Here’s to Life! A celebration of the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth.

 

On this the eve of the July 21, 2017, 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I am still over the moon and greatly inspired for having travelled to London, England, Paris and Versailles France and Amsterdam, the Netherlands in June.  I wanted to take in the pomp and pageantry of trooping the colour, revisit the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, Tate Britain, Tate Modern… and did!  I really loved my visit to the new wing of the Tate Modern and the beautiful panoramic views that it affords of the north bank across River Thames.

Staying in the beautiful SW10, I had a great place to stay and had a marvellous time.  Great it was to revisit Westminster Abbey, feeling the sense of history and the grandeur of the abbey.  Every moment of being in London was sheer magic.  This city, more than any other, readily evokes a sense of home –- somehow, in its magical agedness, there vibrationally is something perfectly harmonised about London with aspects of the West Indies into which I chose to reincarnate and where my sense of ‘home’ is grounded.

The LGBT exhibition at Tate Britain was a bit underwhelming; however, I enjoyed being exposed to the many female artists and their Lesbian-themed art, which heretofore I was not cognisant of.  Naturally, the male perspective has always been prominent in homoerotic art.  Without doubt, the best exhibition was at the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace and the Crown’s exhibition of aspects of the Canaletto collection.  Naturally, I did have to return to the National Gallery to take in my favourite Sir Anthony van Dycks in their collection; among them, that ode to sage essence grandeur, King Charles I’s Equestrian Portrait of Charles I.  The Rotunda at Ranelagh remains my favourite and most moving Canaletto; of course, it did prominently feature at the end of a flying dream, during early pubescence, that had me dreamquest to a past life in London, England.

That past-life was shared with Merlin when we were musicians at court in late 18th century London.  During that lifetime, we knew 1st Duke of Brontë, Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson.  Apparently, Viscount Nelson was a great raconteur and it was likely his tales of his love of Nevis which proved the seed that eventually led to my choice at the level of soul to have reincarnated into Nevis –- which incidentally Canadians are wont to mispronounce as Knévis…  Sorry, the third world natives are not wrong; besides no one in London would ever think to say, Knévis.  The correct pronunciation is Kneevis… Knévis is no more correct than is Kanarda the correct pronunciation of Canada.  Enough about the risible ignorance of elitist petit bourgeois Canadians and their need to forever condescend.

So, there was I arrived in London with umbrella, pea coat, raincoat and it was all hotter-than-hell climes for the two weeks!  After trooping the colour, I decided to escape the heat of London and decamp à Paris… what was I thinking; goodness, it was at least 5 degrees hotter there!  Alas, Paris has become an armed camp -– I suppose this is what Paris during the Nazi occupation in WWII was like.  Either way, I could not wait to hightail it out of there.  Firstly, though, I had to head off to Versailles where previously I had not been.  Goodness, what grandeur -– the scales are truly phenomenal.  If I had ever had a dream set on the grounds of Versailles, it is highly likely that I would have awakened and assumed that I had just dreamquested to a marvellous world where the architectural scales surpass anything witnessed here on Earth.

In all that heat, I was told it was just a stroll away from the entry gates of Versailles to Grand Trianon to take in the Pierre Le Grand exhibition celebrating the 300th anniversary of Peter the Great’s trip to Paris.  Finally, after 50 minutes in my brand-new Crockett & Jones wellingtons, I arrived to what was not an especially impressive show.  However, the last piece — a beautiful bust of the Tsar — made my sweaty and blistered foot ordeal worthwhile.

After having been quite underwhelmed by Paris –- save of course my visit to Père Lachaise cemetery where I left pine cone tributes to Marcel Proust, Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Honoré de Balzac –- it was off to Amsterdam.  Finally, I had escaped hellish climes!  Amsterdam proved the most gloriously idyllic experience.  With a cool welcome breeze off the North Sea, the temps were in the low 20s and, of course, everywhere just about everyone rode a bike.  As I made the pilgrimage to the Rijksmuseum to be richly inspired, I was warmed as passing cyclists called out to me in my white panama hat that I purchased at Chateau de Versailles to beat the heat, “Hello!”  “Hi there!”  “Hi ya!”  This excursion to Amsterdam was truly soul-warming.  Nothing was more glorious than entering that salon and seeing Night Watch and the Meager Company.

Whilst browsing, I thought of George Hawken and wondered if ever he had made it to Amsterdam.  Just like that, on coming around the corner, the first painting I noticed in the salon which contains Jan Vermeer’s The Milkmaid, was an exquisite, stunning still-life of white asparagus.  The one legume that George considered the perfect signature to a fine meal -– cooked by himself -– was asparagus.  His most memorable meals ever featured asparagus coated in the most sublime sauces made from scratch.  I was truly warmed on seeing the still-life seconds after nostalgically thinking of him.  Yet another moment of synchronicity.

On preparing for the video to celebrate the 70th anniversary of Merlin’s birth, I decided last week to head off the costumer, Malabar on McCaul Street where George lived in the late 80s to early 90s.  Inspired by the first dream of Merlin had 39 years ago in July 1978, I decided to get a cowl as a tribute to the cowl Merlin wore in the inaugural dream encounter with him, four years before having met on Friday, October 1, 1982 in New York City.  So, there was I at Mount Pleasant Cemetery last Saturday, July 15, 2017 in my cowl and the panama hat purchased at Versailles to escape the heat.  I thought it fitting as Merlin always loved wearing panama hats.

My trusty friend, J.J. who happens to be an artisan entity mate whom I have known in 20 past lives –- which is a high incidence of contact -– was the director.  Initially, I had hoped to throw a white party on the lawn to the southwest of the chapel at Mount Pleasant Cemetery and have a drone film the event where a gathering of friends would raise a glass to Merlin on the anniversary of his ennobled birth.  Merlin always threw a white party each year for his birthday at his parents stunning backyard in north Toronto’s Servington Crescent.

The plan was not approved by the cemetery and thus, one had to improvise.  I got my panama hat and my cowl and together, we proceeded with a dozen long-stem white roses to visit Merlin’s resting place.  I had a pretty good idea what I was after.  With the matching white cowl, I wanted to evoke the magic of meeting Merlin in that initial dream which is shared in volume one of the dream memoirs which is already published: Merlin and Arvin: A Shamanic Dream Odyssey.

Get your copy!  Thanks as ever for your support!

In the hardcover edition of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs, the initial dream encounter with Merlin is shared.  The dream begins on page 110 in the hardcover edition.  I wanted the same sense of wonderment and magic that I felt for having met Merlin in that first dream four years prior to having met reflected in the video.  In that dream, Merlin’s appearance was preceded by a white totemic creature which seemed, in its astral plane outréness, to be part Russian wolfhound, part alpaca, part dog.

So, moving to the lawn, having descended the steps of the chapel, I began walking across the open lawn towards the statuesque lion festooned mausoleum with the five remaining white long-stem white roses.  Seven roses, of course, were left at Merlin’s grave -– one rose for each of our seven glorious years together.  As I stepped onto the lawn, it seemed magical… timeless even.  Slowly, confidently as I approached the filmmaker at the other end of the lawn, I thought of Merlin and that initial dream.

Just then, I very distinctly thought of Merlin greeting me by purring, “Hello Lambs.”  As if right on cue, from off stage left, an adult deer came from behind the bushes and tombstones that line the far edges of the open lawn.  Never before had I seen a deer at Mount Pleasant Cemetery.  Indeed, the good burghers of Forest Hill who clearly regularly jogged in the park-like setting stopped and were overheard remarking that they had never seen a deer in the cemetery before.  All that I could do was tear up and continue walking as the deer then bolted and ran from stage left to right as I continued my stride uninterrupted –- unfazed by the appearance of an adult deer on the grounds of the cemetery.  What is more astounding, is that J.J. at the time was filming my walk; at the last minute, I decided against a run-through as I was concerned about the natural light possibly changing if we were to rehearse the shot.

Unbeknownst to me, the deer after having made it to stage right, then returned to the centre of the lawn and stood there perfectly still whilst observing my progression across the lawn.  J.J. who was astounded by the occurrence remarked that he had just witnessed a miracle.   There is no doubt in my mind as I tried to recapture the magic of that initial dream encounter that there was a subtle validation of that dream from the magical shaman himself on the other side by having had Merlin’s spirit step in as director emeritus and had the deer enter the shot as validation and a token of his appreciation of the love that we shared and my steadfast loyalty to him.  After crossing the lawn and turning to watch the deer stand there, looking down the lawn at me, I felt such utter peacefulness and abandonment of spirit — just as when alone and intimate in the dark with Merlin.

Yes, I believe in magic as did Merlin and as though an appreciation of having stridently done everything to fulfil his mandate to me, Merlin’s astral body conjure up the same magic here and now as he had in July 1978 –- four years before slipping inside a Hell’s Kitchen walk-up and readily winning me over with his sexy elfin charm, magic and sex that proved the most grounding shamanic passion… every time.

All the music chosen for this 13-minute video is music that Merlin loved whilst incarnate and to which he returned time and again -– whether at Joe Morton’s tiny Upper West Side apartment in autumn of 1983, Toronto’s 20 Amelia Street in tony Cabbagetown.  From Glenn Gould’s mastery of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Goldberg Variations, to Elton John, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight and Dionne Warwick singing That’s What Friends Are For –- in that segment of the video, I included friends whom Merlin valued: Kareem Benezra, myself, Wayne Robson and his oldest and most loyal friend, the ever-gracious, Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny.

Of course, for Stevie Wonder’s Isn’t She Lovely, I exclusively included photos of Merlin and his very handsome and gracious father, David Ben-Daniel.  Whereas I favoured Sir Paul McCartney’s Hey Jude, Merlin ever loved George Harrison and especially My Sweet Lord.  Of course, one Saturday, whilst staying at actor, Joe Morton’s Manhattan apartment, when Merlin and I secretly committed to being together, we slow-danced to Supertramp and Roger Hodgson’s unmatched magical vocals on Supertramp’s Breakfast In America.

Additionally, Jeffrey Osborne’s On the Wings of Love which was one of Merlin’s favourite ballads is also included.  Merlin loved Black male soul singers: Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Jeffrey Osborne –- most especially –- George Benson, Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass, Donny Hathaway, Barry White.  Most of all, I am especially proud of the video that J.J. and I have created; I think that it masterfully captures the depth of my love and fealty to the most fabulously magical shaman encountered on this incarnation’s spiritual odyssey.

Naturally, before having left for Mount Pleasant Cemetery, I had flooded my apartment with the music that appears in the video.  Perhaps, unwittingly by so doing, I was evoking Merlin’s spirit which later joined us when he played ultimate director and pulled off the most magical bit of stage direction –- an adult deer in the middle of a cemetery in the heart of mid-town Toronto.  Lastly, I played the sublimely soulful Shirley Horn’s interpretation of, Here’s to Life!  Whilst raising a glass of coconut water, I had forgotten to pick up some champagne the evening prior and it was too early in the morning to find champagne anywhere –- the lighting was way too good.  Besides who knows if that magical deer would have been anywhere about.

Here’s to life… most of all, here’s to Merlin… here’s to dream shamans everywhere!

Merlin & Arvin 1987

Going forward, please know that this wordpress joint: http://www.dreampoetica.com is being synchronised with my author page: http://www.arvindabrgha.com  Everything that’s appeared here over the years, now can be found there.  In coming weeks, there will also be other links to other sites associated with this celebration of Merlin and his mandate to me:

“Please my darling, I want you to write about our lives together.  I promise you, however possible, I am going to send you dreams to include in the story of our love… our lives together.”

Of course, there is my Instagram account:  Instagram Arvin da Brgha

The YouTube channel is:  Arvin da Brgha YouTube

Do please be patient and stay tuned as there will be a site where one can purchase merchandise that’ll greatly assist with the costs of having overleaves channelled that will yet appear in the five volumes of human civilisation’s first dream memoirs to come.  Also, there will be a podcast link.

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For now, here’s to life, here’s to you and thanks so much for your ongoing support all these years!

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.  

Also, Coming in June…

MOAppendix I

A SIX VOLUME MICHAEL OVERLEAVES APPENDIX.

This is Volume I of VI of Michael Overleaves which were channelled by Authentic Michael Channellers™ (accept no substitutes).  Each volume is a companion to I of VI volumes of the memoirs of task companions, Merlin and mine.  MERLIN and ARVIN: A SHAMANIC DREAM ODYSSEY (Human Civilisation’s First Dream Memoirs).  

Here are some fragments whose overleaves appear in Volume I: Marcel Proust/Alvin Ailey/Pharaoh Akhenaten/Alfred Brendel/Victor Brauner/Mariah Carey/Leonard Cohen/Salvador Dali/Honoré de Balzac M.C. Escher/Gustave Flaubert/Marvin Gaye/Dizzy Gillespie/Martha Graham/Hermann Hesse/Peter Jennings/Grace Jones/John Lennon/Nelson Mandela Miriam Makeba/Bob Marley/Johnny Mercer/George Gershwin/Mishima Yukio/Itzhak Perlman/Molière Leontyne Price/Gabriela Mistral/Charlie Rose/Billy Strayhorn/Lionel Richie/Diana Ross/Pierre Elliott Trudeau/Rembrandt van Rijn/Sarah Vaughan\Andy Warhol/Robin Williams.

Available everywhere, in all media in June 2017!  Get yours and thanks so much for your support these past few years!  

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

In Celebration of Merlin!

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Earlier this week, in celebration of the anniversary today of Merlin’s passing, I attended two performances of the Berliner Philharmoniker at Toronto’s Roy Thomson Hall.  On Tuesday evening, the mixed programme concluded with Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 7, E Minor – a truly glorious experience.  Moreover, it was good to have experienced Sir Simon Rattle at the helm of an orchestral performance.  

nov-15-2016 __________

nov-16-2016

The following night, this past Wednesday, November 16, 2016, I returned to Roy Thomson Hall for night two of the Berliner Philharmoniker’s tour of performances.  Always a favourite, the mixed programme concluded with Johannes Brahms’ Symphony No. 2. D Major, Op 73.  In no way was Brahms’ symphony comparable to Mahler’s symphony of the night before, nonetheless, it was a rousing way to have finished off the week of celebration which began at the weekend prior with a quick trip to Montréal. 

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 I went there for two reasons, firstly to fortify my body, spirit and mind at the glorious Spa Ovarium: www.ovarium.com – as ever the experience was transcendent.  Previously, I had spent the morning into afternoon at the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal on rue Sherbrooke to take in the Robert Mapplethorpe exhibition.  The show was spectacular. 

musee-d-ba-montreal

Back in early 1983 whilst Merlin was in Toronto working with Jim Henson on Fraggle Rock, I was staying at the Trocadero Loft which Merlin had sublet whilst the dynamic duo who headed Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo were on tour.  Most evenings, Attila Isaksen would drop by and we would hang out, have great sex, watch TV or crawl about Chelsea and get up to no end of trouble.  Merlin had sublet the loft which sat across the street from the block long grand building at 684 Sixth Avenue between 20th and 21st Streets West.  The floor above was owned by a Gay professional couple who were heavily into S&M.  One evening after we had been out crawling the clubs – Attila who had transitioned from a life as a dancer was now painting and showing in galleries in Soho and elsewhere – we came home with someone that he had picked up. 

paloma-picasso

That someone turned out to have been Robert Mapplethorpe who proved a very intense bottom and a very memorable fuck.  He was intense and as equally ravenous a bottom as was Attila.  Attila was acquainted with him through the art world and picked him up at the bar we were hanging out in a couple of blocks south of my place at the Trockadero loft late one Thursday evening.   We came back to the loft and they smoked ganja, a cigar, did a ton of poppers which I never found remotely appealing, then cigarettes after our wild fuck.  I do though recall Robert’s arse being a rather loose affair.  I might also add as both he and Attila took turns bottoming for me that he was an especially good kisser. 

Robert Mapplethorpe

I quite enjoyed the show and Montréal was a great blast.  Wonderful it was to have been there and seen so many Blacks as here in Toronto Blacks seem to have been eradicated, marginalised, replaced by the White tribe’s buffer races – those who did so nicely for themselves and saw nothing remotely wrong with Apartheid whilst it profited them – who in this town are now the darlings of obsessive Canadians with Black culture as their latest agendum is pushing that most absurd notion, Indo-Jazz.  You know if you are never going to respect Blacks, you certainly can’t be hogging the culture as you so hideously do. 

louise-nevelson

This brings me to the matter of the recent American elections; I am so glad that Donald Trump was elected because he will be the shot of adrenalin that Black Americans have so sorely needed.  I would not be the least bit surprised if President Trump does not turn around and have President Obama arrested and imprisoned for being an alien, not an American but of foreign birth and a Muslim to boot. 

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Regardless what happens, the election of President Barack H. Obama has deftly illustrated that we Blacks are not paranoid, not sensitive; racism is real and the White tribal obsession with hating Blacks is at feverish mass extinction levels.  Truly phenomenal it has been to watch these past 8 years evolve.  Amazingly, it is uncanny how some Whites can fabricate lies and for hatefully perpetuating lies as they did with President Obama, these lies soon become accepted as gospel truth. 

Alas, people always get what they deserve and Trump with his wall, I rather suspect, will prove more of a monster than far too many Whites and non-Blacks perceived President Obama to have been.  Racially predatory grudge of Blacks is truly the biggest cancer on human civilisation as it is not exclusively the obsession of Whites.  The entire election boiled down to the perpetuation of the five deadly isms being allow to riotously flower: lookism, ageism, classism, racism and sexism. 

Speaking of racially predatory behaviour, one of the dreams herein involved Damita Soud with whom I worked in the early 90s.  She was the most vile and hideous displacement of the human spirit; frankly, I knew her then because coming off my relationship with Merlin many were the persons like Damita whom I had encountered in the showbiz crowd. 

I do believe that Damita served to have reminded me and to have prompted me to have put persons like this well behind me where they damn well belong.  Also, as it is the anniversary of Merlin’s passing, there was a beautiful dream with a delightful Eurasian boy in London, England whom I assumed was my task companion Merlin reincarnated.  Of course, since this dream which was dreamt in early-August, 1991, Merlin has reincarnated in December, 2006 and is female in Holland. 

Also since that dream, my essence twin, whom I never met during this lifetime, was reborn in the mid-to-late 1990s into Germany is of Japanese/German ethnicity and will likely be a writer in this lifetime.  The Eurasian in the dream was likely an astral plane encounter with my essence twin as my reincarnated essence twin is not only Eurasian but is also male in this lifetime. 

Thanks so much for your continued patronage and ever, I implore you, always remember to push off and start flying because you’ve earned it.  Sweet dreams as ever. 

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Whilst focussed in this the first dream, I got aboard a bus and intuitively knew that I was in London, England.  I headed somewhere of which I am not certain.  Racily, I had jumped onto the bus whilst it was travelling and it was quite fun.  The double-decker London bus was painted violet.  I went to one of the circuses.  Getting there, I got off and began walking behind a teenaged punk rocker.  She had her hairdo done with it sticking out in clumps that were pointy.  She was blonde but it had spots on it like a leopard’s and it was definitely not a wig.

Her hair stuck out like a porcupine’s quills and was very long like about eight inches each.  The spikes of hair conically came in to a fine point.  She wore a black mini, black stockings and black Bull Dog boots.  She had fat, flat non-extant calves.  She wore a cream-coloured merino which had no sleeves.  She was quite long-limbed; both her legs and arms were beautifully proportioned.  I admiringly walked after her as she had a very strong forceful stride.  People were conservatively looking at her; they were being judgmental of her.

I quite enjoyed her energies as I walked after her.  She was a true Demolition Man.  The bus that I was on was getting ready to take off again.  There was one girl who had come out of a building with some long pieces of wood and steel rods.  The building from whence she came clearly was being repaired.  I thought to hustle back to get aboard the bus; as I did so, other people were doing the same thing but through the rear doors.  We were soon enough travelling again.  As we went past, I noticed an Oriental man outside the bus who was asking me how to get somewhere.

He was tall, very handsome and very erudite.  He had two children one on either side of him.  The boy on his left was Oriental but he was mixed; he was Eurasian with freckles and had natural brown hues to his hair.  I assumed that his White parent was the mother from the fairness of his complexion.  Goodness, was this boy incredibly handsome?  I never did see his eyes because I was on the bus as it was passing them on the street.  Afterwards, when I had gotten off the bus, I had seen them again.  However, once again, he had never made eye contact with me.

His lids were deliberately inclined downwards because he knew that I knew who he was and wanted to verify it by seeing his eyes.  I can bet you anything that these would have been Merlin’s, if he had once looked up at mine.  Regardless, his little shy act, I knew those energies; they were more familiar than any energies that I had ever reincarnationally encountered.  The other boy to the man’s right was purely Oriental and older than the reincarnated Merlin.  Goodness, it was so very wonderful to have encountered their energies.  As they walked on a female Londoner had given them directions and had long black hair.  She was a very, very handsome woman with a very spiritually noble quality to her; this woman could even have been the Eurasian son’s mother.  She had directed them to this museum to which they were trying to get.

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london-plane-trees-paris

Antinous Brilman and I were alone, in what proved the third dream, intimate and talking.  We were talking about all these trees that were around us.  For some strange reason, there were all these London Plane trees which were diseased.  They were all dying out as a genus.  I was stunned really and could not think of any disease that they could possibly have.  “They were quite healthy and alive in both Paris and London, when I visited,” that had been a comment that I made.   I could not quite conceive of them going extinct; this, though, certainly seemed to have been the case here in this dream.  At the time, it was quite sunny out and the trees that were healthy were quite nice; those trees zinged with great vitality.

They beautifully reflected the light off their leaves.  Being in their presence was rather nice and uplifting.

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oleta-adams

Here, in the sixth dream, there was a Black woman singing and boy she had a voice on her.  She had a beautiful, beautiful voice; hers was a very soulful voice.  She was an up and coming singer, like Oleta Adams, but it was not Oleta.  She came and stood by a microphone that was from the 1930s; the mic was very Deco.  In particular, the mic is that one that is called a zephyr or a zeppelin – zephyr is correct.  She sang away with her beautiful African head tied up in a turban.  When she sang, she was in a medium that was bluish and slow-moving; in point of fact, the medium was not unlike water.  When she swayed her arms about her, the aqueous medium visibly also swirled about her.

This woman opened her mouth and hit some high notes that were electrifyingly astral.  I shouted, “You go girl.  Go ‘head!  Sing it!” I truly was ecstatic.  What she could do with this otherworldly music quite simply was incredible.  In that sense, it was not unlike a music video; except, it was as if holographic to the extent that one was inside the experience.  In the true sense, it was a virtual reality that I was experienced.

How she appeared was interesting because it was as though simultaneously otherworldly.  I had been singing and there had been these Whites about; naturally, they began throwing shade, “Yeah, yeah, great voice but not the look.”  “Oh shut up and sit down,” these were the sorts of crass remarks that they were making.

*It is always amazing to me how, for being so racially obsessed with Blacks, Whites will feel themselves possessed of some absurd right – which certainly does not exist – to go opening their fucking hideous-spirited mouths and spewing their venomous hatefulness in Blacks’ direction.  END.

I was totally impervious of their bullshit because it was nothing more than small-minded jealousy.  I saw these people who were coming and going.  As well, there were these young Whites who were as if models or model wannabes.  There was a very young-souled approach to their energies.  In any event, there was a party going on across the street and goodness, it was jumping.  There were a ton of people queued to get in.  I was there singing whilst playing a piano when my voice started carrying to the party across the street.  I was technically soaring very high.

Then everyone began clapping in unison.  Antinous was with me and getting ready to go across the street to check out the party.  Though, he had no invitation that did not deter him.  We were going to go crash it but it seemed very much so to be a wedding party.  The party was quite nice and the energies were riotously on.  Here, the atmosphere was great; it was wonderful.  This was the point that the young Black singer had appeared.  She was short and stouter than Oleta Adams.

She was very dark-skinned with very rich teeth.  She had very large teeth that were compacted just like Oleta Adams’.  Perhaps, it was Ms. Adams.  I do not, though, suspect that it was her.  When she sang, she could hold a note whilst adding cadence and timbre to it that was not humanly possible; at least this was only possible on this side of the waking state.  She quite moved me because as she sang, the water appeared and as if created and exuded by her.  Pretty much, it was as though one were seeing her aura as it gushed outwards.  One was being tuned into her vibration; except, this was an aura that was clearly aqueous and simultaneously filled with light.

Her unsuaul aura was heavy gelatinous water.  As she made the notes go higher, the water kept on changing.  Initially, the aqueous aura started out being light blue but it then shifted to a Kelly green.  Also, as the notes got higher, it became a yellowish-orange whilst transforming into red.  Below her at her feet, the water was still swirling with rich bubbles of varying sizes that rose up and above her head.  She slowly turned around on herself; this was so that she could have affected even greater acoustic depth.  My goodness, it is hard to relate here how incredibly elevated this music was.  I was greatly inspired by it.

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black-cat

I was upstairs in the kitchen, in what proved the eight dream, of an apartment with Damita Soud.  We were preparing a meal and washing some dishes.  In any event, she was talking and I just did not like her energies and did not want to be with her at all.  I then heard Whoopi cry out and I went running to look out the second floor window.  She was on her back and being gnawed in her neck area by another cat that reminded of Damita’s cat Spooky; Spooky, of course, is a little black cat which for being Damita’s would have a name like that.  This so mirrored the kind of unhealthy relationship that knowing this woman has developed into.  This dream interlude so reflected the constant non-too-veiled negativity from Damita towards me; it is an approach that I do not in any way appreciate.  I shrieked out the window at them whilst calling out to Whoopi truly horrified, “Whoopi use your hind legs and beat her up… beat her off you.

“Fight back, fight back!”  I could not get down because, somehow, I had this tether which was an orange-coloured coil.  The coil was wrapped around my waist.  More to the point, this coil was coming away from my umbilical area.  Furthermore, it was so hard to break the bonds to and from this thing.  Such an incredible graphic metaphor this dream’s every symbol.  I was most upset really.  I decided that this just could not go on for very much longer.

Somehow, Whoopi had gotten up and ran away towards an opening in the backyard’s fence; nonetheless, the cat was still on her.  I kept on yelling at Whoopi to fight back.  If only there was something that I could pick up at hand and throw out the window to strike Spooky.  Needless to say, throughout all this Damita remained perfectly mute.  Clearly, the animals, our animas, were engaged thanks to Damita’s decidedly negative focussed will.

*Damita is the perfect White female racial predator.  She is a so hideously perpetually racist; she is perpetually uttering some sotto voce racist remark.  These White racial predators forever  live their every day consumed with racially predatory thoughts on which they do not fail to act, truth be told, towards and on Blacks.  END.

I got this heavy thing but did not want to use it.  Obviously, it was quite likely to end up striking Whoopi in the process.  As it was, she was in enough shock.  Then and there, I decided that the time had long passed for me to put an end to knowing Damita.  Moreover, it personally was too callous a reminder of knowing Elektra Munk-Ejoohoè’s dysfunctional pernicious energies.  This was just not a healthy relationship and I did not want to know this person at all.  Indeed, it was high time that I put an end to knowing her.

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sareed-headscarf 

I was in this place, whilst focussed in the ninth dream, where there was an airplane on an airfield.  I reminded me of the Recreations Grounds in Sandy Point, St. Kitts for being focussed in this dream.  The plane was parked in front of the pavilion.  These planes could come in and land on a field as small as the Recreation Grounds without having to do much taxiing.  Much like a Harrier jet, they had the ability to vertically land and take off.  However, this was a passenger jetliner.  Its colour schemata were like that presently of Canadian Airlines international: silver and blue.  However, it could just as easily have been a British airways jetliner.

The bodies of the jets were sleek and black and this airplane was one of the new Boeing 737-300 series.  Then again, it may not have been because I was looking at the single engine on the tail like a DC-10 or a Boeing 727.  Much like a Concorde, the jet was also unusually elevated off the ground.  Unusually, it had large windows like a Greyhound coach bus does; its windows were not the standard singular oval-shaped ones.  So, on looking inside each window, you would see three, sometimes four window seats at a time.  This jet had only two such windows and then you got to the tail of the craft.  There was a door by the tail and one just back of the cockpit.  So, it was a very small plane which had six to eight rows of seats.

There was a small window that did cover two seats in between the two larger windows.  A much wider-bodied plane than a Boeing 757, it also was elevated off the ground much like the Boeing 757.  I could not, though, quite figure out what was going down.  I wondered what exactly could this all mean?  Soon enough, I saw airplanes passing in the sky whilst coming into land.  They descended very slowly, away from the terminal, then on landing slowly taxied up to their designated gate.  There were persons on the plane waiting who had not gotten off because this stop was not their destination.  Some had, of course, gotten off.

I then noticed that there was a large road; this road was close to where the sea is in Sandy Point, St. Kitts.  There were all these beautiful Mercedes-Benzes which were coming into the airport.  One of them was very large, heavy-looking and black and in it rode a woman.  There was so much window space to the car that it seemed more like a rather stately Bentley.  She was East Indian and wore shades and much reminded me of Benazir Bhutto.  She was very proud, sitting very straight-backed and had a strong, prominent nose.  Her head was covered in a fine scarf which, of course, was part of her saree.  A white saree it had horizontal blue stripes.

She was immensely regal-looking.  As she got from the car, I kept looking at her from the area in which I waited; I was being very observant of her actions.  There were tons of East Indians about.  This locale was close to a shoreline.  The persons here were as if the untouchables – the lower caste people.  They were just lying there and many were coupled off.  There was a lone man lying there who was wrapped in his sleeping gear which presently covered his head.  He was close to the plane on the tarmac.

Up approached the woman to the man and bent down to him.  She was very animated greeting him, “Oh I’m so happy to see you.”  They were kissing and she was very genuinely affectionate towards him.  He was a wise old creature.  I could not, though, figure out why she was with such a lower caste person; it just did not make sense.  She was, definitely, the cardinal member of their relationship.  He was very soft-spoken.  The couple next to them began making love because this was their life; they had no home and privacy was not a luxury they even fantasised about.

They were kissing very deeply then he took out his cock and pushed it inside her wet and hungry pussy.  Quite rapidly they made love; it was a very hungry, rushed affair.  They were on their sides and quite tightly embraced.  Then when it was his turn to enter this woman, who was a great deal like Benazir Bhutto and still wore her shades throughout their tryst, he kept on masturbating before entering her.  She was quite hungry for his cock which was very unusually long and soft-looking though hard.  Interestingly enough, his cock had tapered to a pencil-like head.  There were about six or eight couples and all these men had the same classical Dravidian long slender schlong.  All of them on awakening got right down to the business of making love.

He entered her but was not going in all the way.  She was getting impatient with him because of his delaying tactics.  This then triggered what was an obvious recurrent argument between them.  Seems that he had studied to be a doctor but was not practicing.  He did not want to; he wanted only to live next to nature.  He was quite disenfranchised with civilisation.  He said that he had no desire to get caught up in Maya… with materialism.  She fervently argued nonetheless, saying, “But you have to be strong.

“If you are going to be my partner and be in my life, you’ll just have to do better than this.”  They were having this sort of argument.  Basically, he could not participate in the game because he was frankly too old a soul; he just did not find the rat race remotely interesting.  Materialism had no appeal for him.  Though it was clear that the ardent sensualist and lover did so love her, and passionately too, he had no desire to play at the game.  So, at that, I decided to move along and leave them there on the shore.  Here in this place, it was very futuristic.  Even though it seemed in parts the Indian Subcontinent and there was still the abject poverty of the caste system, it was as if set in the late 22nd to early 23rd centuries.

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In early-August, 1991, I awoke from these dreams at my Queen Street East, Beaches apartment and was rather inspired.  After having audiocassette-recorded the dreams with a loudly purring Whoopi next to me in bed, I got about the task of letting her outside to play.  I then got about the business of flowering my life with music to begin in earnest the waking state part of my life.  Thus it was that I began playing Oleta Adams’ 1990 studio album, Circle of One.  Naturally, the choice song that day was her hit single, Get Here, which was an especial favourite of Penina da Braga’s.  Standing in the middle of my living room, I kept my lids shut and swirled my arms about reminiscent of Ms. Adams’ shamanic turn as she weaved her beautiful magic in the dreams just had. 

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Photo Credit: Merlin 1970s in Montréal

Programmes Nov 15 & 16 2016 Berliner Philharmoniker at Roy Thomson Hall

Spa Ovarium at Beaubien & St. Denis in Montréal

Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal

Paloma Picasso Gelatin Silver Print 1980 Robert Mapplethorpe

Ken Moody & Robert Sherman 1984 Robert Mapplethorpe

Louise Nevelson Gelatin Silver Print 1990 Robert Mapplethorpe

Gong 96 Acrylic on Canvas 1966 Claude Tousignant

Piccadilly Circus, London, England

London Plane Trees in Paris, France

Oleta Adams – singer

Black cat domesticated short hair

Headscarf and sareed Indian beauty.

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Do It to Me!

Lena!

Horne, Lena 30/6/1917 <O> 9/5/2010 NYC

This fragment was a fifth level mature warrior – 4th life thereat.  Lena was in the power mode with a goal of unmitigated growth.  She was a sceptic who was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Lena’s primary chief feature was exalted arrogance with a secondary chief feature of stubbornness.

Lena’s casting is in the second position of the second cadence in the seventh greater cadence.  She is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – another entity mate.

Lena’s was a Saturn/Venus body type.

Essence twin for Lena is a warrior and her king task companion did exert some influence.

The three primary needs for Lena were: expression, power and exchange.

There are 10 past-life associations between Lena and Arvin whilst there are 7 past-life associations with Merlin.

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Back in Spring, 1994, I was standing in my West End, Vancouver bedroom getting dressed – after having made dinner for Bower Carlyle-St. Clare and me.  At the time, he was recently full-blown with AIDS but doing well.  As he sat out in the living room in the rocking chair which had been Merlin’s favourite piece of furniture, I was busily getting ready to head off to work on the midnight shift.

Just then Ross Porter, who was gigging on the CBC’s late-night Jazz show, began introducing a recently released album.  I screamed and rushed out to the living room, turned up the sound to full blast and directly stood in the centre of the perfectly placed speakers.

Said Ross Porter, it was a new album by Lena Horne – a cut of which he was nicely setting up.  Since as long as I could remember, this woman’s every performance always made me feel good throughout.  The opening of the song, Do Nothing ‘Till You Hear from Me, began with the bass working its magic.

For the next several minutes, I stood there flying-without-moving.  Admiringly, Bower sat there silently drinking in the visual of me as I stood in black stretch jeans tucked into riding boots and nothing else with hair long and out.

with lids closed, I drank every note of the performance; I was truly besotted.  Then the song got really groovy and at one point, just past the four-minute mark, simultaneous with Lena Horne, I let out the exact same whoop as she did.  Stunned, I placed my hands at my mouth and threw open my eyes.

Bower was convinced that I had heard the recording before.  Soon enough, Lena Horne’s album, We’ll Be Together Again, was blasting my West End apartment on a daily basis.  One day, Bower called up and declared that we were going to New York – he had never been.

To hell with work, he had declared as I tried begging off.  Not having it, Bower shot back that he was taking me to New York City because I knew it and always spoke so fondly of my time there.

Early October rolled around and we held up at the Hotel Chelsea – he had booked the suite as he knew that it was Merlin’s favourite place to stay in New York City.  We went to the show and although, he had been hoping to see Diana Ross – chiefly why he wanted to go to New York City, we ended up having a blast at the performance way up in the balcony.  The next day, I stood around in Times Square and scored us tickets to, Kiss of the Spider Woman, at the Broadhurst Theatre.

A couple of days later and we were returned to Vancouver as giddy as two kids who had just had the wildest adventure.  Sadly, for being full-blown, Bower developed a nagging cough which dragged on for long weeks; nonetheless, it was a magical adventure and I was especially grateful that he had made possible, the trip to see Lena Horne in concert at Carnegie Hall.

As Diana Ross was his favourite performer, every film of hers he had taped.  He understood my love of Lena Horne when finally, he took the time to appreciate her performance in, The Wiz – directed by her partner Sidney Lumet.

Back in 1978, when seeing, The Wiz, on its opening weekend with Owen Hawksmoor – a man of truly equine proportions – This brief appearance and performance by Lena Horne made the film for me; everyone else paled by comparison.

Back in 1969, whilst vacationing in St. Croix, U. S. Virgin Islands, one briny Friday evening the 1943 film, Stormy Weather, was on television.  This was my first introduction to Lena Horne.  I was thoroughly captivated by her.

My response to her has always been visceral; she is energising, captivating – her eyes both raptor-like and thoroughly empowering to lock on to.  If there was no essence bond, it is highly improbable that I would have such an intensely visceral response to her.

I then found it hard to sleep that night after the film.  Not surprisingly, in light of our essence bond as entity mates, I did that night dream of her.  Furthermore, I have noticed that the passing of entity and cadre mates leaves me especially splayed – I don’t feel impending doom, I just feel as though a portal has opened up and I could drift off and find myself on the other side… an astral plane habitué.

I think that because of my casting’s cardinality, I tend to act as a beacon – somehow, I tend to sense when cadre mates are on the cusp of departing.  This used to be fairly frightening when younger; now, I have learnt to simply give of self and realise that someone in the fold is moving on.

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Prince.

Prince3

Prince  7/6/58<O>21/4/2016

The fragment who is most commonly known simply as Prince has also had an illustrious past as a performing artist.  However, his first life in the music world was as one of the many children of Johann and Barbara Bach.

This child was female and did not become a musician but was surrounded by the musical life.  She was particularly close to her brother, Carl Philipp Emanuel, and this started the fragment’s interest in music as a vehicle through which one could perform.

Although this fragment has enjoyed many stellar performances as an actor, a dancer and a singer of opera, it is this fragment’s immediate past life that is most pivotal to his current endeavours.

As the composer/pianist Scott Joplin, this fragment popularised ragtime as an art form that did not have its foundations in European music and was uniquely American.

Prince is a fifth level mature sage in the passion mode, with a goal of rejection, mostly functioning in the positive pole of discrimination, a sceptic in the moving part of emotional centre.

He has a Mercury/Saturn body type.

Prince’s primary chief feature is that of impatience, with a strong secondary of arrogance.

He was sixth-cast in his cadence and his cadence is fifth in the greater cadence.  He is a member of entity two, cadre four, greater cadre 43, pod/node 414.

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prince

File photo of singer Prince performing during "American Idol" finale at Kodak Theater in Hollywood

Prince4

Singing star Prince shown in this undated photo.  (AP Photo)

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

 

One.

ESpalding white image©TomAllen

What a lovely drink for the dreamquesting soul…

Yesterday, I caught Don Cheadle’s, Miles Ahead, with an old friend from Montréal.  We both thoroughly loved the film.  The concert at the end of the film was phenomenal and it was good to see Esperanza Spalding joining Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter and Robert Glasper and Don Cheadle for, What’s Wrong with That.

More than that, I lost a tear when seeing this at the end of the film: May 26, 1926 –  .  Yes, indeed, Miles’ genius has no ending.

Life without Jazz is hardly living…

Photo: Esperanza Spalding ©Tom Allen

Video: One.  Esperanza Spalding: Emily’s D + Evolution ©2015-2016.

Video: Blue Haze (full Album) Miles Davis ©1954-2016

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Finding Centre (Redux) A Life at Court.

King_George_IV_when_Prince_Regent_(1762-1830),_by_Henry_Bone

The Sun is the source point for the causal and astral planes.  The Sun’s rays, indeed all stars’ rays, are the conduits along which the soul reincarnationally interpenetrates the planes.

This I learnt whilst in flight, directly above Sol, in the black void of space which was a very massive and heavy dimension onto itself.

A star’s electromagnetic frequencies, vibrating outwards, serve as the facilitating conveyance that enables the soul’s light energies to effortlessly move back and forth between the planes.

During this entire experience, I was so expansive that I felt as though limitless.  I really had no sense of being in a dream body in a projected out-of-body state.

Rather, there was no body, there was just pure intellect.  Absolutely liberating and superb was this dream experience.

 

Whilst I was on a nighttime sidestreet, I saw Dean Pulliam.  With no one about, he slowly rode on a white bike; he was cruising.

As I walked fast to catch up to him, he saw me and stopped, looked back then turned left onto a paved alley.  With that he rode off in a mad dash avoiding me.

I then got on a white bike myself and saw two 1970s, brown Pontiac Camarros or Firebirds.  They came down the alley towards me cruising along at a leisurely pace.

The first made a sharp left, at the back of a large house, going into an open yard.  The rear car made such an abrupt turn that it skidded and then broke loudly screeching.

They proceeded to the right of the house, in the alley, going towards the front.  Thinking that this was certainly unusual, I stopped to look.

The front car then stopped and out came a dark-haired handsome man.  He was screaming at the driver of the car in the back,

“Why are you following me?”

The other driver was a silent, deadly heavy type.  Getting out, the man said nothing in response whilst emphatically slamming his door shut.

Next, I was in a house at nighttime, as a thorough review and investigation was underway.  They were trying to find out why the devil the man was being pursued.  A very beautiful candle-lit salon it was here.

There were lots of crystal wares with marvellous-looking rich spirits filling them.  Food was exquisitely prepared and presented before the regally dressed guests who themselves were a fairly urbane lot.

The same dark-haired man was the centre of the drama here.  He was being celebrated as this apparently was the eve of his wedding.  Beautifully dressed, he was draped with a blue and gold sash.

Six-foot-plus, he was handsome, in a vaguely regal manner.  He took a handful of spaghetti, from a gold-leafed bowl, ritually tossing it to the kitchen and the chefs there.

Everyone gloriously roared whilst enjoying the drink of this man’s magnetic personality.  He was rather powerful and intimidatingly so to boot.  He was also a tad unpredictable.

*Obviously, this man was a Knight of the Order of Garter.  Perhaps, he was a royal prince whom I knew during my incarnation at the court of King George III.  At the time, I was a male singer at court and my accompanist was then female and Merlin – my task companion; she played the harpsichord.  END.

At that point, he hurriedly took his leave of the party.  Here there were lots of dark woods – exposed wooden beams, panelling and parquetry.  There were lots of details in the woodwork.

I then went to a rear salon of the house when the man’s pursuer showed up.  He banged on the front door demanding to be let inside.  Pandemonium soon broke out as everyone in attendance panicked for their lives.

Rushing from the salon, I made my way to a rear door.  Here the doors were rather large dark wood and easily eight-foot-plus in height.  There were a series of hunting bas reliefs in them.

A stout older man, a cardinal or bishop – some such clerical figurehead, went to the door to try and get rid of the man.  No such luck as the pursuer simply forced his way into the residence and overpowered the fairly frail and old cleric.

Again, not wanting to become ensnared in this scenario in any capacity – especially the detrimental, I bolted.  I did not care to be savaged by this man.  If he did not find the princely bachelor, of whom he was in hot pursuit, I felt that he would simply target me or anyone else.

This man seemed possessed of an equally deadly rage and appeared to be equally, predictably violent.  I then went to hide behind one of the tall oak trees outside; it was fairly dark outside.

Alone, I began willing my vibration to intensify.  In this way, I had hoped to make myself light thereby being rendered invisible.  As the process began, at will, I instantaneously began seeing my aura.

It was a large oval orb that fanned out, a good four-feet-plus, about me.  I then became light, fully invisible, in order to avoid a messy confrontation with this boor of a thug.  However, the pursuer had been able to catch some aspects of my aura as I hid behind the tree; though he had not captured me in the process.

All the colours of the rainbow were visible in my aura.  The white light shone so brilliantly as to have appeared as if platinum.  Being in this state was truly blissful.  It was as if being totally at peace, levitating and yogically centred.  Harmony…

 

Whilst the Moon transited both Pisces and my tenth house, I rather intensely, lucidly dreamt the preceding dreams.  Sometimes, the only way to escape chaos is by spiritually ascending to a higher octave – if only this were readily possibly in the waking state.

The dreams in question occurred, on Thursday, March 2, 1995.  As such, they are the first and fourth dreams lived during that sleep cycle.  

I would just like to add here that I never believed this to have been King George III.  Of course, after much research I have come to realise that it was the then Prince Regent, George Hanover who would become King George IV.  

To the point of being almost frightening, this man was immensely mercurial-energied.  What’s more as Merlin and I, plus a whole host of entity and cadre mates were present at court at that time, I have had many dreams which are focussed at that time.

Too, I’ve recently done both King Georges’ Overleaves.  Also, it should be noted that a couple of dreams had of that past life involved the first Viscount Nelson who was at court.  At the time, Horatio Nelson was known to both Merlin and I and he was a rather engaging personality whose tales of his travels were rather fascinating.  

I think that it is safe to say that Admiral Nelson’s accounts of Nevis were the trigger for me in that past life at court which eventually led to my choice to reincarnate in Nevis in this lifetime.  Too, at least one sibling, Pericles da Braga was also known to Merlin and I.  He was then a tailor of high-end clothing whom we favoured and he also would have known Admiral Nelson.  

I will say this much about the Prince Regent; he had a wicked wit and his arrestingly cutting observations were much feared.  He was utterly unpredictable.  The Prince Regent also appears in the previously submitted dream:  

https://dreampoetica.com/2015/03/02/skeletons-in-the-reincarnation-closet/

The future King George IV is the witty, sarcastic and dashingly polished man who sat across the room from Merlin (then Francesca) when she was older and at that point, I was also the snobbish male bore and lover of former Merlin (Francesca) who much reminded me of the late Canadian actor, Tom Kneebone – a man whom I truly loathed.  Of course, knowing that I was equally as bigoted a boor as was Tom Kneebone suggests that this is why I found Tom Kneebone such a vile piece of work – I positively could not stand the man.  Of course, I was merely responding to aspect of a past life which I found mirrored here in this incarnation in Tom Kneebone’s vile bigotry.  

In any event, here then King George III, King George IV, Horatio Nelson and Joseph Haydn’s Overleaves as court musicians both Merlin and I in that past life lived at court in Regency London/Windsor knew all these persons and they do factor both in the dreams Finding Centre and Skeletons in the Reincarnation Closet.  

Also known at that time was George Frideric Handel whose overleaves appear in the original Michael book by Chelsea Quinn-Yarbro: Messages from Michael.  

One interesting side-note to all this; when a child growing up in the northern shadow of Brimstone Hill Fortress in Sandy Point St. Kitts, in preparation of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II’s state visit to the newly independent state of St. Kitts, Nevis and Anguilla at just past my 7th birthday, they played Handel’s Zadok the Priest on ZIZ radio station.

As long as I live, I will always remember how startled and out-of-body I felt on hearing this glorious music for the first time in this lifetime.  Of course, I would have heard it performed live at the coronation of King George IV whilst at court in London, England.  I had actually felt dizzy and laughed teary eyed; to me, it was the most gloriously exciting discovery to have made musically.  This music still remains the most glorious sound imaginable.  

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King George III

Hanover, George III 4/6/173829/1/1820

King_George_IV_when_Prince_Regent_(1762-1830),_by_Henry_Bone

Hanover, George IV 12/8/176226/6/1830

 

Viscount Horatio Nelson

Nelson, Viscount Horatio 29/9/175821/10/1805

 

joseph-haydn

Haydn, Joseph 31/3/173231/5/1809 Vienna

George Frideric Handel

This is a fourth-level young sage in the observation mode with a goal of dominance, a realist in the emotional part of intellectual centre with a chief feature of impatience. 

This fragment was the composer George Frederick Handel.  

*These Michael Overleaves are found in the Chelsea Quinn-Yarbro book, Messages from Michael.  

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Art: King George IV when Prince Regent 

Oil on Canvas

c. 1800s Henry Bone

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© 2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Beyoncé Slays!

Beyonce

Just as powerful as Michael Jackson releasing “Remember The Time” during Black History Month in 1992 so, too, Beyoncé slays by dropping Formation during Black History Month and on Bob Nesta Marley’s birthday no less.  Love it…  Love her!

Happy Black History Month!

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Thank You for the Joyous Music!

Maurice-White

Maurice White 19/12/1941<O>3/2/2016

Sweet and blissful dreams be yours… thanks so much for the joyful uplifting magic you weaved in song.  I love you more…  A final breath wearily collapses, focus turns inward and into the sea of wonder you fall, flying upwards to heights previously unattained.  Fly!  Fly!  Fly!

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

 

On The Sunny Side of The Street, It’s Black History Month!

Happy Black History Month!  Who cares about the Oscars?  The most important point of power in all situations is being able to see through to the structure of anything.  Those who cannot manipulate real time events to show themselves, chosen, entitled, special, ‘genius’ and all that nonsense will ever cheat, lie and steal.  Please do tell in in what other universe would there be a tie between Katherine Hepburn and Barbra Streisand for Best Actress but in this one where the most venal racists run the show and everyone looks like another variation on Jackie ‘blasted god-fugly’ Stallone.

Go on, give each other awards; what does it finally matter when you know nothing of being cool and sophisticated as in those whom you so revile, vilify, loathe, incite others to hate – all the while crying of being victimised.  You know… those marvellous people whose spirit you will  never crush, despite the attempts of Orly Taitz and the returned de Torquemada – now no less fugly got up in reincarnational drag – Jackson, Woods and Cosby and you just know that the swine has only just begun.  They, those marvellous people, who like dreams – wherein only truth and beauty exist – are the ones to have invented Jazz and whose spirit will never be eclipsed by your god-fugly ugliness.  Yes, them… they who don’t need awards to show how special, chosen and what marvellous geniuses one so over-compensatorily is not!

Alas, for the truly marvellous people every day of the year is awards season; despite your alarming ugliness, you have positively no power over any of us when we set feet into our homes.  There, despite your lunacy, we affirm our creaturehood, our beauty or phenomenalness and we turn on some Jazz which can speak to no one else as it speaks to every last one of us – not you!  So while you infest the culture, like some fetid mould – which thankfully are never lasting – just know that the ugliness of your lies can in no way invalidate the beauty of Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Betty Carter, Lena Horne, Anita Baker, Sarah Vaughan, Diana Ross, Natalie Cole… and countless others.

So go on and speciously raise your rear right leg and take to the airwaves claiming, “Jazz has its roots in Klezmer!”  Just remember this: forgiveness is the price a damn fool would gladly pay to forget anything.  Clearly, you do not know Black people and come November, we won’t collectively have taken leave of senses and do as you would wish… not after Orly…  Who cares about the Oscar vote?  Our vote is the one that truly matters…  Remember eight years ago… “I’m Voting For Her!”  We do not forget… where is that displaced haus frau anyway?  You know, the one who was partout on TV demanding that the unchosen sheeple, “Vote For Hillary!” followed by that demented laugh of hers… perhaps, she is too distracted these days trying to recall with which hand she ate last night.

Truly empowered are they who always say what the fuck they mean and never leave any doubt as to their resolve.

Incidentally, all the Jazz artists mentioned in this blog, I have to date done their Michael Overleaves.  Some are listed in the Michael Overleaves Appendix page those which aren’t were only recently channelled; they are… Natalie Cole, Anita Baker and Lena Horne.  Not in the least surprised was I to have found that Natalie Cole is an entity mate.  Every time I hear her voice, I am instantaneously catapulted to a groove that I can only call a soul high…  So then here are her Michael Overleaves with one of my favourite video performances of hers.  Every idiosyncrasy of hers resonates to the very core of my being… God she could represent!

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*Richard is New York City academician whom Merlin met during the final couple of years of his life.  This man had the most uncanny resemblance energetically to Merlin and I only met him a week after Merlin’s passing as he ventured to Toronto; he had previously planned to, to bid Merlin farewell.  Alas, unlike Joe Morton who flew in from Los Angeles for 24 hours to be with Merlin, Richard  had been too late but came nonetheless; the gesture was truly noble of spirit and was greatly appreciated.

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©2013-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.