CAMP: Notes on Fashion Met Gala 2019

 

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Anna Wintour Vogue Editor-in-Chief; because there would be no Met Gala were it not for her.  

 

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Dowager Duchess (Joan Collins) in Valentino… there is something to be said for staying power. 

 

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Alexa Chung; always stylish and those shoes!  

 

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Cardi B… because someone had to take up the slack for Rihanna.  

 

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Céline Dion: Reine de Charlemagne; true eccentric and guaranteed to bring it… every time.

 

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Cody Fern; when the dandy does camp… look out.  

 

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Because it’s Emily Blunt… that’s why! 

 

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Florence Welch because dream encounters with this one are truly evolved.  

Hamish Bowles Met Gala 2019

Because if André Leon Tally could not make it; someone had to show the children how camp is done.  Go ahead, Hamish Bowles.  

 

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When camp meets art, along comes Janelle Morae!  

 

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Diane von Furstenberg… staying power and then some.  

 

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Kate Moss… not exactly camp but then again…

 

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Katie Holmes… some ladies never do camp.  

 

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If only passingly so but there is something about Jared Leto that reminds me of Merlin and the few dream encounters with him would at the very least suggest that he may be a cadre mate of ours.  

 

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Who cares if it works or not, Katy Perry is back with Orlando Bloom and that’s all that matters.  

 

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J-Lo and the best accessory that anyone could hope for A-Rod.  

 

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The Queen slaying as only a queen can.  

Lewis Hamilton Met Gala 2019

Lewis Hamilton: I don’t know about camp but he should by now have been knighted.  

Salma Hayek Met Gala 2019

Salma Hayek is in the house… that’s who!  

 

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Priyanka Chopra & Nick Jonas; it is fairly obvious that if you attended one of the two royal weddings in 2018 at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, you would most likely end up being invited this year to the Met Gala.  Priyanka looked much better in years past.  

 

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Serena Williams & Alexis Ohanian became a power couple for walking the cobbled red carpet down to the lower ward at Windsor Castle’s St. George Chapel in May 2018 at the wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex.  

 

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Camp?  Cool and Sophisticated Zoe Saldana definitely is.  

 

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Nothing screams camp like Lupita Nyongo’s gold afro picks.  

 

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Zendaya takes Disney into the realms of camp!  

 

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There is something definitely camp about being goddamn illiterate… Just look at Tiffany Haddish announcing the 2018 Oscar nominations.  

 

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There ain’t nothin’ camp about Kylie and Kendall Jenner coming through being fierce.  

 

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Penelope Cruz in Chanel…. yes please!  

 

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Ciara in fishtail, glam afro and all that fierce attitude… Lord Jesus!  

 

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Billy Porter showing the children how you do camp.  Goodness, I am reminded of so many beautiful souls from NYC in the 80s, who are no longer with us.  Camp never looked more fierce!  

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Thanks so much for your ongoing support.  Sweet dreams, push off and start flying and buy my dream filled memoirs…. I love you more!  

 

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

At Last, The Day Has Finally Arrived.

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With a spring in my step, I came up for air at Piccadilly Circus Station, whistling Ludwig Minkus’ glorious recurrent melody from La Bayadère with thoughts of the astounding Natalia Osipova uppermost in my thoughts.  

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I was returned to the Royal Academy to hunt for coffee table books.  

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More than that, I was on a mission; returned to Fortnum & Mason was I, directed there by the gracious clerk at The British Museum’s Grenville Room.  

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Armed with just over a dozen rose petal jellies, there was no less spring in my step as by now I sang aloud my merry little melody from La Bayadère.  I truly felt as though, on this trip to London, I was lucidly awakened in the most sensual dream.  Dreams so luscious are the ones which cause you to pause, smile and whisper near-mischievously, “Arvin, this is a dream and you’ve earned it.  Now push off and start flying.” 

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At such times, there is no thunder more glorious than the roar of my very soul as I laugh, enjoying my creative soul fulfilling itself.  I was reminded of those early days in our relationship in Manhattan when whilst ambling late at night for staying at Merlin’s agent Joyce Ketay’s Upper West Side apartment, whilst holding hands, I would push down as in dreams but end up doing an assemblé, in place of flying.  His rosy choirboy lips would warm in a smile whilst the ubiquitous fag or joint was elegantly perched between left index and middle fingers. 

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Bailing into to Piccadilly Circus, still feeling mighty spiffy of spirit, I opted against heading back down into the Underground – the place leaves me with sooty phlegm each time nose-blowing.  With that, I bailed out of the Circus and onto Shaftesbury Avenue and made my way to a favourite joint, Ben’s Fish n Chips.  

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There at a cosy table in the rear, I leisurely pleasured myself whilst finally reading the HRH Princess Margaret biography; it is delicious.  

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Blisters be damned, I elected to walk from Shaftesbury Square up to The British Museum and take in more art.  This being a Friday, there were school kids everywhere; my goodness, children have got powerful noise-making lungs!  Then again, what is childhood but play for the soul, which after having recently lived and died is now reborn and gets to celebrate and run up and down in a brand spankingly new and excitingly different body – to say nothing of being in the company of reincarnational travel companions some of whom now you can get a good schtup off of this time around, seeing that last time he now she looked like Quasimodo and even so, you weren’t then same-sexed focussed.  Ha!  

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In the bookstore was a clerk with whom I shared an interesting conversation last winter; he was a dead-ringer for scholar soul, right down to the glasses.  He suggested that I could take refuge in the Japanese wing and avoid the madness that was happily reincarnated souls screaming their lungs out and running hither and yon.  

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Before I could get there, moving around one corner from one gallery to the next, will you look at what I happened on.  

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On seeing it, I was readily warmed of spirit and let out a celebratory, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”  In that moment, the sense of fellowship and belonging I only ever feel when in Canada for being around First Nations cultures, whether at a pow wow or not, proved the most refreshing drink for my questing soul around a corner in my favourite city, London.  

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Up one elevator, down one corridor then up another elevator and one was then posited into the most serene of galleries.  Now this is more my kind of groove.  

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All this exquisite splendour and not a single recently reincarnated soul running about and screaming way too powerful lungs out for such a tiny body.  

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This proved an interlude of slow-dancing with my very soul… the vibrations here were utterly harmonious with spirit.  

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Photography can never do this masterpiece justice.  

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I am reminded with this gem of the fabulous kimono of Merlin’s hung in our Cabbagetown home.  

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Can you hear my soul purring…

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Phenomenal. 

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My very favourite piece in the gallery; warm, fecund, sensual, curvaceous, feminine, grounding.  It truly is perfection; this after all is what womakind are: perfection of creation – we men just can’t handle it, hence religions which all without exception oppress womankind and tell them that creation is outside of themselves and some warring male god somewhere.  Ha… we men can never endure the pain of labour then get up a completely new aspect of creaturehood – no longer a woman but a mother to whom that child will ever be more closely bonded.  Love this piece.  

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This was the most beautiful adventure… for now, with a couple of coffee table books and toys for kids of a friend’s, I crisscrossed Russell Square Park and slept with my blistered feet raised whilst being held closer in sleep’s warm nurturing bosom and was readily tugged under into the world of lucid, inspired dreams.  

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On a gloriously balmy mid-November evening, I emerged from Covent Garden Station into a sea of humanity filled with love and laughter as the weekend was begun.  As lovers ambled past holding hands, I was reminded then of my life twenty-nine years earlier when the Berlin Wall was being toppled.  I was grateful in the moment because back then, two days before Merlin’s passing, I could not imagine myself being still focussed in this life with so much death and dying around me. 

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Yet, here was I with my happy little lambious (Merlin called me Lamb because I was more 9 parts enraged grizzly than timid lamb) self, in Covent Garden about to see a ballet because Marianela Nuñez, Natalia Osipova, Vadim Muntagirov, Matthew Ball, Francesca Hayward, Joseph Sissens, Steven McCrae, Iana Salenko were part of the most glorious group of ballet dancers.  

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Oh my, look at this; there have been changes afoot since last winter.  

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My pilgrimage to the shrine of high art is finally here!  What’s this, new coat check, new toilets, new dining area… wow! 

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No sooner than was I sat and along came a Jurassic hybrid, no chin, back so long may well have extra vertebrae and a neck that is too thick and long to be on a woman’s body but I am not judging just saying,.. 

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Well I did not cross the Atlantic just for this obstruction and her pheromone were decidedly reptilian.  As Frederick Jones would say, “I’m not havin’ it!” After a few gracious words with the accommodating ushers, my offer to stand through the entire performance seemed reasonable enough. 

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I stood on the steps up to the last row that was more centre of house than my ticket.  I did my best to ignore the chinless spinster who sat at the edge of the row, who promptly repositioned her handbag, as if it were a blasted Birkin!  Naturally, she kept eyeing me.  As I always carry Shaniqua in my back pocket, I was ready to hiss, the minute she stepped out of line.  

During the performance after the Bronze Idol danced his spectacular solo, I lost myself and yelled the loudest bravo in the house and wouldn’t the old bat have something to say, “Be quiet!” to which I leaned in and hissed, “grip harder on your butt plug and shut the fuck up!” Why do people insist on leaving their homes and act as though they are lord or lady of anyone else’s reality.  

Never mind her, the lovely Russian couple who sat in the front row looked back and approvingly yelled “Da!” at my exuberance.  Truly, what a glorious night in the theatre.  You cannot possibly begin to fathom the amount of flying dreams I have had since that night; it is as though, I perpetually am now flying-without-moving.  Of course, I haven’t yet shaken that exquisite Minkus melody from my lips but so be it.  There was something simply transcendent about having experienced the purity and perfection of the Kingdom of the Shades opening of Act III that will ever keep me richly inspired.  

Love is all and whatever it is that makes you want to fly without moving when awake grab on and tightly hold on – drugs don’t do it, they do you!  As ever, come closer let’s have a group hug and a bit of air frottage because life, alas, is the sweetest of dreams!  

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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.

Prosecuting the Past whilst at the Deathscape.

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Since having shared these dreams two years ago, I have been corrected by an authentic Michael Channeller as to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’ true role in essence; she is a young soul sage rather than young soul king – her first husband, John F. Kennedy was a young soul king and he was reborn to an aristocratic family in France and I do believe reborn male.  Contrary to the word on the faux-Michael ether, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis – whom I encountered one glorious summer afternoon in 1983 after ballet class at Harkness House with David Peregrine and his lovely sweetheart and former classmate, Jackie Sloane – who both perished in the Canadian Rockies when he piloted some years later in 1989, Ms. Kennedy Onassis vibrationally seemed every bit the king soul.  Alas, that may well have been her well-fortified social persona and false personality then experienced.  Of course, it was at Harkness House where Rebekah Harkness’ cremains perpetually rotated in a golden urn designed by master surrealist himself, Salvador Dali.  

Since these dreams were shared, I have elected to have channelled the overleaves of the following persons: Salvador Dali and Maria Callas.  Too, I am adding here, Frederick Hinneault’s overleaves, though, they have been previously shared in this blog.  Frederick was a the most glorious Cree feather dancer who introduced me to the world of powwows in June 1994.  I met Frederick after having had the most lucidly awakened flying dream to a past-life whereat I witnessed a young shaman coming of age during initiation ceremonies.  Well, you can just bet that after so high a spiritual dream experience, I chose to do no such thing as time-waste in the presence of dense-energied, somnambulant and decidedly spiritually unsophisticated coworkers.  So off I went to Club Vancouver bathhouse on West Pender Street where there I met the genuine article, Frederick.  After having made a sweat lodge of his tiny room, we spent the rest of the summer holding hands and travelling about B.C. Alberta and Washington.  Firstly, though, he took me to a lookout point high above the Cypress Bowl lookout where in a bath of cloud-untrammelled sunlight, we laid naked side by side in the long grass, holding hands and he got out his whistle that called a majestic eagle; this was one of the most magical experiences of this incarnation.  

Frederick, at the time, was full blown with AIDS.  What was most revolutionary was being in the company of two-spirits.  This was the first time being in the company of Gays who were not possessed of racially predatory animus.  That first weekend, just past 1994’s summer solstice was my true arrival and connection with Canada and what she represents.  I finally felt no longer as an outsider.  I will always have the greatest respect for all First Nations peoples from Baffin Island to Patagonia.  

These were truly operatic dreams, drink anew of my chalice and may you, satiated and inspired, slip into lucidly awakened dreamquests of your own.  You’ve a wealth of knowledge and beauty which passively lie awaiting your inner focus deep within the aqueous folds of self.  

Sweet dreams you… ever, we will be kindred spirits – you and me – sharing this magical quest of self-discovery, self-actualisation and self-empowerment.  I am honoured by your continued support and for that, I love you more!  (August 2016)

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These next dreams occurred two days apart and dealt with the same individual.  I have recently written of her and shared a dream of her, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  At the time of these dreams, which are currently being chronologically transcribed, Mrs. Kennedy Onassis was a recent astral plane habituée. 

As such, these dreams – and the last in particular – vicariously gave insights to her deathscape on becoming an arrivée astral plane habituée.  I dream it, I share it and pass no judgment on either self or the subject(s) of any dream ever had. 

As with all astral plane-focussed dreams, these were rather intense experiences.  Especially so was the fourth and final dream of the second day of dreams shared herein. 

The first dream was the only dream that day and it sets the mood for the nature of the second dream to come of Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis.  That dream occurred two days later and was more thorough and insightful.  At the time of the first dream, it was Saturday, July 9, 1994 and the Moon then transited both Cancer and my second house. 

Two days later, Monday, July 11, 1994, there were four dreams and as on the July 9, 1994, the fourth and final dream that day focussed on the deathscape for the arrivée astral plane habituée, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  As is her wont, Luna had beguilingly slipped from Cancer to Leo and correspondingly from my second to third houses. 

The final was an intensely volatile dream that was all about emotionality and karmic dross.  Having passed near two months earlier, though I was not much-focussed on her life in the waking state, it is not surprising that one would vicariously tune in to the deathscape goings-on of one the century’s most iconic figures, Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis. 

Sweet dreams as ever.  Rather than the standard one photograph per dream entry to this blog, the break between both days’ dreams will be a second photograph. 

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I was, in this the first dream, in a park like New York City’s Central Park with Pandora da Braga on my right.  From across the vast plain came a large steed from a low, heavy mist atop a knoll.

Here the light was rather diffused and potent.  The horse was a possessed powerful creature.  Rapt in focussed canter, it barrelled across the green grass towards us.

Atop it rode a large-boned woman who was a fierce warrior-spirited individual.  She turned out, no less, to have been Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

She rode in traditional riding gear: black cap, white riding breeches and black riding boots, all of which was topped off by a red riding jacket.  Her gloves were short and made of thick black leather.

This woman was arrestingly powerful.

Pandora and I were stunned into silence.  All the shrubs wore various-sized beautiful white blooms that simply zinged with life.

All was ordered and serene here and it clearly was a reflection of this woman’s afterlife passage – the deathscape.  The Earth simply quaked beneath the power and grandeur of both she and the steed.

I mentioned to Pandora, after she had ridden past, that I had seen her, back in the early 1980s, on two occasions in the Manhattan.  She was, to be sure, a very robust, dominance-goaled kind of person.

Hers was a very powerful warrior-energied complex.

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Diva - Maria Callas

Whilst speaking with a man, in this the first dream, I assured him that I could never bed Aaron Wookay because of his pheromones – body odour.

I do believe that it was, in fact, Aaron Wookay with whom I had been speaking at the time and made the slip of saying what I had.  There was certainly a glaringly pregnant pause at the end of it all.

As we spoke, in the middle of the late-afternoon street, a very tall warrior-spirited Karl Weller walked past with a guy on his left.  He was dressed all in black clothes and as I sped up after him, I said aloud to my companion,

“Now there is a man that I could bed…”

I intimated that I had already had an encounter with him in the waking state.  This was in fact true.  I then got him into a black limousine and together we headed for my place.

En route there, at nighttime, we stopped outside a Dairy Queen.  The store was tiny and right at the corner of one of the city’s intersections.  Getting out, on the left side of the car, I went inside where I ordered large slices of a white cheesecake with soft ice cream.

When I returned to the limousine, he was immediately in bed lying on his back on some blankets.  He took a bite of the food and, at that point, I began groaning.

His entire body then lapsed into an adrenalin quake as he had his first all-out experience.  He was full of nerves and caution.  Wanting to leave, Karl Weller then hurriedly got up; I was quite disappointed.

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In this the second dream, Isha da Braga insisted that I deposit some cash – 10$ or 12$ – into her account because I had owed her as much.  I was really pissed off because I knew that I had already paid her whatever monies that I had owed her.

En route to the bank, I stopped off at her condo to which I had a pair of keys.  Slowly, I stirred the pot of stew that she had started before heading to work.  The stew simmered on a low fire.

Soon, I encountered Pandora da Braga who also needed cash.  I then became an issue of how to move around cash, via cheques, from one or more of my little-funded accounts to get to float until the next payday.

With that, I headed off to the bank to begin my unscrupulous activity.

*This is something that I have never attempted and would never think to attempt in the waking state.  Why?

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Soon, in this the third dream, I got sidetracked.  I went off and had a hot encounter with a guy whom I now think was Frederick Hinneault.  We were, in an old building, writhing away on a table.

Splayed and utterly contorted, we were going at each other like there was no tomorrow.  Too, it was also hard to tell just who was fucking whom.

A tall Black security guard, whilst on duty, happened on us.  Pretty soon, he interrupted us and joined in when he oughtn’t to have done so.  He took off his thick, brown leather belt and began beating me with it.

I was truly incensed and let him know that I could damn well file suit against him for having struck me.  After all, it was not a part of his duties to have done so.

He was surprised at my response.  Seemingly, he was a novice in his crisp, brand new khaki uniform and hat.  He was rather handsome a fellow.  Nonetheless, I was still upset with him.

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I would, whilst focussed in this the fourth dream, have an encounter with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  At the time, I was going along a corridor in a palatial residence.  Seemingly, this was an eighteenth century château.

Whilst she was dressed in clothing that was late 1950s-60s, A-line conservative and nothing flashy, I walked after Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis.  There were several other persons about.  Impatient, she was not at all in a very good mood.

Rushing back, I went to the off-white blue hallways to the other wing.  We were two to three storeys aboveground.  There, I saw a dark-haired, strong-featured woman and intuitively knew her to be Maria Callas.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Maria Callas were in the midst of a nasty feud.  Conversely, it turned out that to get her attention I would have to quickly act.

Pulling out a shotgun, I shot into the ceiling in order to wrestle her attention.  The gunfire stunned Maria Callas; at that point, I then bolted and went back to be with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

Coming to her aid, I held Mrs. Kennedy-Onassis by the forearms as she was slumped in a chair.  She had been truly traumatised by the gunshot going off so close to her.

In light of what she had endured on November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas, her reaction was not surprising.  This soon served as a glimpse into who had really killed whom.

From what I learnt here, it turned out that not only did Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis get rid of Christina Onassis and Marilyn Monroe, she also used occult means to get rid of Maria Callas by way of literally bewitching Aristotle Onassis.

I was being told this by a voice which I heard speaking to me.  Interestingly enough, the voice sounded like a gruffer version of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’s famous breathy register.

This insight was all being telepathically shared with me.  However, this house was definitely on the astral plane in which Maria Callas was confronting Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  As it were, both astral plane habitués were prosecuting their relations in their respective immediate past lives.

There was no getting around the fact that Maria Callas had the upper hand here.  There was a sense that, try as she might, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis simply could not get out of this confrontational drama; it was, as it were, fated based on who owed whom karma.

Maria Callas was truly operatic.  Not the kind of person that one would want to have as a foe was she.  For having predeceased Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis as well as Aristotle Onassis, there seemingly was much that she knew of what really happened whilst she was alive.

This woman, Maria Callas, was truly operatic.  Her rage was such that she seemed to create an emotional tornado.  Even when she spoke, her voice operatically boomed.

This was drama that was supra-Wagnerian.  The palatial, soothing blue-interiored dwelling’s walls violently quaked as Maria Callas fumed and berated Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis from her wing of the château.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis looked extremely spent, haggard and aged; she had been completely vanquished by Maria Callas’ rage.  If these karmic debts had really been incurred by Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, it then stands to reason that on reflecting on her just-concluded life, there would be some degree of remorse and inner pain as part of her deathscape on becoming an arrivée astral plane habituée.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was deeply troubled here.  Though she was every bit the lady in her own right, for having been wronged, there was a great impactful power that Maria Callas exhibited for having been wronged.

The whole affair had karmically left her completely in a funk.  All of these done-in women were strong-willed individuals who had, in some way, posed a threat to her sense of self.

Not only did she not suffer fools gladly but from the evidence here, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis did not suffer threats to her power in any way.  Once so threatened, her only response was shrewd and calculating.

They were simply removed from the environment – struck down.  For Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, with a Scorpio rising, it was all too possible that this sort of tactic would have been deemed a viable and appropriate response to such a threat.

Here in the dreamtime, for being alone with her, I came to understand what would have motivated her to have taken such actions.  This was the only way to stake her claim on history and not just near history but millennial history.

At all costs, a statuesque stalwart of power and regal dignity, she had to survive to the end.  To have been respectively displaced or denied by Marilyn Monroe or Maria Callas would have eclipsed her and made her but a footnote in history.

This is how she saw it.  Christina Onassis did nothing but try to have her displaced and dishonoured by way of a divorce; this, too, could not be suffered.  She won.  In all things, she won.

As that dream on July 9, 1994 attested, she was the born warrior-spirited leader who was never felled in battle.  Victorious to the end was ever her approach.

Indeed, coming through the mist of time, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis will transcend Time for several millennial as one of the most pre-eminent leaders of the 20th century and not merely just an iconic woman.

Into the future and legend she will forever ride a valiant steed, though a dark one, a figure of power, strength and dignity.  Indeed, a bloody-talonned warrior this one.

Leaving her, I went running back through the halls saying that I had to get to the ministerial offices.  I wanted to get there at once, in order that the records may historically be set straight.

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Photo credits: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis fox hunting in Virginia.

Opera diva, Maria Callas.

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© 2014-2020 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Les Femmes d’Alger (Version “O”).

Picasso

Oil on Canvas

114 x 146.4 cm

© February 14, 1955

Pablo Picasso

Speculative Provenance: Likely the Al-Thani family.  I would like to think that Sheikha Al Mayassa Al-Thani has acquired this masterpiece for her family’s burgeoning collection.  Possibly the most powerful woman in art today; she also happens to be the daughter of the most stylish woman on the planet at present, Sheikha Mozah bint Nasser Al-Missned!

Sold today, May 11, 2015 – which would have been my mother, Harella da Braga’s 95th birthday – she is now reincarnated, having died in August 1980 in Toronto, in London, England is male biracial (Caucasian/East Indian) upper middle class – in New York City for 179$m!

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