Why No Spencer Colouring?

More and more, the hideous burrowing larvae at this rotten artichoke’s core becomes exposed. Respect is earned and never a birthright. When incarnate anywhere in the physical universe, the most important asset to possess, is intellect. So you don’t like blacks, and who pray tell are you to the people for whom Jazz is culture, high art and everything?

So never mind Archie’s skin colour; what about his hair colour? All along the Sussexes have cleverly hidden from view Archie’s hair colour, indeed his true identity; he was photographed being returned home from preschool, wearing a large toque. Also, at Christmas 2019, he was photographed with his proud pa whilst on Vancouver Island, wearing a toque to coverup his flaming Spencer mop. He was filmed on Oprah Winfrey’s interview with his parents in a manner such that much of the colour was edited from the film, making it appear as if filmed in black and white.

Royal fans expressed their annoyance over not seeing Archie's face again after Meghan Markle and Prince Harry released a new picture of their son to celebrate his second birthday (pictured) in May this year
This photo of a pregnant Meghan in March 2021, was another example of when the Duke and Duchess of Sussex decided to not show Archie's face to the public
Last year, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex opted to share an illustrated Christmas card - leading to some disappointed fans calling for the couple to show Archie¿s face (pictured)
However, in 2019, the couple appeared more than happy to show their son's face, making it centre stage in their festive greetings image
On his mental health series The Me You Can't See, co-created with Oprah Winfrey, Harry showed several new images of his two-year-old son, seemingly showing his front
While on Ellen, Meghan decided to share one showing Archie's back
Prince Harry and Archie pictured in Canada in 2019. The Duke and Duchess of Sussex's son's face can be clearly seen in the photograph, shared in an end-of-year review by the couple in a 2019 clip
Prince Harry (pictured) has once again showed how well he's embracing his relaxed LA lifestyle by going barefoot in a trendy Christmas photoshoot
Heavily pregnant Meghan Markle pictured taking son Archie to school (photos)

Last Christmas’s card was an illustration where the colour was a smeared auburn. Archie was filmed in sepia holding ballons which yet again, left his identity ambiguous. Then after having dropped the race bomb on the Oprah Winfrey interview, Archie’s shock of red hair is finally revealed. Just as Meghan executed the most elegant display of controlled anger, during which time in her sit-down interview with Oprah Winfrey, she never once mentioned Prince William, she went one further and subtly taunted Prince William by having HSH Prince Alex Lubomirski reveal to the world Archie’s true ‘colour’.

George Edmund McCorquodale - Genealogy
Meet Prince Harry's cousin Louis Spencer - the man who will inherit Diana's  childhood home - Mirror Online

Not only does Archie have the Spencer redhead gene – like his cousins George McCorquodale and Louis Spencer Viscount Althorp – but unlike William and his three offspring, Charlotte having the same hairline and forehead as her uncle King Felipe VI’s two daughters, Charlotte unlike Archie is not a redhead. Archie’s freckled mother, Meghan Duchess of Sussex, has the redhead gene as well as his father; and both Archie’s maternal grandparents are likely carriers of the redhead gene.

William being the obvious Bourbon lovechild that he is, only has the Spencer redhead gene; he did not inherit said gene from his father, King Juan Carlos of Spain – notice King Felipe VI and his offspring do not manifest the redhead gene. Sadly, William’s bullying, emasculating wife, Catherine, does not have the redhead gene to pass on. So in the end, Archie by being born, further revealed William for the Bourbon lovechild that he is.

Just look at all this staged tomfuckery, passing for good old-fashioned, wholesome family togetherness…. mon blasted cul!

There’s a “good person” alright.

Indeed, on recently watching the Oprah Interview during the holidays, I realised that by conspicuously never once mentioning William, Meghan thereby outed him. Elegantly, Meghan unmasked Catherine for the monster that she is by clearing up the lies of just who made who cried. Of course, it was Catherine, she of the 9 energy body with a task companion husband, William, who has a 9 attitude – toxic specimens to the core.

Sarah Ferguson reveals who really invited her to Prince Harry and Meghan  Markle's wedding | HELLO!

The tabloid medium vilification of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, speaks to William’s grudging, petty, malicious nature. At the time of William’s wedding April 29, 2011, the media spun the story that Sarah, Duchess of York was not invited to William’s marriage to Catherine because HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh did not speak to Sarah and did not want her present. Seven years later, HRH Prince Philip was still alive, yet Sarah, Duchess of York attended Harry’s marriage to Meghan because Harry wanted Sarah present; it was after all his wedding and not HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh’s. Of course, if now what we know of Andrew, Duke of York’s sexual proclivities and legal troubles were then rumoured, William damn well would have seen fit not to have Andrew attend his wedding in April, 2011.

Princess Beatrice and Dave Clark out in London. | Princess Beatrice and  Princess Eugenie Have a Night Celebrating a Very Different Queen! |  POPSUGAR Celebrity Photo 8
Did Queen Elizabeth Forbid Prince Harry From Marrying Long-Term Girlfriend Chelsy  Davy?

It was William who told American, Dave Clark that he did not approve of him and would not be permitted to wed, HRH Princess Beatrice of York. Indeed, conveniently enough, as he wished not to be overshadowed at his wedding by Harry, Chelsey Davy was told to get lost. Indeed, she could attend the wedding, just not as the fiancée of Harry’s. This is how controlling and petty William is… indeed, how all 9s are. All true to his numerology and second number of 9, his mindset, William is snobbish, prejudiced, interfering and obstinate.

The Middleton family showed their support for the Duchess of Cambridge this afternoon as they arrived to watch her host a Christmas carol service at Westminster Abbey
Pippa Middleton Wedding: Spencer Matthews with William and Harry |  PEOPLE.com

In another of William’s moves, there was Pippa Matthews at 2021’s Carol Service at Westminster Abbey; however, she was not accompanied by her spouse James Matthews. William would never want him there, since Matthews senior, David, is legally accused of sexual assault, involving a minor, in France. To say the least, it was also obvious that William has never suffered his wife’s brother-in-law, Spencer Matthews as he was flatly dismissed at Pippa’s wedding to Spencer’s brother Matthew in 2017.

Jamaican- British author Lady Colin Campbell, 72, was briefly married to Lord Colin Campbell - the son of Ian Campbell, who was married to Margaret
Meghan Markle 'did not contact father for his 76th birthday', claims  half-brother - Mirror Online
Piers Morgan Cleared for Criticizing Meghan After Oprah Interview - The New  York Times
The Queen and the royal family have a reason to celebrate! | HELLO!
Mrs. Kingston, Lord Frederick Windsor (9 & William confidant), Princess & Prince (9) Michael of Kent.

True to form, William has used an arsenal of fellow 9s to do his dirty work of sabotaging and bullying Meghan out of the picture. Little did the Bourbon dolt know against whom he was dealing. From Lady Colin Campbell, HRH Princess Michael of Kent, Piers Morgan and Thomas Markle Sr., they all did his dirty work whilst he hid, like the wizard of Oz not too well, out of view. Without doubt, they have all been sanctioned by William, in his obsessive animus towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, as they are all possessed of 9 (save Princess Michael of Kent) as are he and Catherine. Everyone of these nines, like all nines, are the most blasted conceited boors imaginable. Quelle fuck-all joie indeed. Good god, who in their right mind but a toxic 9 energy body (just like Catherine) like Thomas Markle Sr. would be obsessed with sabotaging and slandering their own child? Remind me again when Doria Ragland was out vilifying her own blood. Everyone of these people, Thomas, Lady Colin – that blasted big-handed, dick-tucking, Trenchtown jaggabat, Piers Morgan, both princely Kent males et al, are merely manifestations of both William and Catherine’s well-guarded true nature in all their 9 toxicity.

Chief weapon in William’s arsenal is the listless, inarticulate, talentless, gurning, hyper-competitive ghoul, who will stop at nothing to try and outdo Meghan, especially since Meghan so elegantly outed her by stating that, she is a “good person” (ha), as in William most certainly the fuck is not. Stay tuned, like all racially predatory, obsessed-with-blacks white females, look for Catherine next year to release a Jazz album… Lawd Jesus! Of course, this little mad turn of hers, even more risible than Diana, Princess of Wales’s dance with Wayne Sleep, had been pre-taped because god only knows, there must have been 2 million and 9 takes to get the blithering off-key errors edited and enough gurning captured. This staged bit of madness only deftly illustrates how utterly small-time Catherine truly is, to say nothing of shit-disturbing, petty and sabotaging. So, Catherine, you lamely banged on a keyboard, well, so too my dear could Michael Jackson’s chimpanzee, Bubbles, who also gurned throughout.

HM The Queen tells off Prince William.

Of course, as the BBC currently is at war with William and Catherine, trust royal correspondent, Nicholas Witchell to take a swipe at William as HM The Queen does not let slip the opportunity to tell off William as they were gathered last year at Windsor Castle. This was a report by Mr. Witchell on Christmas Eve 2021, which included at the 01:19 mark an outtake from HM The Queen and family on the steps at Windsor Castle during Christmas 2020. At the time, last Christmas, this was not aired; however, if you are going to come out and act as though you are already sovereign, the BBC is swiftly going to put you in your place as damn well they ought to.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 50955911-10241995-Prince_William_looked_in_good_spirits_as_he_enjoyed_a_night_out_-a-15_1637837089080.jpg

Naturally, the unflattering clip, which brazenly lays bare HM The Queen’s dismissive rage at that damn incompetent fool Bourbon dolt, was beautifully edited and immediately followed by a glowing review of the Sussexes’ Christmas card for 2021, which was released the day prior as was their card for 2020 also released on December 23. With 2 & 5 in William’s numerology, sooner or later infamy and dark secrets of a sexual nature will be whispered about; however, as with BBC’s interview with an implicated Prince Andrew, the BBC will not think twice to ruthlessly go after William.

Prince Philip's coffin lowered into Royal Vault in never-before-seen TV  moment - Mirror Online

That’s right William and Catherine, you may control the narrative vilification and slander of Meghan through the sleazy tabloids; however, you will never win in war against the BBC – they are real journalists, who will not think twice, just like HM The Queen to put you in your damn conceited place. Sooner or later, William’s body will be lowered through the floor at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. Starting that day, history, which is callously unforgiving, will cease being sparing with the truth of just who this stubborn, controlling, pernicious, interfering and petty human, William, was.

Meghan and Harry in new royal split from William and Kate | Metro News

There was William sat such that he could have an unobstructed, hawkishly predatory view of Meghan so that later, back at Kensington Palace, he could lace into her about every blasted thing that she said and did as a mature scholar soul with a chief feature of stubbornness and an attitude of 9 can be expected to do. Naturally, it is precisely because of William’s volatile toxicity why Meghan made it perfectly clear to Harry that they were going to have to move to Frogmore Cottage rather than live next-door to the perpetually rowing Cambridges with their toxic 9 numerology.

If equally self-toxic Catherine can’t stand William, why indeed should the Sussexes have moved in next-door to them at Kensington Palace, let alone remain in the kingdom when HM The Queen does not have another 20 to 40 years on the throne.

Provoked, the BBC will not pussyfoot in a fight with William. Respect is earned and with no discernible intellect, you can bet your bottom dollar that the BBC will not be threatened by a bully to say not of a damn fool. Sycophants do not abound at the BBC. As royals happen to be human, the BBC is keenly aware that William too shall pass and as such is no threat to the fourth estate, of which the tabloid media are not members.

Blind with prejudice of a people, how can a fool ever be expected to perceive the beauty of all humanity. Go on, sit there openly ridiculing before the entire world and time itself a very people, you damn Bourbon fool; history is never kind to those who know nothing of truth. Jazz is the very essence of a people about whom you know nothing and can never be expected to perceive their humanity.

Diana-Princess-of-Wales-Nelson Shanks 1994 oil on canvas

I share here the above dream, which was dreamt in July 1997 of Diana, Princess of Wales. It was the eve of my move from Vancouver to Montréal and a month before Diana’s tragic death. At the time of the dream, which was set on the astral plane, Diana was clearly resigned to her fate. Also, as is obvious from her concerns for William’s safety in the dream, as she was imminently about to pass, Diana was worried that anything should happen to her firstborn, William. Naturally, if Charles were not William’s father, there was a real danger that Diana’s firstborn could altogether be removed from the picture. The moment, mere weeks later, that I heard of Diana’s car crash, I knew that she would perish; I knew then the meaning of the above dream.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 50955911-10241995-Prince_William_looked_in_good_spirits_as_he_enjoyed_a_night_out_-a-15_1637837089080.jpg

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

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©2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

The Prophet/Seer of Philae.

temple_of_isis river nile

These next dreams were rather lucidly focussed on the astral plane.  Clearly, it is safe to say that I had straddled the spiral arms of time and visited a past-life milieu and encountered a most fascinating individual. 

I don’t for a nanosecond think that this man was a past incarnation of mine.  However, his skills as dreamquester were truly phenomenal. 

Too, I think that it is safe to say that he had been tuning in to one of many Lunar rovers currently on the Moon.  This was an immensely insightful dream. 

At the time, I was recently habituated in Montréal and the dreams were had the day after the morning after my first birthday celebrations in Montréal where I passed the night in a hot ménage-à-trois with Eric Dubois†: a second old soul scholar in acceptance – yum zum and Jean-Yves de Gamache†: a first mature artisan with icky internally abrasive overleaves and a martial arts expert – run!   Sensuality and acrobatics made for a memorable combo that night. 

Thus whilst sexually spent but grounded, the Moon traipsed through Leo and my third house on Sunday, August 3, 1997.  The dreams were readily audiocassette-recorded on tape two hundred and thirty-three and are to be yet found in Volume XXIII of my XXV volume dream opus. 

As ever, thanks so much for your patronage of this groovy utterly unique wordpress joint…  Spread the word and love. 

Sweet dreams and don’t forget to push off and start flying.  I love you more. 

____________________________

Apollo 15 Lunar Rover

At night-time, in this the first dream, I saw a large book which was channelled insights along the lines of Michael – the causal plane-channelled entity.  The last paragraph on the left page dealt with the true historicity of Earth.

There was a visionary who was able to crack the code from seven thousand years ago.  He was extant in 5000 BCE.  He was able to cast light on something which had a date from the 20th century.

His was a revolutionary discovery as it was about something connected to the Moon or another of the planets.  Perhaps, this had to do with the Pathfinder gear on Mars.

He was able to do this, for looking intently at the planet, by picking up information that transcended time.  I, for one, was somewhat at a loss as the planet in question was quite intensely blue-white.

Perhaps, this is how the Moon looked back then… who knows.  Indeed, perhaps, the Moon was once a water world unto itself.

Too, maybe the post-industrial revolution age had caused a distortion in Earth’s upper atmosphere that created a vastly different appearance of the Moon.  Perhaps, Mars did look this way as recently as 50,000 years ago but that this was being distorted in the channelling to indicate 5000 years.

This was the hazards of channelled data no doubt.

*Although, with the recent findings on Mars, it is very likely that the time in question was really five thousand years ago.  The recent discoveries point to Mars having been, in recent times, a water world.

Further, since the Temple of Isis was built by the Ptolemies it is safe to assume that this likely occurred during 500-50BCE rather than 5000BCE.  END.

However, the planet in question did though look very much so like the full Moon.  He was able to hone in on the planet when full and use his exceptional visionary skills to ‘see’ things across time.

I thought from his magnetic personality that this man was undoubtedly a priest soul.  When ‘seeing,’ he could move forwards and backwards in time.

For so doing, he was able to pick up on something on the planet which had a date inscribed on it.  The object was some sort of machinery.

In great detail, he had described the vehicle which was in essence a lunar module rover.  The date ascribed to it was from the 1970s.

The description was truly phenomenal.  What was interesting about it all was that for being an habitué of the 20th century myself, I knew that his channelling was accurate.

He was seeing something that would have been left on the Moon between 1969 and 1973.  Clearly, he was on.

This man was quite revered during his age.  To him, it meant that on ‘that world’ it was the year nineteen seventy-something.

This to him meant that it was an advanced age.  This, however, led to the concept that all time is simultaneous.

All that one had to do, to ‘see’ into and through time, was get into the right expansive state of mind.  For that reason, I wondered what it would be like to see 1900 years into both the future and past of time from the present age.

This would, of course, have been possible using the high psychic shamanic skills that the visionary used.  As I thought this, the last paragraph of the left page suddenly came to life.

The page bled intense pure white light.  Soon, I was up on a plateau looking down at either the temple of Queen Hatsheput or the massive temple erected by Pharaoh Ramses II.

Needless to say, it did look as it did during the life of the great visionary.  This man was truly shamanic and, of course, also a dream master.

The structure was in much better shape than at present.  There was a prediction, soon after my arrival here, of a massive earthquake that would unearth one of the greatest finds in history.

This find would cast light on the true heritage of the so-called ‘red-skinned Egyptians’.  With that, there was then great activity.

Looking below, some three hundred feet or more, I saw the earth as a massive quake occurred.  By this point, I had been hovering in the air above the plateau whilst the prediction was being made.

For that reason, I was not affected by the massive earthquake.  The steps of the shrine and much of its façade explosively crumbled.

From the earth bled blinding white light as on the page, earlier, as things became actualised.  Then a great warrior in full archetypal battle gear rescued a tiny dark stone.

The stone was a sculpture which looked as though made from no stone ever seen before on Earth.  I intently listened as the stone was said to be a statue of Isis.

Then it was mentioned, by the seer, that all past totems attributed to her were incorrect.  This little bird was like a tiny falcon or eagle.

The iconic statue was then victoriously held aloft by the priestly archetypal warrior.  The seer then announced that with its release, all the years of bondage would end.

With that, I began reciting the Egyptian names in their true tongue which sounded distinctively African.  This I did whilst the black stone totemic bird was raised aloft by the warrior-priest.

Soon after, it was released by the warrior-priest and came to life as it was tossed aloft.  This was a truly magical moment.

Into the blinding light, the awakened bird directly flew skyward.  The light originated from the spectacularly white Sol.

Indeed, it was not hard to have looked directly at the Sun; it was as if some seven times brighter than the full Moon but platinum-white rather than its current blinding intensity.

Simultaneously, I experienced the most exhilarating release as the bird was set free.  Even though I was hovering in flight, it felt very much so as if I was travelling seven times faster than when in flight just a couple of feet above the glistening surface of the ocean at high noon.

This was such an intense experience that the dream simply bled fast forwards into the next.

_________________________________

Photo: Temple of Isis, Philae (Aswan) Egypt.

Apollo 15 Lunar Rover Vehicle NASA.

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© 2013-2022 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.

Look Who’s Coming To Dinner!

A Cheesecake 2015

Recently, I caught up with old friends; a bunch of Leos all, we decided to get together and share our birthdays which all six fall within an eight-day period.  I still have yet to actually meet someone born on August second, my actual birthday. 

In any event, there just had to be that dinner guest that made a point of being a dumb-as-fuck catty fag who spent most of the dinner trying to throw shade my way.  Bitch please, I long ago turned in my Gay card – why be a card-carrying member in a society which is marked with intense racial animus towards Blacks?  

I simply do not play.  Go be Gay and all that that stands for.  I don’t lisp and I especially do not suffer anyone who does. 

Naturally, there was overlong discussion of that silly White male dickless wonder-looking attention whore whose appearance on the cover of Vanity Fair was the final straw for me.  Dominick Dunne is gone as is Christopher Hitchens – what soft hands he had and such sad lonely eyes. 

In any event, the cumfarting twit was fast taken to task when deliberately regurgitating the usual media hate-fest now at fever pitch about Bill Cosby.  Well, of course, he is guilty – he is a man and a successful man. 

Which successful man doesn’t have access to readily available sex?  What the fool guest did not get was what was really at play in all this, namely why is that fugly – tell me, her retroussé-ugly face does not resemble a bat’s in extreme close-up – lawyer’s obsession with Black men? 

First it was Michael Jackson, then on to Tiger Woods and now Bill Cosby.  Better watch out Will Smith, hell Sidney Poitier is still alive… no successful Black male in America beloved and respected by the media is safe. 

Look at what a laughing stock Tiger Woods has become.  All three men, as most people and that idiotic dinner guest – about whom I coolly hissed whilst looking unflinchingly at the roast on my plate, “What is this doing out of the oven?” – fail to realise, had a legacy which was beyond the norm. 

Clearly, it isn’t about merely being Black; it is always about having ventured into uncharted territory.  Who can deny Michael Jackson’s stellar genius?  Who could have imagined anyone achieving, let alone conquering Tiger Woods’ spectacular accomplishments?  Then there was Bill Cosby, after Norman Lear had given the noctambulant masses the image of what Blacks ought to damn well be, presenting perfectly normal middle class Blacks without rage, baggage and drug issues. 

In short order this klanswoman replete with invisible hood has devoted her professional life to latter day lynching of Black men with legacies which are too unpalatable for the likes of her ilk to suffer.  As it is, I was in no mood to suffer some lunatic Jewish queen and his need to raise his rear right leg and piss all over Blacks with smug conceit known only to the equally smug few. 

Clearly, there were no Black men in Heidi Fleiss’ little black book or by now our honorary Klanswoman would have trotted them all out by noose to that most effective of poplar trees, the television medium and then onwards to court to effectively circumcise their legacy. 

The day prior as I rode from job three en route home to take a nap using my snazzy new CPAP machine and attend one of three parties over two days, I had quite the little adventure.  Riding alongside me as I rode in the street – I never ride my bike on sidewalks, a white BMW edged next to me. 

Inside, there were Whites in back and front seats.  With windows rolled down, they cruised along to keep pace with me as I leisurely rode and enjoyed the feel of blazing sunlight on my skin.  As is customary, I wore my shades. 

“Oh look it’s Ray Charles.  No wait, I think it’s Stevie Wonder,” said the dumb-as-fuck-looking blonde in the backseat smugly looking out and grinning her more-gums-than-teeth, saurian-lipped-hideous and blissfully ignorant face at the sight of me. 

Their laughter was that hideous semi-feral clipped affair known only to the White tribe when it is enjoying being racially predatory and making sport of Black lives.  The big White male next to her who likely preferred fucking her in the arse than not, called out, “Hey bud, guess what?  No more Jell-O pudding for you!” to which there was even more wicked gales of laughter known only to Blacks when being racially preyed on by Whites who will ever swear up and down that there is no such thing as racism.  Hell, the term racial predator does not exist. 

So nice to know that by millennium’s end, this murderous Saurian predator masquerading as human will be yet hunted by an even more menacing terror – those who think nothing of cutting empty brain-dead skulls from bodies and placing them in the small of the back.  Yes dumbasses, you too like Rome will fall and you too will yet be the hunted. 

Next, the male driver who howled with wicked delight then did something that never before had I experienced, for the next block and a half – he rode alongside, matching my speed, never allowing me to drop behind or overtake his car – he turned on the windshield wiper which naturally saw wiper fluid jet beyond the car’s roof and left me good and drenched. 

I got home  a sticky, stinging ashy-white mess as anti-freeze fluids and sweat took their toll in the glaring heat for several kilometres.  Long had it been since I had been reduced to tears at having been racially attacked. 

So as this arse-eating venal swine sat across from me going on ad nauseam about Bill Cosby, I quietly excused myself and took to the host’s bathroom where I feverishly texted my delightful Panamanian-born Montréal friend, Raoul de Castro and told him where to come find me and spirit me away from this gold-and-diamond-thieving arse-eating fool. 

Returned to dinner, whilst I patiently awaited Raoul’s arrival, I began speaking of the audacity of New Jersey paying out one million dollars to Holocaust survivors in the state who numbered more than 40k.  How many were there in Florida, Illinois, Arizona, New Mexico to say nothing of California and New York?  Were they being paid for Holocaust PTSD too? 

Why pray tell were American taxpayers making any such payments when the Third Reich had not occupied America nor for that matter had the Holocaust occurred on American soil?  Funny how quickly some can go from being smug to being downright accusatory. 

Once challenged with fact, the fool began accusing me of being anti-Semitic.  Some things truly are as predictable as flies on shit as Frederick ‘Mr. Hat’ Jones would ever impart. 

Our idiotic otiose dinner guest soon demanded of our host why he was allowing our dinner party to be ruined by all this slanderous anti-Semitic talk.  Grabbing my Samsung Note, I gladly shared the news article on the Jerusalem Post’s website which heaped praise on the New Jersey governor for being a good little porcine Goy and paying out needless, to say nothing of dubious, guilt money. 

All talk of Bill Cosby ceased as the subject was changed to the Andy Warhol show here in town – which I have yet to see but soon shall.  Soon enough, and well before dessert, Raoul crashed the dinner party and rescued me. 

As we left, in a manner that was crass and as can be expected of a sage soul born in the year of the Monkey, Raoul called across the room to the South African-born boorish Semite and waved at him in a gesture that was decidedly born of the Reich, “Farewell to all that!” 

Naturally, Raoul was in town because at the weekend it would be the annual Caribana or whatever it is now called.  I never attend, too much Sun and crowds – two things which cause my vampiric soul to cringe – you’d be amazed what working night shift for more than two decades will do to your reaction to sunlight. 

Raoul was in town because like me, also leonine, it was the annual fest of big Black American cock.  Can’t never have too much of a good thing indeed! 

Alas, drink of my spirit and savour this truly beautiful dream where I dined on the astral plane with my task companion and then astral plane habitué, Merlin.  Now there was a true Semite; above all else, he was a remarkable human being. 

As Raoul and I rode by cab from the horrid dinner party in the Beaches, I remarked how rare a light Merlin was to him.  During those seven years that I knew him, Merlin never once referred to himself as a Jew. 

He was not ghettoised, he had nothing to prove.  What was even more remarkable in those seven years, Merlin always referred to everyone whom I had yet met as ‘my friend…’  So it was that on Halloween 1982, we went to ‘my friend Joe’s’ pumpkin kill party and pleasantly surprised was I when we got to the 12th or was it 14th storey apartment in the upper west 90s and his friend Joe turned out to be Black – of course, that friend Joe is the actor, Joe Morton. 

This was the most remarkable thing about Merlin, meeting all his friends over the years, was like being at a reincarnational ball, you were ever surprised when the door opened and you finally met ‘my friend’ so-and-so only to discover that they were Japanese, Chinese, Jewish, Black, Armenian… whatever.  No wonder I have never had patience for ghettoised fools like the boor at the abandonned dinner party in the Beaches. 

The dream was lived in telepathic lucidity befitting not merely entity mates but task companions no less.  At the time, Luna did as is her wont, she grooved through Leo and thus my third house like Sarah Vaughan some lazy, syrupy scat. 

That Wednesday, I was coming near the end of my stay in Vancouver as it was April 16, 1997.  Too, the dream was audiocassette-recorded on tape two hundred and twenty-nine and is yet to be found in volume XXIII of the twenty-five volume dream opus. 

Say what you want but intellect is the most beautiful flower on this world or, for that matter, any other across this vast universe.  Befitting a late mature artisan of pronounced scepticism, aren’t you glad that that I can readily see through any shabbily concocted fraud?  

Yes, indeed, Vanity Fair has no time to report on Ferguson or the #BlackLivesMatter issue, any more than it cowardly avoids reporting on taxpayers’ money being brazenly scammed in New Jersey – about which you can damn well bet Vanity Fair and its editorial staffers are cognisant.

On one thing I am uncompromising: If you don’t like Black people…  Fuck you!   

Life is but a dream and sweet it is when you fear nothing and no one.  Sweet dreams, you are more magical and beautiful than you know.  For being focussed herein, I am both grateful and honoured by your patronage. 

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a stag light arrangement

A rustic restaurant at night-time, which was wide-open with lots of exposed wooden beams, proved the setting for this dream.  Seated with my left side to the aisle, where the waiter came and went, I was at a table for four.

There were persons, across the aisle from us, to whom I really did not pay much attention.  Who should though be on my right but Merlin!

Whilst interminably waiting to be served, we silently sat there.  Before being taken, our order took almost forever.

Leaning forwards from behind us, a waiter finally did appear.  Smiling, he asked us to come with him as he now had a table for us.

So, we got up and began walking back with the waiter.  We were as though going to the back of the restaurant.

We moved through a beautiful interior which was nicely, dimly lit.  The flames here were live flames in glass beaker-like vases.

Too, there were the most spectacular antlers and horns displayed high up on the walls.  Some of the horns were on the ceilings about the light fixtures.

All in all, it was a beautiful ambiance here.  Too, there were rustic paintings on the walls that I paid little attention to.

The seats in this section allowed you to face out into the aisle with your back against the wall.  I had been concerned about our not having been served for so long.

Though we were not saying anything to one another, I was not concerned about that.  There were no doubts that Merlin wanted to be there with me.

We passed much of our time together, lost in a silence which was born of our being communicatively engaged, on alternate levels of reality which precluded speech.  We were being exclusively telepathic.

We sat side by side, facing out to the dining room, which gave us a commanding view of the persons on display.  The atmosphere here was very nice.

I quite enjoyed being with Merlin.  There was nothing more sublime than our silently sitting there, whilst together taking a meal, by candlelight and some mellow Jazz instrumentals perfuming and further intoxicating our very souls.

*Christopher Hitchens’ Michael Overleaves now to be found in Michael Overleaves Appendix.

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Photo: White truffle chocolate strawberry cheesecake from Daniel et Daniel

Antler/horn lighting fixture.

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