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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HRH Prince George of Wales – The Spook in the Window

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

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

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

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

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

As Happy as a Truly Rictus & Gurning Loon

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

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

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

Shunga Print Provenance: British Museum

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

Damian: the Possessed & Damaged Spawn’s Coming Out

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

November 2016

A Statement by the Communications Secretary to Prince Harry

Published 08 November 2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 2017

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

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

May 2017

Pippa’s Wedding to James Matthews

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

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

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

July 2017

Cambridges, Poland, July 2017

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

November 2017

Harry & Meghan BBC Engagement Interview

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

BBC Engagement Interview for Prince Harry & Meghan

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

Samantha Markle Before Kensington Palace Payoff aka Financial Lobotomy

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

December 2017

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

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

February 2018

Royal Foundation Interview: Harry, Meghan, Ekaterina & Wilhelm

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

April 2018

Prince Louis’ Christening, July 2018

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

Damian, El Diablo Muy Loco & His Psycho Mama

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

May 2018

Royal Wedding of TRH The Duke & Duchess of Sussex

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

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

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

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

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

Baby Mango Man Goes Full Crazy Town

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

Ekaterina: 12 Years a Fail But Oh So Soused

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

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

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

Meghan Gaslighted, Suicide Ideation, Racially Preyed On

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

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

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

Buster Tripping the Light Fantastic Across the Cativerse

Grooving & Upping the Frequency via Crystals & Music

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

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

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

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

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

Caligula II & Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted

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

Elizabeth II Snubs Ekaterina & Wilhelm, December, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ekaterina, Patron Saint & Queen of the Karens

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

Unhinged Loon Hiding In Plain Sight.

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

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

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

Make It The Motherfuck Make Sense

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

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

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

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

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

Meghan Carries Portmanteau, Followed Thereafter by Ekaterina Doing Same

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry & Meghan, The Duke & Duchess of Sussex

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

Prinzessin Ekaterina von Rictus der Gurnalot und Mumbleweiss Suffers Charisma Implosion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex, Princess Henry of Sussex

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jessica Mulroney. Janina Gavankar. Sophie Grégoire-Trudeau.

Lindsay Roth. Misha Nonoo-Hess. Delfina Blaquier

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

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

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

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

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

Chicago. Halved Lobster Meal. Washington D. C.

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

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

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

Soul Crooners: Barry White. Al Green & Teddy Pendergrass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the Mirror Cracked. Ekaterina’s Mask Slips

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

St. Thomas Anglican Church, Nevis, Est 1643

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles Davis – Trumpet

George Colman – Tenor Saxophone

Victor Feldman – Piano

Ron Carter – Bass

Frank Butler =- Drums

Herbie Hancock – Piano

Tony Williams – Drums

©1963 Columbia Records

________________

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

_______________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

I Love You. Good Night & Sweet Dreams…

Self-portrait by Sir Anthony van Dyck

van der Pelster, Joop 12/7/43 ]O[ 29/8/2023 NLN/Montréal

Michael: The fragment who was Joop was a fifth level old artisan – second incarnation at this level – in the observation mode, with a goal of stagnation, a pragmatist, in the emotional part of intellectual centre.  

This fragment had a Saturn/Lunar body type. 

Joop’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a weak secondary of self-deprecation.  

Joop was sixth-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fourth in the second greater cadence.  He is a member of entity one, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod/node 414 – cadre mate of both Merlin & Arvin’s. 

Joop has a discarnate artisan essence twin whom he did know in childhood and an incarnate priest task companion, with whom no plans were made to meet in this lifetime.  

This was a resting life for this fragment, whose three primary needs are: security, communion and exchange.  

He was a sculptor in Russia – at the time of the 1917 revolution, took a stand with the communists and was killed in a riot in St. Petersburg.  He chose not to be reborn during the Second World War, in Western Europe, but in an old soul country, rather than a mixed young/mature society.  

At that time, the Soviet Government was very early-young soul repressive, while the general population was mid-cycle mature and even though he was only 30 when he died in that previous life, he chose not to be reborn in the Soviet Union and took a resting life in the Netherlands. 

Arvin feels a connectedness with Joop because they are in the same cadre and Joop has a great deal of service in his casting, as does Arvin.  Here is a priest-cast artisan who is a member of an entity one, so he has needs to serve both the higher ideal and the common good.  

There is a great deal of the “Visionary” here, which is one of the seven aspects of the Artisan.  He is also a “walker” in that he can pierce the veil between the planes at will, even though Joop did not call this phenomenon by name.  

Joop and Arvin have known each other in many previous lives.  They have been lovers of both sexes and of both hetero and homoerotic orientation.  Joop has filled the mentor position in Arvin’s support group three times.  

Perhaps the most notable life that this fragment had was in the late sixteenth century-early seventeenth century, when Joop was the Flemish portrait painter and depicter of religious themes, Anthony Van Dyck.  Anthony was later knighted, and is known historically as, Sir Anthony Van Dyck.  

He was a good friend, sometimes-lover and collaborator of Peter Paul Rubens.  Both of these men were bisexual and lusty and enjoyed the company of both men and women, even though they pretended to be very good Catholic boys.  

Interestingly enough, the fragment who was Peter Paul was in the immediate past life, the imminent American photographer, Ansel Adams; same great artistic ability, different medium.  

Joop did have great ability to make his lovers feel loved and this is something that generally goes along with the latter part of the old soul cycle.  

They are no longer so concerned about their own sexual pleasure, mainly because it is easier for them and rather commonplace but they do generally enjoy bringing others to the heights of ecstasy.  

Every mature soul should have a late old soul lover at least once, just as the opposite is true.  The mature soul brings to the sex act the passion and the fire, while the very old soul brings to it the skill and patience of so many lives.  

All told, to date the soul which was incarnate as Joop has had 18 past lives with Arvin and 12 with his task companion who was recently Merlin. 

One of those past-life associations was in late 16th century, early 17th century Belgium when Arvin, then female, was a lover and muse of painter, Otto van Veen’s. 

*From incarnation to incarnation, there are always touchstones. For Joop this was validated when venturing to his Oakville home, there I discovered that Joop collected the tiniest and most ornate, mostly gold, old world frames like those favoured from the great masters of the Flemish school. For me, having been a muse of Otto van Veen’s and Sir Peter Paul Rubens, it was no surprise that I would prove a favourite of George Hawken’s. Interestingly enough, Joop’s numerology at his passing perfectly mirrors mine at my birth. 2.1.8 = 11.

__________________________________________________

Buster, aged 11. Buster Is Now aged18.

Last weekend, as I had not in ages felt, I became splayed. I was not depressed – I am not given to being thusly indulgent – too old to give a damn, frankly. In any event, Buster was being unusually withdrawn. Late at night, I caught him a couple of times, looking spooked and looking off into the pyramid room, being wide-eyed and even taking cover a couple of times. On Saturday evening, August 26, 2023, I missed my 2200 call to Joop; then again, it was not a cause for concern. I had overslept and if need be Joop would call up. Since late last year, we had been speaking every weekend, by early June, it became nightly.

Harbord Collegiate Institute

Joop had cancer and was slowly ebbing away. Back in September 1977, I had just begun my final year at Harbord Collegiate Institute. The storied high school was where architect Frank Gehry also attended. I was then in grade 13, which no longer exists, and along with studies also actively pursued dance studies. There were a few classmates with whom I messed around, nothing serious. The only adult with whom I then interacted was an artist and true eccentric. Ours, though, was never a sexual relationship, which I rather valued. He was knowledgeable, a sculptor and lived on and off in New York City, the El Dorado to which we all gravitated.

Robarts Library, University of Toronto

One cool Wednesday afternoon, instead of walking home from school to our East York residence at 122 Mortimer Avenue, along Bloor Street and across the Bloor Street viaduct, I continued along Harbord and made it to University of Toronto’s Fort Book, its central library, Robarts Library. Before getting down to studies, I had been poring through copies of African Arts magazine; I was eager to start an African mask collection so research was essential. Just as I began leaving a couple of hours later, I emerged outside facing due east at the top of the steps, a plume of smoke drifted my way and looking over, I caught the eye of the smoker. Diminutive, he was readily recalled from a dream the week prior. He smiled, just as he had in that dream and we both made for each other. He offered his cigarette, I declined by forthrightly stating, “you know, if you want to kiss, all you have to do, is ask?” Twenty minutes later with the most spectacular twinkling blue eyes ever, we shared our first kiss in his Oldsmobile Cutlass in the parking lot at 1111 Broadview Avenue, less than ten minute walk from my home.

Soon, I would abandon Robarts for the drive out to Joop’s Oakville home, which he shared with dark & handsome, Niles Milford. They kept their swimming pool open for lots of frolicking fun well into October. There were a few threesomes but most of all, I had the most sublime moments of ecstasy when lovemaking with Joop. The first time we were intimate, we walked into the bathroom to shower together and he winked at me as I stood arrested and awestruck at seeing, for the first time, my aura; Joop’s aura was also visible. Clearly, it was not the first time that he had witnessed this. Every timer thereafter, I always saw my aura when Joop and I were intimate – it was always intimate rather than sex or fucking; there is simply no other way to describe what it was like being with Joop.

The Belvedere, Montréal

Soon, Niles & Joop were relocated to Montréal, living in tony TMR (Town of Mount Royal) by late winter 1978. For the rest of my life, each August, I received a birthday card from Joop. Our love was deep and abiding. No matter where we were, we always managed at least once per month to talk by phone. From that first phone call, we had the most intense phone sex. Every time, we came simultaneously and few were the times when I saw my aura afterwards on taking to the bathroom. Though they never met and never spoke, one thing always fascinated me; Merlin & Joop sounded exactly alike on the phone. This was even more so evident with Merlin’s passing in November, 1989. A month later, December 1989, Niles died of cancer; Joop and I then had each other, preventing the other from falling apart.

Copper Pyramid in Green Bedroom

Sensing that the end was nigh, I recharged my trusty crystals and burnt beeswax candles through my art-filled home whilst meditating and sleeping in the pyramid. As the energy of the pyramid is considerable, I never sleep longer than four hours at a time, the dream activity therein is intense and any longer duration proves exhausting. Saturday, Sunday and Monday, I slept more than 7 hours each day, which is unheard of for me. I was splayed and feeling dislocated; I knew well what was about to unfold. Sunday night, we talked for just under five minutes in our daily communion. On Monday, he did not answer, which had previously occurred. Again, on Tuesday, he did not respond; he did say that he was sleeping longer and dropping off well before 2200. I thought to suggest that we speak, going forward, changing the time of our rendezvous to 2100. I wrote an email and suggested we chat in the daytime on Wednesday, if not, I would speak later.

The phone finally answered; however, it was Joop’s executor. Joop had been discovered seven hours earlier. Instantaneously, the dross that had enervated me, evaporated. My longest enduring friendship, love affair was over. The one lover/friend with whom I had never once had a falling out; on the cusp of 46 years, after months of cocooning, Joop unfolded his wings and took flight, becoming refocussed elsewhere. Sweet and blissful dreams my love; the most intimate lucid dreams, we shall yet share.

After having a good cry, over two days, I slipped into six- inch Bally, black patent leather pumps, plopped in my red-tailed butt plug – I plan on going as Prinz Wilhelm von Pegged und Fisted for Halloween celebrations with a faux Irish Guards tunic. For the next several hours, West Indian to the core, I played the previous compilation of the Mighty Sparrow’s music from my Calypso-sodden childhood in the Caribbean, thoroughly enjoying myself whilst celebrating Joop’s magical, beautiful life.

Damn right! Life’s no dress rehearsal, shake arse at racist boors whilst laughing loudest!

______________________________________________________

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

_______________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Gaslighting: No. 1 Response to Anti-Black Racism & How the End of A Dynasty Rather Than Monarchy Unfolds.

“What Didn’t You Do to Bury Us But You Forgot We Are Seeds.”

HM Queen Elizabeth Sharing A Racist Gorilla Joke in Royal Documentary, June 1969

Transcript of racist Joke told by HM The Queen during June 1969 BBC documentary look at the family’s private life:

HMQEII: It’s just extremely difficult sometimes to keep a straight face. When Home Secretary said to me, there’s a gorilla coming in. So I said, what an extraordinary remark to make and unkind about anybody. So, I stood in the middle of the room, pressed the bell, the doors open and there was a gorilla. And I had the most terrible trouble in keeping… you know, he had short torso, long arms and I had the most appalling trouble… (room descends into raucous laughter, that hideous breath that Whites exclusively use when being racist towards Blacks). HM King Charles III, then 20 years old, leans back in his chair, guffawing.

This is a copy of said joke that I made, in the event that the original were to yet again be scrubbed from the Internet.

Outtake from 2021 Oprah Interview which never aired during show.

One of the most important things that the Lady Susan Hussey illumined, was the degree to which ‘others’ go to great lengths to deny the existence of anti-Black racism. Surprised then was I when of all persons, Piers Morgan whilst hosting a discussion of the event, took the position that the decision to remove LSH from the royal household toute de suite, was the right one to have taken. There were two guests, an old bizarre-looking White male who thought that LSH had dutifully served the Crown for decades (6) and ought not to have been treated this way. He, of course, attacked Ngozi Fulani and declared that she had an agendum in all this.

Piers Morgan and Guests Discuss the Lady Susan Hussey Race Row

Naturally, this too is the line that Angela Levin took, as ever that blasted Yenta has to hammer away with her anti-Black racism, making money off of hating Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. The other guest was a BLM female Briton who rather illumined the Black experience and rather articulately stated that the guaranteed response to anti-Black racism is that Blacks claiming anti-Black racism will readily be gaslighted and in effect suffer even more racism.

Actor, Wayne Robson 1970s Vancouver

Early one Friday evening in April 1986, actor Wayne Robson, his lovely wife, Lynn Woodman, Merlin and I, joined two other couples in a Vietnamese, if I’m not mistaken rather than Chinese, restaurant on the south side of Gerrard Street East, just east of Broadview Avenue where the Don River delineates between downtown and east end Toronto. Broadview and Gerrard is one of the city’s Chinatowns which easterly along Gerrard Street East becomes Little India. Charles Lawther, another actor who like Wayne had not yet begun his family was present with his lovely wife, Suzette Couture. The other couple, I had never met and was sat next to them. She was a loud, big-boned, blonde whose fuck du jour, she had just returned from a holiday in the Sun where clearly apart from tanning to excess, they fucked their brains out. Meanwhile, her husband, a filmmaker was off in Europe on location and since her young daughter was undeniably on the spectrum, she was living without a care, ignoring her daughter and on the hunt for bigger dick than she had clearly wedded. Her fuck was a wealthy, South African Jew, who was the most hairy back-and-arsed freak I had yet seen and god was he racially oppressive and acutely hostile in the extreme. We were there to celebrate Wayne’s 40th birthday. Lynn and I, for being the ordinal partners of successful professionals in their circle knew our place and got on well. I always loved going to their Seaton Street apartment which sat atop a townhouse on the east side of the street and sat at the corner of Shuter Street; it was a wonderful home with mementos of Wayne’s acting career with items from the set of Popeye and a panoramic photograph of the film set, shot in Malta with actor, Robin Williams. We got back from that dinner on Gerrard Street East and Merlin became violently sick. He was being taunted for being Jewish and being with me. More than that, he was made sick by a Jew being so hideously possessed of anti-Black racial animus. By that point, I had seen it all and simply checked out and focussed on my lover’s beautiful eyes and the exquisite fare on which we dined.

Eight years later, five years after Merlin’s passing, newly arrived in Vancouver, I stayed at Les karpinsky and his lover Ken’s Sentinel Hill home with the most spectacular views. I was there for a fortnight whilst my West End apartment was being painted and repainted and smudged before I took full possession. One evening, a new friend of theirs came to dinner; he lived on the Sunshine Coast and was an expat South African Jew. As I was no longer Merlin’s significant other, which meant having to hold one’s tongue rather than not, after spending too much time blithering about everyone and everything Jewish, our dinner guest trained his scathing anti-Black racism in my direction. Naturally, much of his banter was about Steven Spielberg’s film the year prior, Schindler’s List. When asked by Les if I had seen the film, I very elegantly, murderously, dismissively, unflinchingly stated that since I am a keen student of American history and interested in only genuine American history, as Auschwitz is not in America, I saw no need to thusly engage. Our expat Joburg Jew readily acted as though I were Himmler returned. Ken who never countenanced confrontations, began clearing the dishes from the table and said he was not feeling well and wanted to go to bed. By then, Ken, Les and I spent most of our time in bed whilst great music saturated their home though not successfully drowning out our salaciousness. As our racist guest, enraged and bothered, abruptly took leave, cutting the eye at me, I bluntly stated, be sure to bring a map of America bearing Auschwitz, Treblinka and Dachau on your next visit and educate me. Having sat there uncomfortably with Ken and Les as the expat South African Ashkenazi Jew blamed the evils of this world on Blacks, chiefly South African and American Blacks, Afro-Sephardic yours truly was sure to succinctly give as fucking good as I had gotten.

Ken and Les apologised and assured me that they had no idea their new friend was such a piece of work, though, Ken did say that he had encountered that kind of intense racial animus from Jews towards Blacks and though it bizarre. Certainly, Merlin definitely did as well. The only time that Merlin ever got mad, was when someone Jewish was on TV openly inciting anti-Black racism. At such times, Merlin would become so upset that he would abruptly get up, scratching his beard at the chin and storm from the room with a weary, loud sigh. Still, at other times, Merlin would hurl whatever book he had at hand, tossing it at the TV and demand that I change the channel at once. As though to embalm ourselves from all that hideousness, after having assured Ken and Les that I was not the least bit upset and they gave assurances that the racist boor was dead to them, we were soon indulging in sexual play like stressed Bonobos. Reaching back, I held Ken’s head in place and twerked like Cardi B. as his tongue behaved as though a famished hog’s set loose in a truffle patch, “Yeah, that’s right, keep your fucking tongue right there!”

Camilla Tominey Justifiably Getting Served Her Racist, Lying Flat Arse

This woman who is truly, hideously clit-nosed had the temerity to attack Meghan, a Black woman, as though there are no other Black women on the planet. Camilla floated the lie that Meghan made Catherine cry and thus began the avalanche of anti-Black racism that has seen Meghan emerge as the most hated Black woman in history. To date, there have been 246 thousand plus articles by the British media, attacking Tungsten each hundred thousand for the number of years, 246, that America violently threw off the yoke of British imperial oppression.

Just like George Floyd, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex plays her role in this the 250 year cycle as Pluto transits Capricorn and violently sets aright that which needs to be dismantled and abolished. She is lancing the bile of 400 plus years of slavery that was officially begun by HM Queen Elizabeth I, who was Margaret Beaufort, Meghan’s soul in a past life’s great-granddaughter, and now culminating in the too-long reign of HM Queen Elizabeth II.

Now let’s explore what is at the heart of all this. The Waleses with their 9-focussed numerology plus the fact that they are task companions, would definitely have been behind the push to oust the Duchess of Sussex from the royal family. They would clearly not have allowed Harry to marry Meghan if they were in the Queen’s position. As events have validated, the Waleses and the Courtesan Queen have their backers whose directives they diligently obey. Of course, the Queen sanctioned the marriage as it would be good for her legacy and the racist Waleses, formerly Cambridges, had no intentions of touring a predominantly Black commonwealth nation and only finally did after Meghan and Harry were driven out and the Queen was dying of cancer.

June, 2018, a month after the Sussexes’ wedding, where the buffoon openly ridiculed his sister-in-law and her Black heritage. Naturally, William was in Jerusalem for his paternal great-grandmother, Philip’s rather ape batshit crazy mother who is buried in the city; or so the excuse was made. He went to the wailing wall to say a prayer directly to god as this is what would definitely get the cushim out of the family.

Ben Goldsmith

Apart from the fact that the royals are not a Jewish family, the intense animus towards Meghan from some Jews has raised more than a few eyebrows within the Black community. Of course, as the saying goes, when you know, you know. The diamond consortia whose tentacles stretch from South Africa, to Israel, to Antwerp, to London and New York City have and always will be a Jewish monopoly. This explains why little Lord Fauntleroy, who’s clearly still pissed that his wife fled his chopped up schmeckel for big Black cock, just had to go flapping his Prissy-arsed gums at Meghan’s expense. Who is this Putz, cussing out Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, calling her a bully if he were not one of the Waleses’ inner circle Jews?

Whenever someone Black rises above their accepted station, this mightily seems to threaten some Jews, not all Jews. In my experience, Ashkenazi Jews are almost violent in their open anti-Black racism. Just look at this woman, Orly Taitz, who told lie, after lie, after lie, followed by absurd litigious campaigns to prevent a Black male, Barack Obama, becoming American President; she can of course be credited with having given that treasonous conman and buffoon ideas and the rest is history.

Seriously, what is driving these persons to obsess and want Meghan dead. Tom Bower declaring on-air, it’s her (Meghan) I’m after. Bethenny Frankel spewing hatred when she hasn’t spent a minute, exploring the racism to which Meghan was subjected – not that it would matter in the least. Of course, there is a reason for all this. One must never be criticised but definitely one always has the right to incite anti-Black racism without Blacks daring to challenge such persons. Gathering like vultures, there’s a mounting and ubiquitous presence of the aforementioned and others like Maureen Lipman, Claudia Winkleman, Howard Stern and Richard Quest. Meghan’s presence has ‘others’ attend court as though to stake their claim and make it clear that one matters most and ought not be side-lined.

Falashas have been Jewish since long before converso Europeans became Ashkenazi Jews. Imagine, the state of Israel, committing genocide without so much as one nation on the planet, pausing to shine a light and say, wait a minute, you, Israel, committing genocide? There is no terror greater than the terror of bullying others into silence. How in god’s name do you justify targeting and sterilising the Black Ethiopian Jews, living in Israel, leaving their population diminished by 50 percent? Then again, why should one be remotely surprised? Apartheid existed not for the convenience of the Afrikaner; it was about the Oppenheimers, Shapiros and other Jewish families who control the diamond mining industry. Apartheid was much like the arrangement in Nevis, which saw Brazilian Jews – of which I am descended – engaging in the cotton trade during slavery with one caveat that enslaved Blacks were allowed to will land to their descendants thereby allowing Jews to be in Nevis without technically participating in slavery. Apartheid was another system like the one in Nevis, which was used to technically get around the obvious enslavement of Black South Africans and the hellish work conditions they endure in the diamond mining industry.

Catherine, George & William at Wimbledon, 2022

One thing is perfectly clear in all of this, in 20 years time, when HM King Charles III has long given way to HM King William V, HRH Prince George, Prince of Wales will get married. This, of course, like his parents’ marriage, will be staged at a time when there needs to be a surge in economic activity, boosting the kingdom’s wealth. Without doubt, all the grandstanding and vitriol being orchestrated here and now against Meghan, the Black duchess, will have been for one purpose only, to have William and Catherine favour a Jewish wife for George. This will the crowning achievement for Jews the world over and, of course, with a Jewish mother, thereafter the BRF becomes a very Jewish monarchy. Now it will be William and Catherine’s karma to have this whole affair blow up in their face. As with his father, William, George does have a 5 in the fourth position. This will assure that not only will he cheat on his Jewish wife but he will most likely seek to dissolve their marriage and as she is Jewish, he would be readily killed off, conveniently by accident. In that way, she stays as head of the very Jewish dynasty and her heirs affording that the Crown Jewels remain in Jewish control. If this were to happen it would occur before William’s death and after George’s Jewish wife has had royal children. In the end, William would lose the dynasty to Jews because not trusting and betraying family will be a hostile lesson to have to learn from the opposite perspective whilst still incarnate. In short, what he’s done to Harry and Meghan is likely to be returned to him via his son’s Jewish wife. Never should one be surprised by the staggering stupidity of anti-Black racist Whites.

Sam Waley Cohen

With inner circle stalwarts like Sam Waley Cohen, why else do you think there has been this global attack on Meghan, demonising her and making her the most hated Black woman in history as the Fleet Street abattoirs do as directed from the Bourbon bastard and his handlers? Meghan has been lynched like no other Black person in history as those who matter fiercely show their fealty to the future Sovereign William whose prejudice against Blacks is both readily discernible and documented. The threat of Meghan will be radically addressed with a course correction that will see the Windsors becoming a Jewish dynasty much as America’s visceral response to the effrontery of President Obama gave way to the biggest liar, buffoon, conman who proved the great White hope, though he was twice impeached and treasonously attempted a coup. So, too, will George’s Jewish spouse be seen as the second coming of Mary. Indeed, Charles and the Courtesan’s affair gave way to opportunistic King Juan Carlos, a Bourbon bastard and though not returning the kingdom to the Church of Rome, instead, delivers it up in hostile takeover to become the ultimate status of Jewish ascendancy. There will never be a single negative article about George’s Jewish Queen and the Fleet Street abattoirs will see to it that she is more loved and revered than HLM Queen Elizabeth II and all within a century of her long reign.

Hasidic Wedding

Oh my, wouldn’t that be just grand, King William V’s great-granddaughter and future sovereign’s wedding to an Orthodox Jew from one of the more conservative rabbinical families of Israel. Of course, unlike at the Sussexes wedding won’t anyone be openly ridiculing the ‘other’s’ quaint customs. This would be such sweet poetic karmic justice. As for the British tabloids, they will be most deferential to the ‘spiritually’ evolved new dynasty… so many duchies to invent.

All this because George’s father and mother, William and Catherine, are vile racists who did not want the most otiose of cushim in their midst. This probable future could not eventualise fast enough. Just like that, you lose the empire and will never get it back. Never again will the kingdom be ruled by wholesome blue-blooded protestants. Just as William has been most violently opposed to Black blood tainting the royal bloodlines, so too his handlers know that he is too damn stupid to realise that in a single generation, they are going to be able to wrestle and launch a hostile takeover of the United Kingdom’s monarchy, changing it for all time from a protestant dynasty begun by Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort – now reincarnated as Meghan Markle – and changing it to Jewish dynasty with Rothschild interests as per the protestations of that blasted pussy, Ben Goldsmith.

Here were the Waleses in Los Angeles, in July 2011. This was part of their first royal tour that brought them to Canada to celebrate Canada Day, July 1, 2011. Then next they deplaned in Los Angeles where they were hosted by the Los Angeles wing of BAFTA. To date they still have not been on a royal tour to Kenya where the Prince of Wales proposed. As he is the president of BAFTA, both the Oscars and BAFTAs sneakily acquired a name change, becoming an international film awards. This enables the overwhelmingly aggressive awarding of an American acting award to Britons and for no other reasons as Hollywood is in the thrall of the Court of St. James where rubbing shoulders with aristocrats and royals is the ultimate sign of Hollywood exclusivity.

Legally, only a film festival can be open to actors from diverse countries to be eligible to be both nominated and win acting awards. The current arrangement of rebranding the Oscars international does not make it a film festival; thus, Britons are not eligible to be nominated nor win Oscars. Of course, like the diamond mining and trade in South Africa, Hollywood is not principally an Armenian industry. William as president of BAFTA ventured to Hollywood to serve the interests of British actors but chiefly, he was there at the request of the same diamond consortia who would push him to have Meghan removed from the royal family. You can take the titles all you want but you would also have to murder Harry, Meghan, Archie and Lilibet Diana to put an end to the threat they pose for being so senior in succession rank. Of course, such persons are perfectly capable of doing just that, in the meantime, they demonise the Black woman to make her and family’s elimination no surprise if it were to happen.

Just consider this, Meghan whilst a senior working royal never once wore a tiara, except at her wedding. That, I can assure you, had much to do with the power brokers who saw the Waleses lashing out and waging a campaign against Black Meghan being in the royal family. That cushim should not be allowed to wear a diamond-filled tiara. No better have the Waleses been than Orly Taitz, Tom Bower, Bethenny Frankel, Angela Levin in inciting anti-Black racism towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex all for rising above her station. Needless to say, Princess Michael of Kent sported the blackamoor brooch as her show of solidarity with the Waleses and those Jews who were violently opposed to a Black being highly placed within the royal family. Just as Lady Susan Hussey could be removed then made to publicly apologised which was a real bit of White voodoo, so too, HLM Queen Elizabeth II ought to have stripped Princess Michael of Kent of her HRH title and had her publicly apologise to Meghan and Henry. Instead, the flat-arsed, racist snob was sat in the quire at the Sussexes’ royal wedding because The Queen will not be told what to do. Furthermore, as her cancerous immolation endured, The Queen tore her arse in the Sussexes’ faces by her antics at the Platinum Jubilee – seating at St. Paul’s Cathedral and being banned from the balcony at Trooping the Colour.

Back in mid-Autumn 1988 after Merlin had been hospitalised with his first bout of AIDS-related pneumocystis and suffered a punctured lung in the process, we were at dinner at his ‘folks’ as he lovingly called his journalist parents. Looking south out the dining room window at 36 Servington Crescent, where in summer you then got an unobstructed view of the lake dotted with egret-looking yachts, we lovingly admired the rain-blackened bark of the magnolia tree that Merlin had planted at age seven. That evening, his younger brother, with whom I enjoyed relations than can best be charitably described as hissing, thankfully was not present. Merlin’s mum always waited for his arrival before cooking dinner as he was a superior cook to her and it allowed them quality time together. As for me, I would go down to the basement and his father’s office where we would eat the best soft bread from a Lebanese bakery in the neighbourhood (Yonge Street). As Merlin pointed out, if my dad shares bread with you, you are family; this is something he also lovingly did on the occasions I attended their home when his writer colleague Pierre Berton was present – breads, breads, breads and more breads. Soon enough, talk turned to literature and writers and Barbara Amiel came up in conversation. Because of the stance she took with support of Apartheid South Africa, Merlin always dismissively referred to her as that Semite. As Merlin argued with his father, her inexcusable position was merely in support of the Jewish diamond cartel, he flatly stated. Merlin had stopped smoking Pall Mall cigarettes as they were connected to Apartheid South African and rigorously campaigned to have his friends stop smoking that and other South African owned brands of cigarettes. Needless to say, Amiel Black has chimed in on the Negro in the palace and you can bet she too disputes Meghan’s claim of racism as does Tom Bower. She nor anyone else Jewish will ever make mention of the blackamoor brooch incident as this is in keeping with Jewish denial that there is any such thing as anti-Black racism. More proof that the wagons have firmly encircled the Waleses and Prince George will have a lovely Jewish wedding, starting the shift of the kingdom from a protestant to a Jewish dynasty, which will never shift back to being protestant. Most of all, how dare that damn cushim, being more senior a royal than their engineered coup of having Sophie Winkleman marry into the royal family and to Princess Blackamoor Brooch’s son no less, which, I suppose, would make the BRF Jewish by proxy.

L to R: Me feeding a cat, actor Wayne Robson, Merlin’s brother, Merlin and his writer father in our Cabbagetown back garden, summer 1988.

In any event, Barbara is a prime example of why one should never take a position on someone and not back down. Long after Merlin’s passing, my position and I am confident Merlin’s, too, had he lived, considerably changed. I paid close attention to her spouse, Conrad Black’s trial in Chicago; I was much impressed how each day this woman got up, put her face on, elegantly strode into the court house past the world’s media and was never anything but dignified. Mr. Black did time but there is no need to have held stridently to former perceptions of her. After all, she attended a Rosedale dinner, here in Toronto, where Nelson Mandela was being feted. And that’s coming a long way after her positions in the Toronto Sun newspaper. In the end, she is wedded to the most brilliant intellect in the English-speaking world, if not the world, and for that, it would be juvenile to not admire the woman; she also happens to be a great writer in her own right. To spend a lifetime despising her for her position during Apartheid, ultimately is nothing more than ugly anti-Semitism.

If indeed Meghan were a bully and difficult, her character Rachel Zane on Suits would have been written out of the show within one season; Meghan lasted 7 seasons. There are multiple unions involved in all film and TV productions; you run afoul of anyone, the union gets involved and soon enough after investigations, you are outright fired or quietly written out of the production. Similarly, If Meghan were a kleptomaniac whilst working on Suits, merely for changing countries, she would remain a kleptomaniac in Britain. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has yet to be accused of having stolen the purloined Crown Jewels – though I would not put it past the fuckers.

What Meghan has dramatised to the entire world, is the damage to the psyche, indeed, the very soul of the island kingdom, that having been an enslaving, dehumanising, racist – architects of Apartheid – empire, Britons one and all have generationally suffered and become from Queen Elizabeth I through to Queen Elizabeth II to HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales. The latter’s second number of 9 (mindset) reveals him to be a bigot with an intense anti-Black racist animus.

Just look at this old fraud; she grabbed that handbag, the white gloves, the right brooch and hat, smiled and waved and the little old lady schtick only worked to her benefit. The longer she lived the more her façade dropped away, revealing her true unsightly visage. Knowing that William and Catherine were bigots, who refused to go on royal tours to predominantly Black commonwealth countries, The Queen readily approved the marriage of Henry and Meghan. After all, it would be a plus for her legacy to show how far the kingdom had come and all during her reign. Unfortunately, what she had not anticipated was the response of the Waleses; they knew that she had cancer and they wanted it made perfectly clear that they did not want Meghan within the royal family. Perhaps William saw this as his chance to avenge his mum’s murder by The Queen. In sacrificing Meghan, he was paying back a debt for his mum’s murder. The banishment of the Sussexes from the kingdom was William’s way of sabotaging The Queen’s legacy before she was dead and buried; of course, he knew damn well that the trusty Fleet Street Abattoirs would gladly blame that blasted cushim, Meghan, for Philip and Elizabeth’s deaths.

HLM Queen Elizabeth II Canker-Infested Legs May 2016, Before Harry Met Meghan

Just after her 90th birthday in 2016, HM Queen Elizabeth began showing signs of her emergent cancer with canker sores at the shins; this was long before Meghan appeared on the scene. Phillip just got tired of living a lie with the little garden gnome wife from whom for decades, he had been long estranged as everyone knew but chose not to see.

Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales Abandoning Tiara Etiquette in 2011 & 2022

Possessed as they both are of 9 in their numerological makeup, it means that William and Catherine can always be counted on to be difficult; in Catherine’s case a 9 energy body is the signature of the shit-disturber. There is a good reason why Catherine would have worn her hair down at her wedding; she was thumbing her nose at the tabloids and aristocracy, who objected to her marrying above her station and let her know it, going on a decade. It was subtle but it was not surprising for someone with an energy body of 9 and also someone marrying her task companion. She would be guaranteed to fight back. William likely did not know that she would wear her hair down and frankly he is so damn stupid that he probably paid no notice just as he did not know to remain stood in the carriage and assist his new wife in, until she was comfortably sat. Instead, he sat back to the horse, then sat properly never stood up and kept pushing away her wedding gown as she clearly sat too close to him – how could central casting have gotten this one so wrong, then again, there was a mix up in the coupling, if only Charles had done his honeymoon duties. HM The Queen who had been mentored by HM Queen Mary would have taken note of Catherine’s hair being down and not approved. One does not wear hair down when wearing a tiara… never. Going on a school run, shopping at Waitrose, yes. Just imagine if Meghan were to have done this at her wedding; of course, the campaign to remove the effrontery of her Black blood within the senior royal ranks meant that she was banished to her American homeland before having an opportunity to ever wear a tiara again.

Eh voilà, all the signs you ever needed, unless you are the blind, island kingdom cultists, who choose never to see beyond the fairy story, which got really idyllic and the Waleses the epitome of White supremacy and wholesomeness as soon as Meghan appeared at the ball. Thought they are lined up as per line of succession? There is though lots more at play in this photograph. Catherine walks a little behind and holding Louis’s hand, who does not hold his sister, Charlotte’s hand. William, though, is holding George’s hand who in turn is holding Charlotte’s.

Remember this spectacle. Little Damian Ainslie’s coming out. At no point, was he ever sat next to or held by his father, William, neither was he ever related to by Prince George as William’s firstborn is already well aware that William is not the bastard’s father. That explains why, William, in the Christmas 2022 family photograph, is not walking between both sons and holding either’s hand. Rather he is connected to George and Charlotte by handholding, who in turn are not holding hands with Louis/Damian and their mother, Catherine.

William simply has nothing to do with Louis, which is precisely why Louis acted out the way he did at the Jubilee celebrations and all that Catherine, who was down the way and not sat with Louis between her and William for comfort and anchoring him, could do, was sit there and take Louis’s abuse and sheepishly peer down at William from time to time. Instead, yet again he was sat apart from William, of whom he is likely terrified – his mindset of 9 would trigger operatic screaming which would leave Damian/Louis, who instinctually knows that William is not his father, ever fearful of the man who has clearly long ago rejected him. Indeed, during the Jubilee parade last June, 2022, Damian was sent to sit on his step-grandfather and soon to be king, HM King Charles III’s lap. Though William has his lovechild with Rose, Countess Rocksavage who cannot be explained away in public family outings, Catherine who was pregnant, could bring her lovechild with Ben Ainslie everywhere after all one would naturally assume that the child is William’s.

Charles & Diana’s Royal Wedding July 29, 1981

At the end of it all, William has been undeniably outed as the architect of the Kensington Palace leaks to the Fleet Street abattoirs against Meghan. Enough of him.

Harry & Meghan’s Royal Wedding May 19, 2018

Princely royal wedding day etiquette could not be clearer. The prince enters the carriage first and assists his wife’s entry into the carriage. This, of course, was the case for both Diana and Meghan, their chivalrous princes entered the carriage, is stood welcoming them inside and only after they are comfortably sat, is he rightly sat.

William & Catherine’s Royal Wedding April 29, 2011

No such luck when it comes to good old conceited and archly unaware Bourbon Billy. He gets into the carriage, sits rather than is stood there, not only does he improperly sits with back to horses and then shifts to the correct carriage seat, rather than is stood welcoming in his new wife to the carriage. Further, conceited Bourbon Billy thinks more of his Irish Guard’s uniform as he brushes off Catherine’s exquisite Alexander McQueen wedding gown off his uniform. Are we then surprised that as revealed by Harry, William is the controlling pain in the arse that his numerology betrays? Just look at him, eight times after Catherine was sat next to him, he edged away from her, fidgeted and acted as though she was sat much too close to him?

Lindsay Wallace & Peter Phillips Arrive by Carriage to Royal Ascot, 2022

Lindsay Wallace, 40, Scottish, divorced with two kids. Finalised in June 2021, Peter Phillips was now free to pursue Lindsay, whose Scottish father is a multimillionaire oilman. Lindsay attended Gordonstoun with Peter’s sister, Zara Tindall. She is in the family fold. Why, though, when she is neither fiancée nor wife did she arrive on day one of Royal Ascot 2022 with the then Cambridges presiding. Of course, The Queen was then dying of cancer.

The soon-to-be Prince of Wales made a point of being sociable and engaging with Lindsay Wallace. Catherine also made a point of being engaging with Ms. Wallace in the royal box at Royal Ascot, 2022. There is no sense of Catherine or William being ill at ease in the presence of Lindsay. Is it because she is not a Yank, Black, nor intelligent therefore deemed a non-threat. The way that the then Cambridges behaved and socialised with Ms. Wallace, he being welcoming of Lindsay into the fold, validates how much the now Waleses were keen on freezing out Meghan. In light of what we learnt in the Netflix documentary and the Lady Susan Hussey and Jeremy Clarkson episodes, Meghan is way too good to be in any capacity associated with these snobbish racist asshats. William’s sucking up to Lindsay Wallace for being hyper wealthy, White and British illustrates how easy it will be for he and Catherine’s Jewish handlers to readily sway this man into having George marry into the faith and thereby lose the dynasty outright.

Courtesan Queen Holding Court at Mayfair’s Murano

As the Courtesan Queen does not give a damn, she entertained her courtiers at Mayfair’s Murano. What does she care about revealing her hand, she has gotten what she wanted by bullying it out of the cancer-stricken Misogynist Queen. She is Queen Consort, sorry, Courtesan Queen.

Courtesan Queen Hosting Vile Racists Who Have Been Open In Their Animus of Meghan, Duchess of Duchess

Mayfair’s Murano recently hosted members of the Courtesan Queen’s inner circle, which of course was a show of support after Netflix’s Harry & Meghan docuseries. Naturally, persons who have been most openly critical and racially predatory towards Meghan were in attendance, chief among them, Piers Morgan, Jeremy Clarkson and Judi Dench. Naturally, there were Jews present to the exclusion of East Indians, Chinese or Black Britons; Claudia Winkleman, Maureen Lipman. Additionally, also present were: Maggie Smith, Tess Daly, Chris Evans, Tom Parker Bowles, Tracey Emin, Hugh Bonneville.

Within 24 hours of their little kissy kissy boosh boosh, there appeared Jeremy Clarkson’s commentary in The Sun in which he fantasised about Meghan being paraded naked throughout each town of the kingdom and stoned with human faeces.

Classic Response from A Jew As Per BrandyBreath. Ignore It Of Course As Long As Its Blacks But Definitely Not if It Were Deemed Anti-Semitic.

This is not an apology, not that it matters. It is no business of Meghan’s or anyone Black what the fuck you think. You are racist scum. Go on, fuck off and crawl into your casket and rot in hell, with the Queen because we all know beyond the schtick, she was damn racist – the royal documentary of June 1969 irrefutably validates as much.

The sickness of some Whites: their every reaction to someone Black is instinctually negative, most are often never even aware that they are engaging in racially predatory unconscious bias. Trust me, your perceptions of us is just that, a symptom of your having been savagely enslaving during which time, you lost your humanity. We Blacks, I can assure you, do not care anymore than we either care or need to go lay in the Sun to look good.

How Gullible Do These People Look to Those Eager to Usurp the Crown Jewels via Prince George’s Marriage?

4 days and counting and there has been not a single word form the Courtesan Queen, Tampax King, Peggalicious Bourbon Billy and partially animated Sodden Cardboard. Why am I not surprised? Of course, in a move never indulged by his predecessor, Tampax King released a message on the eve of Chanukah; twenty years and counting down indeed.

Courtesan Queen Deplanes In Edinburgh and Rudely Abandons Protocol and Retires to Limousine

From deliberately ignoring tiara etiquette to doing as one damn well pleases. Obviously, the Courtesan Queen was relieved that the Misogynist Queen finally got off the stage. Don’t you worry, just pray that you predecease the Tampax King or else you will be muzzled and crop-whipped by Catherine as well she damn well ought to. Seabiscuit aka Courtesan Queen it was, who had driven Catherine from the palace, thereby causing a break in William and Catherine’s decade-long courtship. Just look at this blasted shrew snubbing Nicola Sturgeon – who yes is a pill and half – to go sit in the limousine whilst The Late Queen’s body was not yet returned to London.

Prissy Presented At Court

In Meghan, the Waleses and the Courtesan Queen otherwise known as Seabiscuit – who clearly stormed free of the Windsor stables – were expecting to have their very own Prissy in their midst, instead they got a forthright, self-made, intelligent, articulate woman, all the things that mumbling, social climbing boor, Catherine is not. Once removed from court, though the tabloids defamed Meghan’s character no end, the royals have managed to do themselves in rather handsomely. Indeed, the grave you did for others will be the one you fall into. Meghan took a look and thought the gig absurd, they ravaged her as so many Blacks experience for being the lone Black entering into a White institution. Finally, Henry made the call and they walked. Bravo!

________________________________

Coeur de Loup Philipppe Lafontaine In Concert

After having just looked at episodes 4 through 6 of Meghan & Harry A Netflix Docuseries. Let’s just get up and shake our ass and remove ourselves from all that dross that is the House of Windsor – Victorian Misogynist, Tampax King, Seabiscuit aka Courtesan Queen, Peggalicious and Catherine with her lovechild, Damian, with Big Ben. When living in Montréal for seven years what made an otherwise hellish work experience tolerable, was the music that ensouls the nation’s distinctly unique culture. From Isabelle Boulay, to Lara Fabian, Mitsou, Patricia Kaas and, of course, Céline Dion plus so many others. Indeed, until you’ve lived in Québec, you do not truly get the soul of Canada, just as it is also imperative that you explore and appreciate the culture of First Nations peoples.

L to R: Lilibet Diana, Henry, Archie & Meghan

Bravely and rather admirably, the Sussexes have told their story. Most of all, as if I had not been intermittently crying but as the closing credits of episode 6 began rolling, the music was Nancy Wilson singing “How Glad I AM.” This is the very same Jazz music chosen for this blog’s last post dated, December 2, 2022, 6 days before the first 3 episodes of Netflix’s Harry & Meghan dropped. I was immediately reminded how I was compelled to feverishly pen the blog on November 15, 2021, a day after HM King Charles III’s birthday as the most lucid astral plane dream was dreamt the day prior, November 13, 2021. There was no mistaking the fact that the dream presaged HM Queen Elizabeth II’s death in the coming year; for this reason, I simply had to write the blog so that after the fact, no one could roll their eyes, if I were to have chosen to share the dream after The Queen’s passing in September 2022.

Tyler Perry 13. 9. 1969 Rooster 4. 4. 2 = 1

Truly, Tyler Perry is a Prince among mere titled reborn bigots who are nothing more than stewards of an ancient dynasty. Too bad though that Prince William and Catherine, Princess of Wales are on the cusp of woefully undoing six hundred years of Protestantism all because of their blind bigotry. Serves them right too.

The most memorable Nancy Wilson Jazz performance, I enjoyed in winter 1993 when Milan Newcombe and I flew into New York City for the weekend, to attend the Blue Note Jazz Club concert. Milan lived in a magical loft on Spadina Avenue in Kensington Market. He was adorably eccentric rather than crazy – who needs the drama? He was 10.5 inches of intense powerful sex. Though I rarely bottom, I most definitely never bottom for any cock less than 9.5 inches. Milan and I had spent a glorious weekend in May 1992 in Montréal where we attended the 350th anniversary of the founding of the city. I spent the evening walking the city streets where the night time parade coursed down Boulevard St. Laurent, the city’s main drag. Milan that afternoon had decided that we had to attend the parade in masks and costumes, all of which we found at a costume shop at St. Laurent and rue Ontario Est. He insisted and as he was such an exciting lover, for the first time, I wore six-inch black patent leather Bally talons hauts (high heels) thus giving birth to at least a dozen of my known 72 personalities – this an aunt declared of me on a visit to Nevis; the wife of an uncle whom no one liked, she was without pretentions and ready to set the record straight on everything – she was great fun and we got on riotously well.

We sat close to the stage and dined on delicious fare. I had a bit too much Cointreau but as ever, Nancy’s performance was sublime. On our return to Toronto, though Milan’s music library exceeded 1000 recordings and spanned 3.5 centuries – most of it harpsichord recordings and yes he did have a harpsichord, which he played nightly after noisily ploughing me into sweet surrender – we listened to Nancy’s recording of How Glad I Am. Indeed, I had introduced Milan to Jazz, which he voraciously explored, listening to various recordings late into the night. Naturally, he was smitten with Oscar Peterson whose trio we caught one cold wintry evening on Bloor Street West, in Yorkville’s Bermuda Onion. On occasion, Milan managed to play some of Oscar’s recordings on his marvellously magical harpsichord, late at night in his purple-interiored salon lit throughout by candlelight.

Oscar Peterson Trio Live in Denmark 1964

C Jam Blues

Oscar Peterson – Piano

Ray Brown – Bass

Ed Thigpen – Drums

Listen to you, talking shit about Jazz has its roots in Klezmer; then again that gold and diamond thieves are liars should come as no surprise. Jazz is the music of the people whom though enslaved – one continues to make money off (Meghan by way of peddling anti-Black racism) – openly revile, hate and vilify, our spirit remains indomitable. We are a people whose spirit you’ll never break because Jazz, like all great art, cannot be mined from veins of vile, racist hatefulness.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

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

_________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

I Remember… Plus, Dream of Queen’s Passing.

Looking Southeast from Sentinel Hill into Vancouver’s Stanley Park, West End and City.

ACT ONE

Mere days after having relocated to Vancouver on a job transfer, I bumped into Ken, very late at night at the Club Vancouver bathhouse. Our spirits purred on rekindling positive past-life associations. Of course, he wanted to know if I would like to join him at his place, his lover was there, and thus began a magical relationship with two very beautiful souls. The drive through Stanley Park lazily drifted from bucolic and then into what proved the most magical journey to the top of Sentinel Hill. There their glass-walled living area, for sitting highest on the hill, gave a commanding view of Stanley Park beyond Lion’s Gate Bridge, the West End and the rest of Vancouver. At the time, I was staying at the funky Niagara Hotel a block away on the same street as the Club Vancouver on West Pender Street.

Niagara Hotel 435 West Pender Street, Vancouver

Readily, I accepted their offer, after a night of wanton passion and exquisite pleasure. I was having very bad luck in scoring a place that I wanted. I would call up and make appointments and finally on presenting, not having sounded a thing like I looked, Black, the place had just suddenly been rented out. I wanted to live in the West End and nowhere else. Finally, Les, Ken’s remarkably handsome of spirit lover found me a place when posing as my partner and getting the place into which we would be living, chiefly myself. The things one has to do at times to get by in what is supposed to be a civilised world. In the meantime, I spent almost three weeks living with them and it was both memorable and pleasurable.

Though they wanted me to live with them and take over their basement, which was the back of the house on the slope that made it anything but a basement, I declined the offer. I had moved out to Vancouver with my art collection and had had my home in storage since months after Merlin’s passing in November, 1989. I needed to breathe, to grow, to have my own space and walk about in open capes, naked in a pair of six-inch, black patent leather stilettos whilst listening and singing along to either Jazz or opera. Though, I moved out, I spent most free weekends with them, going for long hikes in North Vancouver’s foothills, walking around the seawall in Stanley Park, making dinners together and most of all, having great threesomes to the most glorious music.

Where Ken was soft, warm and laid back, Les was though diminutive, a towering force of nature. His was laughter that I had never nor since encountered. It was truly operatic and like great music, it was possessed of positively no bile or hostility. Les’s laughter was a pure, unfiltered distillation of his beauty of spirit. Learned and fluent in multiple languages, apart from being the chief librarian at UBC, University of British Columbia, he was also of note in Vancouver’s choral societies. Always there was great music, creating the just-so magical ambiance in their divine home. Nowhere in the universe was more harmoniously zen than a dinner party at Les and Ken’s Sentinel Hill home in November, when it had been raining almost imperceptibly for the last 3 to 6 days as is often the case in autumn. At such times, there would be mist rising off the crowns of Stanley Park’s stately Sitkas as autumn set in and winter was never going to be no less than 10 degrees Celsius.

878 Gilford – Top Two Windows on Left Were My Suite

Les knew a wealth of persons and many from Vancouver’s well-heeled Gay community; they were all music lovers. On Sunday mornings, after we had been in bed a tangle of arms, tongues and legs doing what wanton sinners do best, we would go for a hike in North Vancouver’s foothills. Ken and Les always said hello to everyone encountered on their walks. This one Sunday morning, there was a very handsome, dark-haired man, taller than Ken and me, who was ruggedly handsome in spades. As it was obvious that the attraction was mutual, he leaned in and kissed me then invited himself to dinner later; nothing is ever more sexy than confidence.

1915 Haro Where Pedro & I Watched Gianni Versace Funeral Coverage on CNN, July 1997.

Pedro became a casual sexual partner; for one thing, he was legendarily hung like the famed Rubirosa if not more so and the girth on that bad boy… Lord Jesus. We saw each other whenever he happened to be in town. He had expat South Africans from Cape town, who lived on the Sunshine Coast to the west of West Vancouver whom he visited from time to time and another couple who lived in the British Properties; most definitely, that meant that I was neither invited along nor could give two fucks about being in the presence of such blasted dreck.

Sunshine Coast British Columbia

As I was then living in my own apartment in the West End, we would get together whenever he was in town and phoned wanting hot mansex as he liked calling it. His watch was the first time that I had seen a Panerai and loved it and he always smelled good; dark piercing eyes were free of guile as he forged into his late 50s with a sexual stamina foreign to most men 30 years his junior. Once after intense fucking, we talked afterwards and remarking about aspects of his colouring, I asked him how many people ever asked or even knew that he was of Black blood. According to him, no one ever had before though he shared that his maternal grandfather was light-skinned Black Brazilian with one of the many names that attest to Brazilian colourism.

British Properties West Vancouver

That grandfather had been the result of a love affair of a local doctor and the family had gone to great lengths to protect his Black heritage and it was facilitated by his having been an only child. The fact that I had broached the subject had left him always calling whenever he was in town. He also found it widely fascinating that each time that he slept over that I awoke, grabbed a tape-recorder and began bringing forth my dreams; Pedro shared that it was a gift that his mother had and was always convinced that it came from her maternal grandfather’s bloodlines.

Sting, Anna Wintour, Trudie Styler, Karl Lagerfeld, Diana, Princess of Wales & André Leon Talley.

In late July, 1997, I was packing up my West End home with days to spare before moving to Montréal. At the time, Pedro and I sat around on the floor, propped up against boxes and trucks, looking at CNN as the funeral and all the circus around Gianni Versace’s murder unfolded over a couple of weeks. Pedro was talking about how dangerous persons like Andrew Cunanan, Gianni’s murderer, were. He thought that it was bad news to not stick within a tight circle of known and trusted friends and lovers. In any event, at the time, we were watching reports of Gianni’s funeral when Pedro began speaking of Diana, Princess of Wales. According to him, she was secretly seeing a very wealthy Arab and Muslim and it was likely that they would marry. The only thing, at the time, I remember about the names that he mentioned, was Khashoggi; apparently, whoever Diana was seeing, was the nephew of Adnan Khashoggi’s and his father was an obvious billionaire. Pedro said that not only would they be married but Diana, would definitely convert to Islam and bare him children as a way to get back at the royal family. Said he, they had deliberately given her a divorce settlement that was way less than she ought to have received. He said it was because The Queen was both cheap and spiteful.

This left Diana, Princess of Wales in a position, much like Jacqueline Kennedy, Pedro stated, of having to marry for money to maintain the lifetime to which she ought to be kept, much as Jacqueline marrying Aristotle Onassis. Pedro thought that The Queen was a vile, nasty person. Then Pedro said, sadly for Diana, they will never let her get away with it and definitely not twice. When asked what he meant by twice, said he, Diana realising that Charles did not love her and was with Camilla, had an affair with the King of Spain and it resulted in her firstborn not being fathered by Charles. They will sooner kill her than have her marry a Muslim, convert to Islam and set up a rival dynasty. Diana is daring enough… but also stupid enough, said he.

Diana, Princess of Wales Funeral, 1997

Exactly a week later, after watching the funeral with Pedro in my Haro Street, West End apartment, I was on a plane flying to Montréal and almost spat out my tea when the clown behind me requested of the attendant, “de thé, s’il te plait?” The male attended curtly shot back, “du thé, Madame…” Four years later, I was returned to Vancouver, chiefly to buy Haida art, attend pow wows, see Ken and Les and of course my oldest friend, who lives in Victoria and who in an illustrious past life was the painter, Sir Anthony van Dyck. It goes without saying, there were long nights of reckless abandon spent in Stanley Park, the world’s largest bathhouse au bois, getting lewdly carnal – as I had with Pedro; many were the times I found him there, not realising that he was in town. After having made some good art purchases, I spent time with Ken: Les was away at the time of my visit. When we dined one evening as I spent three days at their new North Vancouver condo and I mentioned how strange it was that just about everything that Pedro had said about Diana, Princess of Wales a month before her passing, was eerily almost prescient.

Althorp House, August 2022

Ken told me that was because Pedro was the lovechild of a Spanish duke with a South American actress and he had also, for years, been the lover of another Spanish duke. Ken assured me if anyone would know high society gossip, it would most definitely be Pedro; also, said Ken, Pedro knows and always speaks the truth of high society goings on. Ken confirmed that Pedro had shared that Prince William was not fathered by Charles but King Juan Carlos, adding if anyone ought to know, it would be the very well-placed lover of a relative of the King’s. As we dined on a cold soup and the most exquisitely prepared salmon, Ken was a sublime cook, Ken said, ‘Of course, she was murdered. Diana, did not take her enemies as seriously as obviously they took the threat of her. Nothing will ever come of it. She was put down by The Queen and who is going to prosecute The Queen. “Precisely,” I replied. Ken, of course, I would learn from his lover, Les, when we first met was of Polish nobility and it showed in spades. Ken was not a snob but he was well-bred as West Indians say; more than that, after dinner Ken and I took to bed and he performed magic better than most. Holding his head in place, I writhed facedown in the pillow as Ken’s tongue feverishly kept pace with my twerking, pleasured arse.

Clueless. Conceited. Stubborn.

ACT TWO

Actions filmed betray the truth, every time… Just look at that blasted clueless man! There is not a sage soul who has ever incarnated, who would not have gotten into that carriage and stood there, open his chest, raise his chin and gallantly extend his gloved hand to his new bride and duchess, future Queen Consort, future King Mother then sit after she was sat. Instead, we get blissfully self-absorbed, selfish, totally unaware and conceited as all fuck, Bastard Bourbon Billy, sitting with his back to the horses, then not only does he completely ignore his new bride and sit, barely helping her in, but he keeps pushing her dress off his uniform when she was finally sat. Never once did he think to stand up and assist, welcome his wife into the carriage. And just remember, he is sixth mature, all persons living sixth mature lives are ever bereft of drama all of their own creation thanks to their self-karmic issues for one.

Just look at this woman, born with coalmining soot lining her lungs, which explains her addiction to cigarette-smoking, openly shunning a Black woman. This occurred during her first royal tour to a predominantly Black commonwealth nation, the first in her nearly twelve years of marriage. Lord only knows, it would not have happened if she and her racially predatory husband had not driven his brother and his Black wife out of the monarchy; they would have been tasked to undertake those utterly detestable tours to the wretched, overpopulated dirty people regions of the commonwealth. She recoils by flicking her hair and standing back when the Jamaican minister of sport reaches out to take her hand. She then defensively holds her hands together and actually pulls back her hands rather than take the cabinet minister’s hand. Catherine then reluctantly saves face, and still holds her fingers together, thereby allowing the forthright minister to take her left forearm. Next, she shoves her held left forearm at the cabinet minister when wrestling her arm away from the otiose, undesirable, Black thing’s sullied hand. None of this racist bigotry, as you can well imagine, was once mentioned, discussed, and afforded multiple articles by the vile British tabloid press.

Kiss-Arse Bigot

Numbers never ever lie. Catherine’s energy body is 9. She would not be her bigoted self if she had not reacted that way to the Black Jamaican cabinet minister. Protocol my arse! You do not see her behaving that way towards Jews and she certainly didn’t stand there at the Buckingham Palace garden party and hold on to her umbrella with both hands whilst grinning her disingenuous, fuck you, fake-as-all-hell smile at ‘them.’

Just look at these blasted ninny goats; how quickly they fall into line and like the media hacks in North Korea, whatever BBB (Bastard Bourbon Billy) decrees when going nuclear, they readily change tune and do as commanded. His reign will be a nasty business, scandal-saturated to the gills, what with that fourth number of 5. If that woman, who seems incapable of reading the room and sensibly taken leave with Philip, were to live to be 106 years, which is not impossible, by then Charles will have long passed without having acceded and at age 50, you can damn well bet Bastard Bourbon Billy would gladly eliminate her and justify it as revenge for his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, having been murdered by her. It is what royals do, what royals have always done. Needless to say, the somnambulant of the island realm would never question the obvious, as most definitely they did not at Diana’s assassination; instead they audaciously claimed that Prince Philip and the MI6 were the ones who had Diana murdered and not HM The Queen.

Princess Blackamoor with the Two Black Sheep Named, Venus and Serena

Just look at them: Dan Wootton and Piers Morgan, speaking truth about Princess Michael of Kent, at the announcement of Harry and Meghan’s engagement in November, 2017, which would come to pass as she stepped out wearing the blackamoor brooch the following month, yet there was no investigation into allegations of racism within the royal family or royal households.

Princess Blackamoor in blackface (Obviously, I am no photoshop wizard)

Princess Michael of Kent wearing the blackamoor brooch is no less racist than if she had turned up that Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace in blackface. Somehow, these fools the world over would like you to believe that there was nothing racist about the brooch and once again, Blacks are being overly sensitive and paranoid. When it pleases HM The Queen to act that she does, as when she tore her arse in the kingdom’s face and insisted that her lovechild, Andrew, escort her into Westminster Abbey at the service of thanksgiving for the life of the Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh.

So in a bid to kill the hot rumour of Billy going next-door for the real honey pot, the same blasted media sycophants who sang Meghan’s praises on the announcement of the engagement in 2017, Dan Wootton and Piers Morgan and others, course-corrected and were let loose on Meghan, Princess Henry of Wales by none other than William with the tacit agreement of HM The Queen. Naturally, The Queen would go along with the media smear of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex as all Sovereigns are above reproach and should never ever be sullied by British tabloid media; besides, HM The Queen had her own reasons.

Well off to the pound with you, BBB (Bastard Bourbon Billy) for raiding the Savage Rock chick inn. And wouldn’t you know it, just like his Bourbon father, Billy goes off and breeds with another man’s wife. That precisely is why he has been made to relocate to Adelaide ‘Dog Pound’ Cottage with only one of his two daughters in tow. Some consolation that; Bastard Bourbon Billy was not allowed to ditch the family embarrassment, Damien, for the Bastard Princess of Norfolk.

Look At Risible Control Freak, Bastard Bourbon Billy Getting Pussy-whipped by Ben Ainslie’s Lover.

Who pray tell the fuck are you, to go pulling away from the hand of the Jamaican Minister of Sport and you think there is nothing for it? Soot-lunged arriviste! At the end of the day, we all shit and piss and crawl into a casket, by whatever means ours or someone’s doing. That said, you don’t like Black please, please go lie your tired arse on a beach somewhere in the Sun, get cancer and crawl the fuck in your casket. Ever, I will be most fuck-all indefatigable in my support and defence of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and her family: Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex, Archie Harrison, Lilibet-Diana and Doria Ragland.

Not that she could give a rat’s arse, for there she was for all the world to see, being Big Ben Ainslie’s yacht girl. Whether being a goddamn bigot with the Jamaican minister of sport or openly flirting with the knighted yachtsman, she knows damn well that just like with Meghan, she will never be held to task for her conduct. After all, Meghan has been reduced to the most ridiculed, reviled, hated fugitive from justice for having had the temerity for marrying Diana, Princess of Wales’ son. To illuminate Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s words as she articulated during her interview with Orpah: if you love Catherine, you don’t have to hate me and if you love me, you don’t have to hate her. Well, sadly, that is not how the White tribe’s collective psyche works. There always must be a threat to defend oneself against and there is always an evil in the world, which never ever could be oneself, regardless what the empirical evidence indicates.

Diana, Princess of Wales Adorned In the Spencer Tiara

To paraphrase Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, if you love Diana, Princess of Wales, you don’t have to hate William and Catherine; conversely, if you truly love Diana, Princess of Wales, you don’t have to hate Harry and Meghan. 

Please Standby, The Palace Diaries Are Yet to Be Published

Meghan has now emerged as the most reviled, hated and lied about woman in human history. The fact that she is Black is no coincidence and certainly, the fact that she had the audacity to call Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge a liar on Oprah, along with all her other enablers, was the declaration of war. Thus far, myopic British media have no awareness that their reach is not total in America and at the end of the day, when Meghan does speak her truth, very few Americans are going to want to countenance a royal family and Britons whom they damn well dispensed with 246 years ago.

Henry, Duke of Sussex

Every day, there is another story, in which these venal arse-wipes… every single last one of them, go on bleating on and on about Meghan, telling every lie imaginable and inciting anti-Black racism, go on and on and blasted motherfucking on, making a liar, failure, clown of both Meghan and Harry. Fuck every last one of you. The easiest thing to do on this planet, is to tell a lie on someone Black. As ever, one will be believed and there will most certainly never be any repercussions for doing so. If there was ever a single possibility of finding oneself “Nick Berged/Rushdied,” every one of these snake-bellied bigots would never once move their hideous lizard lips to say a single word against Meghan… and Harry.

Honest to fucking god, what is little flat-arsed, soot-lunged, adulterer going to say that she is not racist and she never made Meghan cry? Yeah, right… just like she never refused to shake hands with some blasted bipedal simian bitch in Jamaica. Sooner or later, every dog will not only lick itself but will also eat its vomit and never ever, should you be either shocked or surprised by that. It is in the nature of dogs to do so, just as it is in the nature of far too many Whites to hate, lie and vilify Blacks for positively no fucking reason. Of course, they will ever say they have nothing to do with slavery and may even glibly apologise in their best insincere “fuck you, get over it” banter as when William did just that in Jamaica and again at the unveiling of the Windrush sculpture at Waterloo Station. It means absolutely nothing when you know that this is the same dolt who had the temerity to protest, the day after the Oprah interview aired, claiming, “We are very much not a racist family.” Seriously, were it not for the subjugation of Chinese and Indians and the gross enslavement of Black Africans, Britons today would be no better off that miserably poor-as-fuck Albanians.

Archetypes: A Happenin’ Joint on Spotify.

A strong woman walks and does more than survive, she damn-well thrives. Most definitely, she does not keep breeding, to keep an adulterous man and thereby end up with superfreak numero un, Damien, that’s who. That’s right, Karma does not lie. You no more want to be near the ailing Queen by moving to Adelaide Cottage, than does The Queen want your fake arse anywhere near her. You are both equally treacherous and despise each other in equal measure, the world has long seen this and even before Meghan appeared on the scene.

As that blasted island kingdom is clearly overrun by semi-feral hyenas en chaleur, it has long become evident to anyone not obsequiously rimming the royals’ collective arse that the predators have moved from fox hunting to nigger hunting with fever-pitched intensity; when is being racially predatory not sport for Whites who choose to be so focussed and engaged? Everyone of these pretentious boors are ever ready to gnarl and bark at Meghan. Just look at that god fugly oxygen thief, talking shit about why give them (Meghan and Harry) oxygen? How about you crawl the fuck in your casket. People talk and all she ever was for many a Hollywood moon, was just another casting couch whore. Don’t recall her having received an Oscar. She has been more jizzed on than a urinal cake in Penn Station during cruisy evening rush hour. Let’s make it perfectly fucking clear, any jackass and his shadow is ever ready to openly hate Blacks, please know that we are not all prepared to sit by idly and suffer your hideous arse or bullshit. If for a nanosecond people do not think that this constant open animus against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex is not racially motivated and, more importantly, that it does not affect the lives of Blacks going about their daily business, you are truly not focussed in this reality. Rimming Warren Beatty like a drunken manwhore at a bathhouse and where pray tell the fuck were you in Shampoo or Heaven Can Wait That’s right, just another cumrag at a Hollywood circle jerk. All that pouting and vamping for just as many decades as Liz and it never got you a blasted Oscar. Just like Princess Blackamoor, both raising your rabid rear right leg and whizzing par-fucking-tout. Please just stop with the BS about Diana told you when exiting Harry’s Bar that she just had lunch with the most boring king in Europe; either you know bugger all or it was another attempt at throwing shade. Either way, what does it matter, your you-know-what smells like a crate of rotten oranges and your shadow is beyond bored, having to suffer you being a fugitive from your casket 1.5 decades and counting. Go on, take a clue from Lilibet, stop stealing oxygen and crawl the fuck in your casket. Not a single goddamn acting award because there are no awards for casting couch whores and a damn Golden Globe has as much cache as a frigging BAFTA.

Sharon Osborne – The Talk

This woman got her arse booted from an American talk-show where all she ever did was cuss off Meghan in her typically racially predatory, poseur Toff British bully persona. Just won’t do. For one, one of her co-hosts was Julie Chen Moonvez, whose husband, Les Moonvez was the CEO of CBS. These things matter and the whole culture of Americans associated with showbiz, though both Moonvez were no longer associated with the show and network by the time of Osborne’s departure, it still had an impact. The fact is, Sharon and Ozzy became social pariahs as Americans simply have no countenance for Britons playing holier than thou and treating Americans like crap.

Yet another displaced otiose Briton, Cara Delevingne squatting in America as though either welcome and doing nothing more than taking jobs from Americans. Just look at this blasted crack whore and you can bet your bottom dollar for not being Black, she has managed never to have had a run in with the local constabulary.

HM Queen Elizabeth II 21.4.1926 Tiger 08.9.2022

ACT THREE

I began writing this blog as the 25th anniversary of Diana, Princess of Wales assassination approached and because it had me revisit that time leading up to her death, when I was relocating from Vancouver to Montréal in late July, 1997. I also wanted to address the unrelenting, racially predatory hunt of Meghan from all quarters and watching Vanessa Feltz that smug sow, who seems so pleased as muddied swine that she was getting Black cock that she just couldn’t help turning her racial hatred in Meghan’s direction. First of all, no honey, fucking a nigger makes you a goddamn nigger; in case you’ve not noticed niggers and Blacks have nothing in common but what would you know? As if? There is not enough money on this planet to pay a Black man to piss on you… blasted sow. Thankfully, Holly Willoughby took her to task as she sat her fat, flat arse all over Meghan’s name. Her mea culpa of sorts occurred days later as she broke into the most transparent display of crocodile tears as she announced on-air the passing of HM The Queen. Nigger please! The other trigger was that washed up casting cough whore spewing off; how ungrateful are this ever burgeoning ghetto of Brits in Hollywood that one then has to be reminded of their stinking racial animus towards Blacks when the casket fugitive mouths off.

https://dreampoetica.com/2022/08/01/tea-time/

Here’s is the link to a dream of HM The Queen’s passing on the eve of HM King Charles III’s birthday in 2021. With The Queen’s passing, especially so after HM King Charles III’s speech to the kingdom, you could sense that there was a deep vibrational shift begun within the realm.

With The Queen’s long overdue departure, things can now open up and with Catherine and William now becoming Prince and Princess of Wales, they don’t need any longer to feel the gross insecurity and prejudice that saw them run to the Fleet Street abattoirs and have Meghan slaughtered at the tabloid altars. Some strange white voodoo that… but it damn well works that’s for frigging sure.

The Grand Canal With Santa Maria della Salute Looking East Towards the Bacino

Oil on Canvas

50 x 80

1744 Canaletto

Provenance: Royal Collection Trust, St. James’s Palace

Will you just get a load of that Canaletto in St. James’s Palace throne room? Phenomenal!

HM King Charles III First Speech on Death of HM The Queen

As HM King Charles III made it clear, Harry and Meghan are focussed overseas. So please by all means, now that you are Prince and Princess of Wales with just as fractious a marriage as Charles and Diana’s were, please do shine and show the world what megastars you are as you are, after all, royal rather than celebrities. Get out there and show the world your uneclipsed love; maturing into expected titles is not a sign of a successful marriage. William will always cheat and as Diana and her adultery were outed in a get-back by Charles, don’t expect Catherine’s whoring with Ben to be touched with a titanium javelin anytime soon. That’s the really sad part because thanks to the iron-fisted reign of Elizabeth over the family rather than firm, Windsor men sadly are all castrati in varying degrees.

I do believe that had HM The Queen exited the stage long ago, likely before Meghan’s arrival on the scene, ‘Megxit’ would have turned out differently or simply not have eventualised. As it is, yet again, here was another example of The Queen turning her back and not giving a damn, stubbornly she even dug in her heels as if to protest the claim of racism against Princess Michael of Kent by deliberately having her attend the Sussexes wedding and this after having Angela Kelly, snubbing Meghan for a tiara fitting. Then on their return to court for the Jubilee celebrations, Princess Blackamoor was sat close to the former Prince and Princess of Wales (Charles & Camilla) and the current Prince and Princess of Wales, (William and Catherine). Go on, go run up and down the planet, grinning your best “fuck you, die” smile with HM King Charles III, serving as new peace envoy.

As the seating at St. Paul’s Cathedral during the Platinum Jubilee revealed, it was all about HM The Queen’s stubbornness. She saw nothing wrong in what HRH Princess Michael of Kent did in wearing the blackamoor brooch to her Christmas lunch in December, 2017. As far as The Queen saw it, Meghan was offensively ungrateful. £35m spent on the Sussexes’ wedding and an expectation of conducting the overseas commonwealth tours that the then Cambridges had no desire of undertaking. Look at Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales in the preceding video. She turns around, sees where the Sussexes are sat and says wow, which was a comment on the stern impertinence of HM The Queen.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex with Oprah Winfrey

Do not ever underestimate the power of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and her astute awareness of her power. Her appearance on Oprah was all strategy. Meghan plays the long game. When she mentioned the threat of the slimmed down monarchy and Archie and Lilibet not being afforded their HRH status when The Queen passes and the Prince of Wales becomes HM King Charles III, it was an implicit threat. Meghan at any time has the right and can and will reveal what really went down that precipitated their departure and this the monarchy fears more than anything else. As long as the tabloid media keep braying and vilifying her and Harry, only steels her resolves.

HRH Prince Archie of Sussex, Harry, Duke of Sussex & Meghan, Duchess of Sussex

Meghan had to mention that as it was a threat to the family and Sovereign. If HM The Queen were to pass after Charles, which has not transpired, Meghan was making it clear that she fully expected William would never afford her children this honour. Also, should Charles survive his mother, there was no way that he would want the devastation of Meghan going nuclear with her truth and not the lies proffered by the media on the HM The Queen and Cambridges’ behalf. Well, Charles is king and her children are now HRH Prince Archie of Sussex and HRH Princess Lilibet Diana of Sussex, the first royal princess of the UK born in America.

News9 Australia Camilla Tominey Waleses & Sussexes ‘Mind Completely Blown!’

So just as I was wrapping up this blog as it is well into September, the car pulled up at the Cambridge Gates at Windsor Castle and out stepped TRH Prince & Princess of Wales accompanied by TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex. Naturally, Camilla Tominey who broke the story back in November, 2018 of Meghan having made Catherine cry, which began the white-hot opening of Nigger hunting season, was called on by News 9, Australia to comment on the Wales, Sussex Windsor Castle, long walk walkabout.

HM The Queen has died and now a new era, a course correction is begun.

I rather love this commentary by ITV’s Chris Ship and company. They have always been deferential and professional in their coverage of the Sussexes.

At the end of the day, this reunion and public display of entente cordiale could not have occurred whilst HM The Queen lived because she was damn set on avenging herself of Meghan, whom she perceived as truly ungrateful. Meghan took a stance and was right to have done so. There is positively no way that royal householders were not being racially predatory towards Meghan as Princess Blackamoor gave them license to be openly racist towards Meghan. Fact of the matter is, when you have wronged someone, it bears heavily on your conscience and it is never the wronged person who makes an overture seeking resolution and restitution of your integrity, which had been violated. William texted Harry because William and his team fed the Sussexes to the Fleet Street abattoirs to protect the former Cambridges’ marital scandals. It was a betrayal and has mightily upset Harry as much as it has because he was wronged. She is an American. She is Black and they will all of them, household staffers, be rude towards here. Even Angela Kelly was in no way reprimanded by HM The Queen when she did not show for a tiara fitting with Meghan during build-up to royal wedding in May, 2018.

HM The Queen tells off HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, December, 2020

This is HM The Queen rudely dismissing the then Duke & Duchess of Cambridge because she damn well felt like it. Obviously, neither the then, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales could have acted as they wished, along with the then Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, with regards to the Sussexes, as long as The Queen was being punishingly cruel towards the Sussexes. I always thought it odd how, despite outward appearances both Harry & Meghan spoke rather highly of The Queen. Whatever HM The Queen was during her prime, at the time of Meghan’s marriage into the family/firm, The Queen was older, stubborn and likely already sick with bone cancer as has been disclosed on her passing. And please don’t blame Meghan for fuck-all anything. When The Queen turned 90 in 2016, she suddenly developed a large sore on one of her shins; it was a going concern for just about everyone. That clearly was an early sign of her cancer, which was long before Meghan appeared on the scene.

Queen Elizabeth II Oil on Canvas 9.5 x 6.0 Inc Lucian Freud ©2001

This Lucian Freud oil on canvas perfectly encapsulates HM The Queen. All the world’s a stage and the longer you stay onstage without properly reading the room, you soon turn Icarus and lose altitude. Soon or later, if you stay too long in any game, you end up looking like Wayne Newton and just as clueless. Old, grasping and cancerous, Elizabeth was less patient to keep up the façade of the sweet, little old lady with the heart of gold – I never bought it. Nonetheless, when you are damn cheap as all hell, look what pittance Diana, Princess of Wales was afforded in her divorce settlement, you are going to be really pissed when you spend £35m on a goddamn bride only to have her runaway within two years. Indeed, you are going to be pretty damn pissed, and feed her to the Fleet Street abattoirs, you damn well will. Truth be told, in the parlance of the deposed, buffoon Semite, Meghan proved the most expensive prize paid for a slave, who then turned around and ran away in under two years. Goddamn it, that kind of money, Elizabeth can justify spending on the gee-gees but damn well not a bloody slave. Meghan was bought to work the Pickaninny circuit of the predominantly Black commonwealth nations – heaven only knows the 9-centric former Cambridges now Waleses were intent on doing no such thing.

Viscount Severn, The Duke of Sussex, Major Jonathan Thompson, The Duchess of Sussex & The Duke of Gloucester.

The Queen racked with cancer then showed her hand by having Princess Blackamoor sat close to Charles & Camilla, William & Catherine and ahead of the former Wessexes now Duke & Duchess of Edinburgh. Indeed, there were the Duke & Duchess of Sussex sat directly ahead of Major Jonathan Thompson, The Queen’s equerry as spy or whatever, who temptingly kilted is now HM King Charles’s equerry – oh what savoury tea this. Just look at the racial predatory hyena in the blue pillbox hat, ain’t nothing like the height of Nigger hunting season… vraiment.

Meghan So Desperately Needed That Hug, Just Look At Her Hands Holding On
Love Heals All Wounds… Amelka Hugs Meghan, Duchess of Sussex Soothing Her Soul

Not only were the Sussexes booed at St. Paul’s Cathedral in June, 2022 but it was tough watching Meghan being denied by the locals along the long walk at Windsor Castle on September 10, 2022; they refused to either acknowledge her or shake her hand. Then the most incredible thing occurred, Amelka asked Meghan for a hug and stated after to media that she wanted the Duchess to know that she was welcome in the United Kingdom.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex’s parting so long to his Commander-in-Chief.

Lightness of Being Photo Lithography 45.25 x 44.7 Inc ©2007 Chris Levine

Well Darling Elizabeth, look at that, you proved human after all and crawl into your casket you most damn well have. Well, guess what, you already conceded defeat by the spiteful seating and walk of shame at St. Paul’s Cathedral at the Platinum Jubilee thanksgiving service, which cancer and or cowardice had you miss out on, as Harry and Meghan were sat as they were and that was that… all that over £35m. Of well, guess what, Meghan won and will be sat at Westminster Abbey, on Monday, September 19, 2022, alive and thriving.

Come On Everybody, Time to Shake Your Tuchas!

Well, you fail to adapt and move with the times and before you know it, audience admiration fast turns to ridicule. No! It was not just a damn brooch, for crying out loud, it was a racist attack. To have done nothing, was to have condoned both Princess Blackamoor’s actions and that of the royal householders. Where was the investigation into racism from minor royals and royal household staffers? As is obvious, Rihanna was not amused by the blackamoor scandal and the way it was unsatisfactorily addressed and just like that, you, Elizabeth were removed as constitutional monarch of Barbados. Indeed, you were not the only Queen.

________________________________________

Gerald Clayton in Concert July, 2021

________________________________________________________________________________________

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

________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Utterly Beautiful… Frame.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge

Simply stunning; the hue of the wood suggests an agedness as though it were centuries old; rather than the expectant lustre of bright gold, the subdued golden hue alludes to the agedness of the British monarchy which is in its second millennium. So then, the beauty of this portrait, the frame; now to everything else.

Princes Harry & William at Unveiling of Diana, Princess of Wales Statue, July, 2021

This photograph deftly betrays both princes’ true posture. Harry a fifth level mature warrior – same soul age and soul type as Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge – is always going to be proud in stature and not given to slouching. William a sixth mature scholar soul and task companion of his wife, Catherine, slouches, partly for towering over most persons at 6.3 feet tall. However, William has hyper-extended knees and as such, his body naturally counterbalances that stance by bearing his head and chest forward and in a concave manner rather than not. Though evocative of regal portraits from times past, in Jamie Coreth’s painting, that posture simply is not innate to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.

Admiral Viscount Horatio Nelson, Alexander Hamilton, 1st Duke of Wellington, HM King Charles I, HM King George III, HM King George IV, Napoleon Bonaparte & SM Roi Louis XIV.

All these portraits depict the historic figures standing, weight on one leg with the other leg’s foot forward and turned out. It is a commanding position. Of all historical portraits HM King Charles I’s is my favourite, partly because his death was so comically tragic. More than that, Charles I’s swagger and pride remains unparalleled. I am also partial simply because those magical eyes and goatee of HM King Charles I’s are not dissimilar to Merlin, my task companion’s, look during his most recent past life.

Prince William is made to affect this posture; however, it is obviously foreign to his persona. He has a goal of acceptance which is the great goal and such people are always warm and open; however, with a second number of 9, mindset, he is anything but warm. He has unequivocally demonstrated that he is archly bigoted and a rude dismissive snob. To make matters worse, his wife, who happens to be his task companion, also has 9 but in the first/energy body position. Both persons have primary chief features of stubbornness and secondary of arrogance. Stubbornness would most definitely mitigate his being open to anyone when he was born and groomed to be the ultimate snob. Furthermore, persons with a primary chief feature of stubbornness are persistently shit-disturbing, obstreperous and infuriatingly difficult.

Catherine’s resting face as ever is no oil painting. Catherine is possessed of an energy body of 9 and such persons, especially so when born female, are toxic in the extreme. They are also bitingly sarcastic, difficult and unrelentingly unpleasant socially. As a mature warrior soul in perseverance mode with a chief feature of stubbornness, you could not find a bigger shit-disturber and conceited bully. Couple all that with having to be wedded to an equally difficult mature soul and both equally insecure, Meghan, self-made and vastly more intelligent and articulate plus unacceptably of Black blood, did not stand a chance with these two.

This masterful oil on canvas, Paul Emsley, which permanently hangs at the National Portrait Gallery, perfectly captures the essence of who Catherine is; it is full of nuance and dark undercurrents, which readily betray the complexity of spirit that she and every mature soul know during the course of each lifetime. One of the lessons of the mature soul cycle, is having to learn pretty tough life lessons for being spiritually stagnant. The accompanying photograph, taken whilst on royal tour in the Bahamas, March 2022, captures the woman’s true nature. In the case of Catherine, and William, they have been gifted with Prince Louis. As everything is choice; they could have chosen not to have a third child and a third child could have been born to them without obvious mental/emotional issues if during gestation, Catherine was not engaged in such racially toxic behaviour towards the Sussexes. It does the Cambridges no favours that everyone in the kingdom has painted the drama surrounding the Sussexes as though it were completely one-sided and that the Cambridges were not at the very heart of the rift; regardless, how this is all made to seem a one-sided affair, it does still take two hands to clap. Not only is the Cambridges’ conceit encouraged but their glaring stupidity has been exposed, regardless how the British media and society blindly choose to act as though the Cambridges are in no way culpable for or play any part in the affair, at its heart centre this whole mess is all about racism. Since it is too damaging for the Cambridges, just let the Sussexes fuck off and stay gone as this is the only only way to save, in due course, the Cambridges’ reign.

No matter how much these two row in public, which is increasingly ubiquitous, British media simply pretend as though it does not exist. In point of fact, the Sussexes have largely been used as a smokescreen to deflect attention off the Cambridges’ very turbulent marriage. No matter what, at least for now, the Cambridges cannot be seen as anything other than a loving couple, adored throughout the kingdom.

BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas, 2019

This whole affair has brought to sharp focus how the White tribe simply fabricate reality as they would have it. These past few weeks of watching CNN’s coverage of the January 6th commission hearings on Capitol Hill, the Trumpian perspective is a poignant exposé into the White tribe’s collective psyche. One boldly tells a lie and for repeating it loudly and long enough, it becomes fact. Thriving almost exclusively on negativity, that vile liar, President Trump, was been able to incite an insurrection and for merely being a moneyed White male, he has not only been believed but he has commanded fierce, blindly unwavering loyalty. Though he is as guilty as sin, the Democrats are utterly paralysed with fear to arrest, charge, prosecute and imprison a President who for the first time in over 250 years attempted a coup d’état. Trump epitomises the White tribe’s zeitgeist: at all costs, we win, we are always right and no one gets to be perceived as being better than us; more importantly, we can never be perceived as either being wrong or having failed.

What I love about this masterful portrait, is how cleverly the artist makes a reference to King Juan Carlos, the Bourbon King of Spain, as the nose is decidedly neither the Spencer nor the Windsor nose. As the saying goes, when you know, you know.

HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge by Dan Llywelyn Hall

This succinct painting is of a gormless-looking Prince William by Welsh artist, Dan Llywelyn Hall, in which the painter masterfully captures the essence of William’s persona. William is neither the swiftest of souls nor the most emotionally august. From his open ridicule of Black culture at the Sussexes’ wedding to sanctioning the recent seating arrangement at St. Paul’s Cathedral during HM The Queen’s platinum jubilee, neither he nor his wife can claim ignorance of racism within the royal family. They are at the very heart of the racist campaign against the Sussexes; nevertheless, within the kingdom and beyond its shores, the golden royal couple are universally deemed a paragon of superior, racially pure virtuousness in a land where the royal propaganda is not dissimilar to the blinding sycophancy afforded North Korean leaders.

In the couple’s 40th birthday portrait, they are seen to be closing ranks, as well they have. More importantly, they are neither looking at each other nor are they smiling as they are deeds done between them and against the Sussexes, for which they would rather remain mum. The Cambridges or for that matter their propagandists do not have the ability to whitewash the truth neither indefinitely nor beyond their kingdom’s shores. True love as alluded in the recent photographic portrait of the Cambridges does not bear tarnished fruit as is obvious with their third-born, Prince Damien. There is a direct result between the Sussexes’ treatment as a consequence of the Cambridges’ machinations and Prince Louis being the damaged goods that he is.

Charles Mingus Sextet Concert Rehearsal Stockholm, 1964

Charles Mingus / Bass

Eric Dolphy / Alto Saxophone, Bass Clarinet

Dannie Richmond / Drums

Jaki Byard / Piano

Johnny Coles / Trumpet

Clifford Jordan / Tenor Saxophone

________________________________________________________________________________________

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

________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Grenfell… Obvious PR & Neptune Square

St. Paul’s Cathedral Service of Thanksgiving at Platinum Jubilee Celebrations

Look at Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s reaction just after the 40 second mark. She turns and looks back and over to her left across the aisle at the Sussexes, then remarks ‘wow’ on returning her gaze ahead. Of course, before doing so, she nervously looked at her husband, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. That look from Catherine validates her obsession with Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, having bullied her and been engaged in a campaign of harassment that they never foresaw, turning out as it has. William, on the other hand, is the most stubborn, difficult, conceited prick you can possibly hope to come across; he is feared, just as every White male with power is always obsequiously deferred to rather than not. Both William and Catherine are mature souls with primary chief features of stubbornness with a secondary of arrogance; they will never change their position on the Duchess of Sussex.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge at Grenfell Tower 5th Anniversary Ceremony

Both acutely uncomfortable for being amongst poor, undesirable minorities, William kept looking at the program rather than interacting overlong with the two Black males to his left. Meanwhile, Catherine perpetually flicked her hair as it was a way of keeping her hand from extending to the little people. She was acutely uncomfortable being there and looked in desperate need for at least a couple of fags. Furthermore, there were two reasons for being there, it is where Meghan had made her mark, reaching out to the displaced Grenfell residents, which resulted in the Together cookbook. The Cambridges would have insisted on attending the event, rather than the Wessexes, as it was a way to further tear their flat arses in Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s face. A keen photographer, Catherine knew to directly look down the way into the camera, channelling her best mean-girl, gloating fuck-you stare. Just remember mousy inarticulate wallflower, Louis is the product of your hatefulness; he is not Meghan & Harry’s child.

Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, HM The Queen & HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales

Honest to god, Elizabeth looks truly spent. History will not be kind to her as it will be deemed that she cared more about corgis and gee-gees than the perpetual masquerade of scandals that marked her reign. Either Fleet Street has the goods on her or she fears them. However, her inability to seize control and right the ship from the earliest days of her eight-decade reign (she is in the 71st year) with Princess Margaret’s relations to the latest with the racism at the heart of the Windsor royals – it saw the exit of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex which they and Fleet Street have treated as though it were owing to some action on the part of the either Sussex. The mere fact that they think this, was borne home by having that flat-arsed racist kinder Nazi boor, Princess Michael of Kent, sat unorthodoxly close to HM The Queen’s two senior most heirs at the platinum jubilee service at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 3, 2022.

Camilla, HRH Princess of Wales

Charles was made to marry Diana, whom they all could not stand and treated like dirt, because they had to cover the reality that there was a relocated illegitimate, sequestered in the colonies about whom one had to be mum. Of course, to have her way, Camilla stayed in the picture, how was this even possible if not allowed by HM The Queen, and bullied Diana and secured her position by threatening full discloser by proffering the lie that James Hewitt, rather than Charles, was Harry’s father. She is cunning and they buckled because had she gone with the other option, the truth, there would be a scandal afoot that they would rather not contemplate, to say nothing of confront.

Catherine at Grenfell & Meghan at Invictus Games the Hague

Just as Catherine cannibalises Meghan at every opportunity, so too did Camilla cannibalise Diana, drove her out of the picture and finally had her exiled on a tiny isle at Althorp. So let’s call her what she is, having successfully cannibalised Diana, none of this Duchess nonsense; she is Camilla, HRH Princess of Wales, the anti-feminist. That’s all one needs, women cannibalising women. Had regurgitating, chain-smoking, flat-arsed über mean-girl, Catherine not driven off the infinitely more charismatic, self-made, accomplished, articulate and intelligent Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex would rightly have been at the Grenfell fifth anniversary gathering. So hard-faced Catherine sits there, fucking the camera with her callous stare exclusively intended for Meghan and, of course, just so that Meghan would not mistake the intention, what does old ashtray-breathed do, she wears Chanel sandals just as Meghan had months earlier in the Hague whilst attending the Invictus Games with her ruggedly handsome entity mate and life partner, Prince Harry – father of two very beautiful and loved children neither of whose gestation was passed in a crucible of hatred, exhibit ‘C’ reincarnated Shaniqua, HRH Prince Louis of Cambridge, Straight the frig out of Compton. At the end of the day, Catherine is as petty as she is because, observe to whom she is wedded.

Durek Verrett & Princess Martha Louise of Norway

One good thing that’s come of all this, is that the Norwegian royals will not be seen to be a bunch of racist arsehats like the Windsors. Martha Louise and her fiancé will be allowed to live their lives like two adult humans in love.

William y Juan Carlos

The best way to hide a secret is to do so in plain sight, fools perceive nothing. Just think, Prince Charles always wanted a daughter but if Diana were to have a third child and it also proved a redhead, like Prince Harry’s two children, it would not be Harry’s parentage which people would today be questioning. There was way too much at risk, thus, William was protected.

William’s Geniture

Neptune conjunct the ascendant; you have no idea who the hell you are dealing with. These persons are completely opposite the well-cultivate façade that they project. Neptune is the planet of deception and it is what you get first and foremost; you can be deceived if you so choose. His very role in the fairy story is that of being what generations of gaslighting will have you see in him. These persons are the biggest con artists and they do not give a fuck about you, the enthralled. His Sun in Cancer is conjunct the descendant the planet of the life partner/wife. There. too, is the Moon in Cancer and also conjunction the Sun and descendant. This is the perfect portrait of Catherine; she completely controls and dominates this very compromised man – his mother’s violent early death is paramount in this internal dynamic. Moon and Sun both oppose Neptune. It is bad enough that his Sun opposes Neptune and is opposite the ascendant – he is a detached individual and certainly this is ideal for a scholar soul; he is not here to be Diana 2.0. Most of all, Moon opposite Neptune brings with it hidden machinations, the scope of which one could never have fathomed and these are issues that always blow up well beyond one’s scope to properly stage-manage and control once the combustible goes nuclear. The Moon is the wife/life partner as represented by Catherine but she also represents the Sun. At the core of it all, William reincarnated into the House of Windsor to afford Catherine access to the crown. Had she been born female and Diana’s firstborn, she would have been passed over in favour of Prince Harry. Catherine wanted to be female and the best path to the throne was via her task companion, the weaker of the pairing, William. That Neptune conjunct the descendant speaks to the massive deception around whom William truly is and why Diana had to be removed for attempting to pull the same move against the Duke of Lancaster for a second time as she dangled a very probable marriage and family with Dodi, starting a rival dynasty rooted in another of the Abrahamic faiths. Faced with another disastrous family scandal, what was HM The Queen to do but anoint Camilla, so that she can get back to being happily focussed on corgis and gee-gees.

Catherine plays silly games and both Cambridges ever will; for being possessed of 9 in their numerology and task companions, ever will they keep pushing the envelope. The Cambridges have been greatly facilitated by their Fleet Street henchmen; however, make no mistake about it, they will once Elizabeth II is offstage, turn on William. He will attempt to irreparably curtail their powers once his sexual scandals blow up and they, as karma would have it, will cause him to rue the day he took Fleet Street vipers to bed. With Mercury trine his Mars/Saturn conjunction, one sees how thoroughly William has Fleet Street in his thrall. They, however, by the very nature of the beast (Saturn) will exact their pound of flesh. A Saturn return is 27.5 to 29.5 years; expect adverse effects/fallouts for the Cambridges with regards Fleet Street/Media at large as per their diabolical deceitful, racist campaign against the Duke & Duchess of Sussex.

Kinder Nazi Adorned with Blackamoor Brooch

2017, Cambridges’ racist agent, Princess Michael of Kent, begins their campaign against the Sussexes going public beyond the palace walls. She then attends the Sussexes’ wedding in May 2018. Finally, to make the point unmistakably clear, the flat-arsed, kinder Nazi Princess Michael of Kent is sat closest to Charles & William at St. Paul’s Cathedral during the Sussexes’ only public appearance during HM The Queen’s platinum jubilee. Saturn return, 30 years max to the blackamoor brooch’s first appearance 2017, is 2047. At 2034, William will be 51 and experience his Chiron return; he will be smeared and caught up in uneclipsed scandal of some form. By 2042, William is 60 years and his second Saturn return, where repayment of karma created during the incarnation is addressed and for William, it will be rather public. 2062 and William is 80 at the midpoint of the Neptune return, which means all the façade, deception and conceited arrogance are fully unmasked and there is a complete reversal in how this man is perceived, either way history always takes care of all egotistical follies. What kind of kingdom will there be to celebrate in 2066 and the start of the second millennium of the monarchy when William is 84; it will be year of the Dog, during which he was born. Indeed, will it be HM King George VII at age 53 then sovereign? With a fourth number of 5, William is guaranteed to be exposed via sexual scandal and unmasked as a racist; the blackamoor brooch scandal is most definitely the means by which this will fully be accomplished, thanks to having been conceited enough with going with his racist campaign against “that woman;” at that point, Princess Michael of Kent will be long dead and what would have been the point? HM The Queen’s Christmas lunch, 2017, the Sussexes wedding, 2018 and HM The Queen platinum jubilee service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, 2022, this troika of events have sealed William’s fate.

A Couple Who Find Each Other Toxic

AT the summer solstice, 2022, we have William at 40. Well guess what, that would mean that his natal Neptune’s transit is now square his natal ascendant and descendant. This would mean that Neptune is now in a very difficult square to the natal Sun/Moon conjunction at the descendant. These task companions are truly at their most tense, combustible breaking point. They have quite frankly, bitten off more than they can chew both with Prince Louis and their racist campaign against the Sussexes.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge – Happily Wedded My Arse

Regardless his conceit, William is human; one of seven soul types, incarnate and caught up in the throes of his numerology and astrology, neither of which he has to date used at their higher octaves. Oh well, you live and you damn-well learn. Major transit squares in the lives of public persons usually means dramatic upheaval and shock. In the case of his mum, Diana, Princess of Wales the very day her Pluto transit was square, she died violently. In the case of William’s mum, hard aspects to Pluto usually means assassination. Do not forget, the official word is that there was a catastrophic car crash… and that’s that. Obviously, if Diana’s assassination needed to be covered up then there would be an official conclusion that would at all costs dismiss assassination as ludicrous and the lunacy of conspiracy theorists.

William’s Sketchy As Fuck Neptune Conjunct Ascendant Unmasked

William’s racist obsession with Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, whom he refers to as “that woman,” is because she is too powerful and more dynamic and charismatic than his androgynous, mousy broodmare, Catherine. William wanted no repeat of Prince Charles’ grudge and resentment of Diana; however, at this stage, this is exactly what has transpired. Rather than Diana being maligned and ultimately annihilated, Meghan has been maligned as never before a royal has been; however, Harry sensibly made the right call and got his wife away from that nest of murderous ghouls.

Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex
HM The Queen

It’s been a very long run and she did much to perpetuate the Windsor mystique; however, William has already begun the job of blowing the lid off that carefully honed beguiling image of brand Windsor. William & Catherine’s racist attack on the Sussexes has unwittingly served to destructively manifest the results that neglecting family over the family business does come at a cost to HM The Queen’s legacy. The kingdom that HRH Princess Elizabeth of York inherited on acceding the throne on February 6, 1952, is a vastly different kingdom than in time William will inherit on acceding after his father, HM King Charles III – in due course. Most noticeably, it will be a kingdom, which will prove unruly thanks to his involvement with the blackamoor brooch. Certainly, as recent events at the heart of HM The Queen’s platinum jubilee betrayed with the cancellation of a film deemed blasphemous, William’s racist karma will be played out in a kingdom vastly different and less deferential than that his grandmother encountered at the start of her long reign. In having lasted as long as she has, HM The Queen has left her heirs, one in particular, impatient, conceited and intent on getting on with his birth right. Catherine and William have already doomed their reign to rather dark and choppy waters ahead.

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge with 9 energy body is the personification of bully in the two portraits above. One hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, the other smartly dresses in clothing designed to best veil her dark persona. No one made the future Queen Consort and wife of bigoted William cry. No one ever could.

After the the rude dismissal at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 3, 2022, there needs to be no more looking back. Yes, love him to bits and you’ve been through thick and thin; however, you have children for whom you have to be a beacon of love and togetherness, which is a script that was alien to the milieu into which you chose to reincarnate. There is more than an ocean between you now; there is no bridge that could ever span the divide William and Catherine created in racially vilifying and disrespecting you and your family. To hell with them, the isle of racist boors is no place for a family ruled by love.

A Love Supreme. John Coltrane 1965

_______________________________________________________________________________________

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

________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Indeed, What of Edward & Sohpie?

Yes, indeed, as she is Sovereign and could not care less about optics, why did HM The Queen favour Edward & Sophie rather than the toxic twosome, TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge? Let’s compare their numerology to other royals.

HRH Prince Edward Earl of Wessex

10/3/1964 Dragon 1.4.6 = 11

Edward’s got master numbers. Like Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, Edward is possessed of master numbers 11. Such persons do not for a nanosecond tolerate anything that goes against their spirit. They simply walk. Meghan, collected Prince Harry and moved continents rather than be in line of fire of the very toxic (9) Cambridges and I might add, as it now appears, the future Queen Consort, Camilla, HRH Duchess of Cornwall. Edward, of course, did not complete his military trainer; he simply put his foot down and walked away – it was not for him and he was not doing it. That’s what master numbers of 11 persons do… as I am quite intimately aware, moi – 2.8.1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11.

Sophie, HRH Countess of Wessex.

20.1.1965 Dragon 2.3.6 = 11

Well, will you look at that! If there is a couple who are coasting through royal life, unaffected by major stress, it would be this couple. Both Edward & Sophie have master numbers of 11. The rest of their numbers are also rather simpatico. She would have made a great actor or artist; they perfectly understand each other, get along quite harmoniously and have a really good laugh at everyone and everything without being malicious. Just look at the way the Wessexes laugh with HM The Queen as she has just rudely dismissed TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. I might also add that I do not know the Michael Overleaves for either the Earl or Countess of Wessex.

They know all the secrets but know to keep their damn mouths shut; this would be reason enough why HM The Queen favoured them in the preceding video clip whilst telling off and dismissing the Cambridges and their kiss-ass disingenuousness.

Lord Ivar Mountbatten

9.3.1963 Rabbit 9.3.4 = 7

This weekend I looked at all 3 episodes of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats” and rightly called it – two persons definitely possessed of 9 in their numerology, Lord Ivar Mountbatten and Princess Olga Romanoff. Not surprising that Ivar would be close friends with Prince Edward and his wife. Both men for one are gap-toothed, which means that in their immediate past life would have been Black. For another, their numerology are rather simpatico and they share the same extended family. Clearly, in their immediate past life, both Edward and Ivar were great friends, comrades, family – you always seek out the ones with whom you enjoyed great relations.

Ivar and his dignified husband, James Coyle

So wonderful when any two souls find each other in this vast universe; and what a beautiful union theirs is. Keenly observant of their inter-dynamics, I remarked to my equally keen numerologist sister, Isha, that without doubt both Ivar and Princess Olga are possessed of 9 in their numerology. As with Princess Olga, though being socially aggressive, Ivar will do that high-brow laugh that is nine parts playful border collie, biting at the ears of other dogs simply because it can, simply because that is a distinction of aristocratic classism. With Olga, it is more bilious and, of course, she is friends with that vile, arriviste Colin Campbell themself.

Princess Olga Andreevna Romanoff

8.4.1950 Tiger 8.3.9 = 2

What I love about this photograph of Princess Olga, is how deftly it betrays her unenviable dilemma – quite simply, she is burdened by the baggage of her heritage. Hey, all is choice; she chose to be reborn into that milieu. True to her energy body of 8, she has swanned through life rather arrogantly, expecting to be spirited off by a wealthy, and possibly titled, suitor. Ha! I loved episode 3 of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats” where Olga is set up with the Guggenheim, visiting from the Carolinas. Olga is guarded, aloof and engages that utterly disdainfully snobbish toff laughter. You just know that she doesn’t give a damn; he is not only not man enough but he is also Jewish, which you can bet does not tick off any box of hers – she does have a lifepath of 9. She would no more marry him than she would an eligible Black prince from Africa. That 9 means that from birth, Olga has been groomed or at least her lifelong been focussed on being a blasted snob – and just look where it has not gotten her. 9s are self-toxic and Olga is no exception. Hers is not an enviable hand, indeed. She also keeps company with that third-tier arriviste snob Colin Campbell.

Olga and Colin.

Colin Campbell

7.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Naturally Colin and Olga would find favour in each other, both are lugubriously hanging on to some semblance of royalty that is tenuous at best. Naturally, their 9 is what fuels this pitiable myopia; this, of course, would make them the most virulent snobs going. Certainly, to put it charitably, they are entertainment of a sort. Only persons possessed of 9 would pass a life, being so obsessed with time-wasting pursuits.

Alexandra Sitwell

24.3.1958 Dog 6.9.5 = 2

Yes, she has got a 9 but it is in the easily disguised second position – that of the mind. Alexandra’s 9 is mooted by an energy body of 6 – compassionate and loyal and 2 in the fourth position which leaves her remarkably creative and gracious. All about gracious living and no appetite for drama. She does not have to be a snobbish boor when she is possessed of inordinate charm and grace. I would really love to have included here the masterful portrait by Nicky Phillips of the Sitwell women: Alexandra, Penelope, her nonagenarian mum and daughter, Rosie.

Emma Thynn, Marchioness of Bath

26.3.1986 Tiger 8.2.8 = 9

Here is another masterful Nicky Phillips portrait this one of another English aristocrat. Emma, too, has a 9 in her numerological makeup; however, with two 8s, she would not be singing the blues, like Princess Olga and Lord & Lady Gerald Fitzalan-Howard of “Keeping Up With The Aristocrats,” when it comes to running a successful home. Emma is one very tough, enterprising capable customer; there is no way that she was not born to rule and Longleat House is not exactly a dump.

Lord & Lady Gerald (Emma) Fitzalan Howard

As neither’s birth stats are readily available on the Internet, I would rather not make assumptions. That aside, they are an endearing couple of humans and Emma’s Kim Kardashian remark is reason enough to favour her. With more than a passing resemblance to Merlin, I am willing to bet that Lord Gerald is a late-mature to possibly early old-souled scholar. Most definitely, he is your older soul scholar; vibrationally, the resemblance to Merlin is rather uncanny especially as he wore a Panama hat – it would be truly jarring for me if he wore a Panama hat and errantly dragged on a marijuana joint, the resemblance is that strong.

Just off the tail-end of Black History Month, most of which I spent listening to Jazz 24/7 at full blast whilst daily doing a BHM tribute on my Insta-thingy, I had intended to add some Jazz to this post and I do believe that going forward, I shall do same for all posts. Why? Because Jazz does not have its frigging roots in Klezmer! This some damn fool had the frig-all temerity to declare several years back on JazzFM and boy did I get fuck-all vituperative when calling the station and screaming how dare they insult Black culture… as well I would. For another, gosh but I love being Black and it is amazing to me that when Jazz is 24/7 being played in my home that some Jazz recording has never been featured in each blog. Of course, when this blog began, it was all about dreams and mostly dreams of Merlin after his passing, which will have been 33 years ago this November; the blog has evolved as it has but last January, I dreamt of Merlin so I shall explore that dream in coming blogs… Be well, be swell and I trust that these dreams of mine have immensely enriched your journey…

https://www.instagram.com/arvin_da_brgha/

______________________________________________________________________________

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

_______________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Pink Chair I & II

Within days of George’s 44th birthday on February 9th, 1990, I had been to his McCaul Street loft, which looked east to the buildings lining University Avenue. There, on the top floor’s tiny balcony, we would retreat for some privacy, late at night and suck each other off with his son spying on us… ever he spied on us and it became a definite source of one of our many volatile breakups that George wanted to watch whilst his son and I fucked. I am not about doing anything that I find repugnant. George’s son’s legs are ridiculously bizarre; the space between the knees and ankles inordinately short – he also has too much gum for my liking. Did not matter to me that he was very thick and big; I was not playing. End of discussion. 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.

______________________________________________________________________________________

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

_______________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Elderflower? No! We Only Use White Flour..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diana, Princess of Wales

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.

President John F. Kennedy

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.

HM Queen Elizabeth II

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.

Diana, Princess of Wales

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.

HM Queen Elizabeth II

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.

______________________________________________________

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.

HM King George V

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

Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor

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

HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales

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

HM King Juan Carlos of Spain

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.

Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales

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

HRH Prince George of Wales

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!

HRH Prince George of Wales

Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England

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

George does not yet have chief features. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

END. (December, 2019).

__________________________________________

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

HM Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mother

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

Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex

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.

Duke & Duchess of Windsor

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.

_____________________________________________________________________

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!

___________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

Pluto in Capricorn & in Opposition – Pandemic & Retribution.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always… with every breath… it is quintessentially Jazz!

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

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

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

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

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.