on the balcony at Buckingham Palace on the day of their wedding.

The fact remains that if HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex had taken a Japanese, Muslim, Chinese, Korean, East Indian or Burmese wife, the royal rota and the British public would not have been so feral with open animus towards any such non-white wife. To those owed karma, one is always most resently, hateful and obsessed. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has been a crucible for that hatred/fear but at the end of the day, the Tudor matriarch did not come back to suffer immolation by rabid racial predators. Where’s the thriving in that? And, as she articulately laid bare in her engagement interview, this woman is stratospherically more emotionally intelligent than certainly the Cambridges and all the other members of the BRF, to say nothing of the royal households, combined.

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It isn’t just enough to be a goddamn token; this is not the frigging 1960s. Being brayed at and water-hosed by the royal rota, who are now hand-wringing and assuming zero fuck-all culpability, is no way to live. As Jessica Mulroney so deftly shared on her IG account, “a strong woman looks a challenge in the eye and gives it a wink.” I will go one further; She winks, smiles then speed dials Oprah. No one played Margaret Beaufort and no one plays TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex. Going forward, no matter what the senior royals do, this is the end result of their racially hostile response to Meghan in their midst…. they know who they are and their actions have betrayed their culpability. Positively nothing was done as this woman was being lynched; instead, the royal rota and them decided to play central casting and turn Catherine into a star. Not a damn soul at the Gersh Agency would represent that mousy drab bore. Once the royal rota get over having been emasculated and eviscerated by TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex, they can finally go feed on the ruined façade that’s left of the Cambridges’ marriage.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex simply did what no one within the BRF had the balls to do: deal with the royal rota’s out-of-control vigilantism. The royal rota and their legal team have looked at the Sussexes’ declaration and see lawsuits that they can never win and a loss of power, which frankly they should never have acquired. On the day of their glorious wedding, commentators asked how was Meghan going to change the BRF… not being the royal rota’s bitch is damn well how one modernises the BRF. You cannot use the royal rota, as the Cambridges have, to wage a grudge match with the more stylish and popular though less senior royals, the Sussexes. Again, if you are going to play your cunning games via the royal rota, do so at your peril when dealing with an American.

The Royal Rota behaved as they did because they knew damn well that there was little acceptance of the black American within the senior royals’ midst. On the eve of the 2019 Remembrance Service in Whitehall, there were TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex alone minus Camilla, HRH #Duchess of Cornwall who was a no-show, claiming being under the weather. The next day, however, there she was on the balcony in Whitehall on HM The Queen’s immediate right, showing no signs of illness. Just as when she did not want to, Camilla hosted an event in Scotland, rather than attend HRH Princess Eugenie of York’s wedding in October 2018.

No other faction would have exerted more pressure on HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales to alienate the black American than HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. He has never his life long, unlike his brother, betrayed being at ease around blacks. He, along with his inarticulate, insecure wife, went out of their way to make HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex’s wife feel unwanted. Both possessed of 9s in their numerological makeup, proved themselves petty, grudging and prejudicial in the negative manifestations of the immensely difficult to master number 9.

So threatened were they by articulate, accomplished, self-made and emotionally centred Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex that never once was she allowed to attend a state dinner where she would be expected to wear a crown. Once and only once did she go on an outing with HM The Queen. On the official BRF YouTube channel, Meghan’s rather articulate speech whilst attending the 2018 British Fashion Awards was edited to her making the introduction and being thanked by Claire Waight Keller; the entire Internet has been scrubbed clean of her entire speech. By virtue of the Cambridges’ pettiness, all of a sudden in the past year, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge has been shoved forward, making speeches and deigning to appear remotely human and speaking to the media. All indicators are there in plain view, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has been horribly treated by senior and minor royals alike along with the royal households and none of it was clearly ever challenged by HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales who obviously is Prince Regent in all but name. Bullying Charles, his father, to pose with granny and his darling little twinkle toes, the clearly pussy-whipped, oafish William assumed that Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex was prepared to endure a lifetime of BS from the likes of someone whom she obviously dismisses as an idiot.

A proud black woman, under no circumstances is Meghan prepared to have her son, Archie Harrison, treated as she has been treated by any royal or hideously racist members of the royal households in an echo of her upbringing around shitty excuses for human beings like Samantha and Thomas Jr. did during her childhood and the moment she became engaged to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex. HM The Queen, knew the importance in Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex being wedded to a senior royal; it cemented the love and respect the blacks across the Commonwealth bear her. Be that as it may, as HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge could not care less what ‘granny’ wants, he would just as readily dispense with the undesirable ‘negro’ in his family as he would all those blacks in the Commonwealth. I am sure that he would consider it a good thing if with the Duchess of Sussex’s treatment and ouster, some predominantly black Commonwealth member states were to pull out. He has never visited any such country and likely never will.

Everything is a damn choice. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex clearly sees little difference between TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge and Samantha Grant & Thomas Markle Jr., they are bigots not worth associating with. Of one thing you can be certain, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will never allow Archie to have contact with his cousins. HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex never treated Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge differently either before or after she joined the BRF. I ceased following Amelia Windsor on Instagram when that little half-wit of dubious beauty on attending the 2018 British Fashion Awards failed to acknowledge Meghan’s presence there in her insta-stories, though there were many other highlights of Amelia’s night at the awards.

With Meghan and Harry’s departure and with the royal rota no longer having direct access to them, it is time for them to start covering the real story in the House of Windsor, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge’s disintegrating marriage.

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8.1.2020 = 8.9.4 = 3. Checkmate!

09.01.202029.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Yes! That’s how you ride the slithering seven-headed dragon to the hounds!

Ah, there they are, gliding along in Sandringham, trying to cover Catherine’s brushoff of her nuisance husband, William, during BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas Special by having the image of wholesomeness. What affair with Rose Hanbury? BS! Come on, you must be having a laugh! Rose’s husband lives in Paris with his (male) photographer lover, so his being at Sandringham is so much PR pablum.

That’s right, bring in the black woman and she can cover those forever impoverished Commonwealth backwater countries that one has no intentions of ever setting foot in, Catherine & William that is. Too bad, though, that you did not take the time to treat that black woman as nothing more than dirt. Rushing to DailyMail and meeting with its editorial board to keep dumping on that upstart American. Why should the Sussexes have done Christmas Lunch at Buckingham Palace in 2019 with Archie in tow, only to have the likes of that flat-arsed, no-calved reptilian freak, blackamoor brooch and all, greeting Archie along the lines, “well aren’t you just the most adorable little monkey.”

If you think that HRH Princess Michael of Kent is the only open bigot in the BRF or the Royal household then I am sure you also believe that the Prince of Rome really does care about the little people. Today, 8/1/2020 was a most auspicious and powerful day for TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex to have launched their new website http://www.sussexroyal.com and to have seized power from the British media. Indeed, this master stroke by TRHs is a fitting homage to HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex’s beloved mother, Diana, Princess of Wales. They sought to own, victimise, exploit Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex as previously they had Diana, Princess of Wales. Not for nothing was the soul which previously had been Margaret Beaufort, Tudor matriarch going to lay down and get shafted by damn fools – fools too who new arsenal, which they had not previously employed against Diana, Princess of Wales, race.

For 14 long and excruciating minutes, Bishop Curry hogged the spotlight; however, in doing so, he also weaved magic that was likely never intended. Alas, there were in the quire at St. George’s Chapel, the most shrewd strategists you could hope for, American mavericks and a handful of shrewd power players from the Gersh Agency, to say nothing of George & Amal Clooney and as well Oprah Winfrey. This inevitably gave way to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge revealing what a clueless oaf he is, whilst Sheku Kanneh-Mason performed Schubert’s Ave Maria. The same oaf who had to be told how to properly sit in the carriage on the day of his wedding, to the same oaf who neurotically brushed the back of his left hand after his crass wife had rudely dismissed him before the world, which of course the members of the Royal Rota chose not to run with.

This woman, Meghan, showed her true mettle in slaying that smug dragon, the Royal Rota, which somehow assumed that it was invincible and could exploit, rule and demonise the product of 400 years of enslavement and dehumanisation by the very society which ought to be damn well lucky those enslaved descendants are as forgiving as they are and do not perpetually harbour erotophonophilic thoughts of severed, hateful empty skulls. No said Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, I will not be racially preyed on, demonised, vilified and made millions off of as were my ancestors. How she has proven a mirror into which the isle of rabid racist hooligans have had to gaze and runaway screaming.

Retaliate by taking away their HRH status and there will be a number of predominantly black Commonwealth nations that will just as readily throw off that final yoke of colonialism. That is a legacy of which HM The Queen is most proud. She would do it but it would cost her dearly. The royals have stood by and done positively nothing whilst Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex was being fed on by semi-feral jackals of the royal rota.

They were smugly celebratory and began the ousting of the American by the Cambridges’ performance at Royal Ascot in 2019, a performance which clearly had the backing of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. The Royals and their courtiers have myopically assumed that the game and the way it is played, is the only way. Wrong! At Christmas, the Sussexes were further being sidelined by HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales accompanying TRH Duke & Duchess, George & Charlotte of Cambridge to church in Sandringham.

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There are Americans involved and the Windsors laid themselves bare as they sat across the very narrow aisle of St. George’s Chapel’s quire from self-made power money. Who are the Windsors to persons like this, who shrewdly see the value and monetary worth in everything. William to them is just lazy money – he was born into it and beyond that is a fairly clueless oaf. There sat Meghan, serene, confident on her wedding day as she sat opposite some of the most shrewd legal minds going and they knew her… the Windsors are nothing to such persons.

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Now that the Royal Rota has been frozen out and its flame extinguished, they can now focus on the business of gossip. What are they now to do, continue their newfound narrative of praising Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge or revert back to their comfort zone of detesting Kate Middleton?

With this release of http://www.sussexroyal.com TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex have slain a formidable dragon – a hideous though weak seven-headed monster. This heroic move and act on their part has done a great deal to avenge the pain and injury, which this blood-hungry seven-headed dragon (Royal Rota) enjoyed at Diana, Princess of Wales’ expense. HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex with his able and reincarnationally accomplished Queen, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has proven a modern day St. George who together have slain a seven-headed dragon that bullied his mother into her grave. Go on, try publishing a million photos and print your lies about them now… going forward as of this day, 8.1.2020 = 8.9.4 = 3, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex have avenged Diana’s death accomplished in their bold defiance to finally allow Diana, Princess of Wales to rest truly in peace.

Whatever shall the royal rota do now? More to the point, does it really now matter?

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Finally, The Mouse Has Fucking Roared!

22.12.201929.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

What did I tell you? I done been sermonising up in here all these long months and then the coalminer’s kinder done let it all hang out. Getting hot under the collar in the kitchen indeed.

Now you know, with that one move, all god’s coloured queens done sprained their wrists, hyper-fanning themselves and blew their just-so fascinators clear off their weaved heads, on seeing the crypt-dwelling, muggled mouse-cum-rat roar back. Twas bound to happen; sooner or later, every rat will resort to cannibalism.

Did you not think it weird that Catherine went and sat her post-partum steely self between Lord Porchie’s minor meat-loving dolt and Camilla – the coolest older royal after The Princess Royal. As William would have had to get up to bear the rings, it is only natural that Catherine ought to have sat to HRH Prince Charles, Duke of Cornwall’s immediate right, rather than two to his left just beyond his wife, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall despite what protocol dictates.

Catherine is both a warrior soul and a 9 energy body to the core. What’s more, she is a fifth-level mature soul and as there is drama at the mature soul age, it is most pronounced when one is fifth-level mature as that level is synonymous with the fifth role in essence, the sage. Drama is the hallmark of sages, fifthness brings you drama. Finally, the little squeaking mouse had had enough of playing nice, metamorphosed, becoming a rabid rat who readily roared.

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Jo Elvin, Alexandra Shulman, Janet Street-Porter, Lady Colin Campbell, Piers Morgan & Stephanie Powers.

Whatever shall those silly, ninny-arsed fools do now as they have spent the past year, trying to make you and I see nacre where there was none, in what is clearly nothing but faux pearls from Target! No matter how the persons above slander Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex in their bid to suddenly anoint Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge as stylish, having found a voice that she never had to lose in the first place, to being future Queen consort et tout ça; it is all frigging lies, which were shattered with Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge dismissing HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge much as she did on the balcony at Buckingham Palace within mere hours of having been wedded on April 29, 2011.

Numbers do not lie and 9 energy-bodied women are all shrewd, rudely dismissive and crass when it comes to letting you know just where they stand; and for being human, there is no reason why Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would act any differently.

These blasted clowns acting as though we have all been somnambulant these past 8 years. I don’t care if you want to rebrand her as being able to turn her piss into wine, she, as her numbers dictate and as she indisputably chose to lay bare during Mary Berry’s Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas – which only came about because palace mandarins decided that since that American, Straight Outta Compton wrote the foreword to the Grenfell cookbook Together then a cooking special for the TV masses it is – is no such thing.

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True to her numbers, Catherine just had to let there be no doubt that she ain’t nothing but a damn river rat in true Edward Gorey fashion. And there were her revisionist enablers, thinking that this Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, will really show up the object of their vilifying campaign, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex as so passé. And boy did they ever show her up… Catherine that is!

That’s right Monty, that’ll be two sugars with my Countess Grey.

Regardless, Diana, Princess of Wales’ deeply lonely, all scholar souls ever are, emotionally stunted son, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, does not deserve to be bullied and disrespected. As has been painfully obvious, this will ever cause him to roam as every emasculating woman has caused her partner to do.

Like Vladimir Horowitz and Wanda Toscanini, who were also task companions, this pair of task companions must also get up to the most vicious nagging and rows imaginable. You can fool no one, most especially older souls than you!

With Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s appearance at court, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge has got reason to live. Life is all competition for warriors; hell Catherine would compete with a damn fly but not before first plucking one of its wings off. That maniacal angst of Catherine’s is why the soul who was Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort, later HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York & Albany and now Meghan, Duchess of Sussex chose to have nothing to do with the fire-breathing, ape-bat shit psycho holding court at Kensington Palace; instead, Meghan et famille quite rightly so decamped at Windsor Castle’s Frogmore Cottage.

Look at the two older children; they are growing up in a household where there is clearly massive strain in their parents’ marriage. There is a lot of discord and rowing afoot and that is readily discernible in the two older children’s faces.

Wanda Toscanini & Vladimir Horowitz.

Horowitz, Vladimir 1/10/03 Kiev<O>5/11/89, NYC

Michael: This fragment was, in his immediate past life, a mid-cycle mature scholar in passion mode, with a goal of growth, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.

Vladimir had a Mercury/Lunar body type.

Vladimir’s was a strong primary chief feature of arrogance and a weaker secondary of stubbornness.

This fragment was second-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. He is a member of entity five, cadre two, greater cadre 14, pod/node 449.

He and the fragment who was Wanda Toscanini are task companions, both now discarnate. The fragment who was Wanda was a fifth level mature warrior.

This scholar’s demeanour in public contrasted greatly with his behaviour in his private life.

It is interesting to note that this fragment has had only one other life as a practicing musician and that was as an organist at the Chartres Cathedral in the early part of the nineteenth century.

However, this fragment has a long stage history, beginning in Greece during its Golden Age.

This fragment also built harpsichords during the latter part of the eighteenth century and actually built one for Leopold Mozart.

As a highland warrior in the latter part of the seventeenth century, this fragment distinguished himself both on the battlefield and in fashioning bagpipes.

He was an exemplary soldier in many lives and many guises.

However, the place where this fragment was most at home was on the stage or behind the scenes.

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Like Catherine & William, Vladimir & Wanda were also task companions and also the same mix of Scholar and Warrior souls. Both women were/are fifth-level mature warrior souls. I knew a classical musician in NYC in the 1980s and he knew the couple and said they were the most passionate, loud, argumentative and frankly abusive towards each other couple he had ever known. This is not uncommon territory for task companions; by its very nature, the relationship is about spurring the other into action. Warrior females in a relationship where they feel themselves not in control, will engage in bullying to assume power of some sort or power as they so deem it. Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s uncouth display, in public no less, during the Mary Berry Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, speaks to the great stress that William endures and that Catherine has exercised in her bid to gain control in a position which she clearly perceives as tenuous at best.

Recently, I got taken to task about my observation that TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge refuse to tour predominantly black Commonwealth countries. They have recently been to Pakistan and have also to date visited India. Along with that, they have visited Singapore and elsewhere. The argument was from my dinner partners that, perhaps, the Cambridges do not tour such countries because they are poorer et al. If only that were true. Nigeria is the third most populous Commonwealth nation after India and Pakistan and though Nigeria’s GDP is higher than that of Pakistan’s, the argument that they don’t do poorer Commonwealth nations do not hold up, when they have hopscotched over Nigeria and toured less populous Singapore whose GDP is also less than that of Nigeria’s. Again, I hang tough, their combined numerological 9s, are precisely why the Cambridges have to date chosen not to tour any predominantly black Commonwealth nation. That certainly does speak volumes about them and in particular William and his enabler in that regard, Catherine.

Demonise TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex and their family all they want, whilst portraying the Cambridges as the embodiment of wholesomeness and regal class. Be that as it may, the Cambridges have been fractious where the Sussexes never have been. No matter how the print medium race-bait the public into loathing the Sussexes, theirs comparably is a happy marriage and that at the end of the day, is why Catherine, rather than Meghan, seethes at having to be touched by her spouse. Catherine is a toxic 9 writ large and no amount of sugar-coating ya-ya from the DailyMail and its racist trolls will ever be able to gloss over the froideur Catherine exhibited at Mary Berry Christmas TV special, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, towards HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.

That is no mouse, it is a damn river rat! So you know, two rats will have a million offspring in a mere 18 months, most of which will be cannibalised to keep themselves fed and nourished. So very wise of the Sussexes to stay clear of that rabid, to say nothing of haunted, toxic and dense-energied lair where the Cambridges hold court, Kensington Palace.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Category: Older souls

Pink Chair I & II

Tis The Season… Cicadas Abound!

Elderflower? No! We Only Use White Flour..

Oh Quelle Fuck-All Joie Ça!

Well, Of Course, They’re Frigging Racist!

How Fucking Dare You, Piers!

By Any Means, We Win!

It’s The Blackamoor Brooch, Stupid!

8.1.2020 = 8.9.4 = 3. Checkmate!

Finally, The Mouse Has Fucking Roared!