Knowing when to leave is key to perfect timing. Elizabeth was a mean, grasping, manipulative – it is the hallmark of slave souls – vindictive operator. It is good that she has finally taken leave. Elizabeth acted as though the crown was hers to wear for at least a millennium.
Just look at HRH Prince Richard, Duke of Gloucester incredulously peer across at HM King Charles III with his beefy equerry sat directly behind him in the royal box; of course, there was no room for the Earl and Countess of Wessex as a result. There was sat the Duke of Gloucester who with a look telegraphed, “Well, will you look at that! He’s got his lover right here in the royal box for the world to see. What must cousin Lilibet, looking down from above, be thinking? Major Jonathan Thompson is not even in uniform but crossdressing in civilian suit. Just look at him, a mere senior footman standing in the royal box and clapping away as though he were a royal spouse… Also, pay keen attention to the Duchess of Gloucester as she keenly eyes Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales. That look betrays the tectonic state of the Waleses’ marriage. One would think that the Duchess of Gloucester is eyeing up Catherine as she cannot believe the woman would have the nerve to sit there after openly flirting with Sir Ben Ainslie and telegraphing to all the world that they are fucking their brains out.
Indeed! Though the Fleet Street abattoirs are ill-inclined to betray the ugly truths of House of Windsor, rest assured that the American media, especially American tabloid media, could not care less. Of course, they have a vested interested in the Windsor dynasty as a second American woman has recently wedded and been met with undiluted hatred and rejection. Although, that rejection is decidedly racist, nonetheless, all Americans are Americans and will defend another over any foreigner, especially so when America fought and won a war to depose that very dynasty.
Darlings I’ve simply got to start ordering teas by the hamper… The Second Carolean era just keeps on giving…
This actor did a phenomenal job of bringing forth the true fire that was HRH Princess Margaret, Countess Snowdon’s. God, it was delicious theatre, watching her rip into her mean-spirited sister and giving it to her good when she called her on the fact that Elizabeth deliberately interfered in her life and caused her pain and ruin whilst never having done any such thing to her slutty daughter, Anne. As the Crown depicted and passingly implied, Princess Anne could have fucked Tim Lawrence in the open on a farm and no one would have noticed or reported it in the media. Her performance brings to mind that every actor who ever portrays HRH Princess Margaret must study Elizabeth Taylor in the Mike Nichols classic, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” This is why in the earlier season of the Crown, the actor Helena Bonham Carter’s casting was wrong. She was stiff and hadn’t the passion or fire to convincingly project Margaret’s rage
The actor who played Queen Mary was perfectly placed. The scene was brief and a flashback that was of major import. Look at her, there she is dripping in pearls and finery as the Romanovs did. She gave the order for their murder and all because she waned the Romanov jewellery, coming to her. A truly vile character. Her inclusion beautifully sets up next season, which deals with Diana’s murder and this scene of Mary giving the order to have the Romanov’s murder, so she could get their jewels, establishes that no one should think otherwise when it comes to next season, Season 6, and Diana’s murder.
The producers and creative geniuses of The Crown Season 5 did their homework and boy did they execute masterfully, beautifully. This entire episode sets up what’s to come in Season 6, Diana, Princess of Wales’s death. By laying the groundwork and showing that because HM Queen Mary’s callous avariciousness, the Romanovs would be slaughtered just so that Queen Mary, who considered the Tsarina a rival, could get her hands on the Russian royals’ jewels. Queen Mary was a vile, ruthless Victorian misogynist who, of course, was Queen Elizabeth’s chief mentor. There can be no doubt that the late Queen Elizabeth viewed Diana, Princess of Wales as much a rival as Queen Mary viewed the Tsarina. For that, like Alexandra, the Tsarina, Diana had to be murdered for proving herself a damn threat. She ruined the fairy story by not playing along; most of all, she threatened the institution by preparing to start a rival dynasty with Mohamed Al-Fayed’s son, Dodi, a non-White Muslim.
Goodness me, whatever shall the little people think? Who damn well cares what they think? The royals do as they have always done!
Here, again, the casting of Netflix’s The Crown, season 5, is flawless. Nuanced and perfectly measured, both actors bring forth the appropriate amount of repugnant arrogance and conceited lack of awareness. Perfectly timed, as though murdered Diana’s revenge, Season 5 lays bare the adulterers’ vulgarity just as they accede the throne. King Charles III, the Tampax King with his two teddies – one inanimate from childhood, the other a virile, kilted, furry teddy that throbs and makes nights at Highgrove especially pleasurable whilst the failed future King Mother and Courtesan Queen languishes away at Ray Mill; one thing is plainly obvious, the Courtesan Queen does not crochet doilies at Ray Mill.
Having nicely set up the case for Diana, Princess of Wales having been murdered in the upcoming season 6 of the Crown, one other thing ought to be taken into account. In 1918, when Queen Elizabeth’s mentor, Queen Mary gave the order to have the Romanovs murdered, that would be signified by the planet Uranus – one dynasty overthrows or eliminates another. Uranus rules violent upheaval, revolutionary action and usually from one institution against another. As Diana, Princess of Wales was a most disruptive rebel, the only course of action left Queen Mary’s devout mentor, Queen Elizabeth II, was to eliminate the threat of Diana. Diana was about to marry a non-White Muslim and start a rival dynasty, which would have utterly eclipsed the Windsors not just at the Fleet Street abattoirs but world media.
Diana and Dodi died at Diana’s natal Pluto’s transit forming a square; that coupled with her fourth numerological signature of 7, meant very public and totally unexpected assassination. A Uranus return takes roughly 84 years, Queen Elizabeth reacted 79 years later as Queen Mary had to the threat of a rival dynasty, the Romanovs relocating to the United Kingdom – there is a five year window on either side for that Uranus return’s effect to be initialised. Closer to the exacting 84 years and Diana and Dodi would have had a wedding and begun a family that would simply have eclipsed Charles and Diana’s wedding as clearly Diana would finally have found true love. There is positively no way that the well-groomed Victorian misogynist, Queen Elizabeth II, would have tolerated any such affront to her dynasty, especially when Diana would have avenged herself by bearing step-siblings of the future supreme governor of the Church of England to a Muslim. The Windsor dynasty was violently preventing the eventualisation of a rival dynasty begun by Diana, Princess of Wales and one of an opposing faith.
Imelda Staunton as Queen Elizabeth II was sublime casting. She is pitch perfect and gets every nuanced idiosyncrasy right. As Elizabeth II is a mature slave soul, a sage soul in passion mode with emotional centring would be disastrous. Imelda may well be a slave soul herself.
Though a departure from season 5, I do feel that there needs be some commentary on the actors who played the major roles across the five seasons. Claire Foy was a major reason for the Crown’s initial success and gave The Crown the legs to become the seminal British royal family drama that it has become. She is diffident, economical and sublime. The complete opposite can be said for Olivia Colman, who is Olivia in every role she plays. She is crass, common and as conspicuously frightful and self-conscious as a damn ostrich.
As Princess Margaret’s casting is concerned, Vanessa Kirby was ravishing to look at; she had depth, emotional rawness when required and was utterly captivating to watch. Hers was a brilliant performance. Helena Bonham Carter was simply a toft playing a toft and Princess Margaret was never a toft; she was royal to the core. Clearly, Lesley Manville captures the essence of Margaret’s inner rage. Helena was supposed to have captured Margaret’s passion, debauchery and her creative brilliance and that never materialised.
As there is only one Diana, there is only one actor who has singularly, successfully captured the essence of Diana, Princess of Wales and not until Elizabeth Debicki in Season 5 of The Crown has this been achieved. Spot on, this actor’s portrayal is note perfect and as close to channelling Diana, as it were, as you can possibly hope for. Singularly focussed, she gives an award-worthy performance of rare brilliance.
Just look at this artist step aside and allow the very essence of discarnate Diana, Princess of Wales to move in and prosecute her case. This is a most brilliant performance, in a season teeming with stellar performances. There has never been a more successfully cast group of actors for any one season of this fantastic series.
I’ve a little Diana, Princess of Wales anecdote. The night of the preceding photograph in October, 1991, I was across King Street West at Simcoe Street at Roy Thomson Hall for an Emmanuel Ax recital. As I had seasons tickets to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, I managed with plans for a hook up after the concert to attend. God only knows, I could never abide Emmanuel Ax’s too-short arms and legs as he bobs around the stool, trying to make keys and pedals. I have only ever had two favourite pianists whom I have seen live, Vladimir Horowitz and the scholarly high priest himself, Alfred Brendel (his Michael Overleaves will conclude this blog). Of course, for having met and loved Merlin, Glenn Gould has become a favourite, forming the perfect troika of inspiring classical pianists.
When the recital concluded, I made my way north along Simcoe Street to King Street West where I planned to go in search of some stimulating companionship. The placed was packed and I hadn’t a clue what was up. Finally, someone said that Princess Diana was at the Royal Alexandra Theatre, which was going to be letting out soon. Making my way west along the south side of King Street West, I stood opposite the theatre’s entrance and realised that it was no place to be. Gingerly, I made my way west along the street, made it across the intersection and began doubling back due east along the north side of King Street West. Charmingly, I bobbed and dodged my way until I was second row deep behind a diminutive Filipina, who stood behind he barricade in front of which was a conga line of persons in wheelchairs. Obviously, as this was the early 90s, cell phones were as yet ubiquitous and why I would have a camera for going to the symphony would be a gauche notion at the time. The sturdy-looking limousine pulled up and to my left, though I could not see, the doors to the theatre opened and impresario Ed Mirvish emerged with the world’s most photographed woman.
Never had I witnessed such a massive explosion of klieg fabulousness as that moment as Diana, Princess of Wales stepped away from her hosts and stepped into the marquee lights. She was tall, commanding and arrestingly beautiful. Eventually, when she made her way down the roster of wheelchair fans, she reached from time to time to the sheer pandemonium of squeals, cries, shrieks and outstretched trembling arms baring frantic trembling fingers. As nothing she said could be heard, I managed to clasp her hand, said “we love you more” as she worked the crowd like a pro. What struck me about her in that moment as the flashbulbs went off, like a million stars simultaneously going nova, was how steely, masculine, tall and warrior-like she was. In that moment, her striking blue eyes so focussed and direct, she with her statuesque singleness of devotion, was like a Maasai warrior aloft whilst dancing. Then my darlings, Diana, Princess of Wales, did the most phenomenal thing that left me teary eyed, she got to the limousine and as the passenger side rear door was opened, she got inside elongating her neck, whilst bracing her body on the car’s frame when swinging her knees together, feet together, pushing off from the metatarsals and swinging are rangy legs into the car in one of the most sublime port de bras witnessed. Well, you better believe that I was hooked to the core. Of course, to that point, she was merely the ultimate self-absorbed famous person whose motto seemed to be, “I’m a rich White girl, take my picture.”
Of course, four years later, Diana, Princess of Wales, now separated from the future, HM King Charles III, made it perfectly clear that she was in control and not the crazy wingnut that she and every artisan at some point or another will be dismissed as by the masses. Diana, Princess of Wales’s interview with Martin Bashir aired on the BBC on Guy Fawkes Night, November 5, 1995. That move will see her transcend history as someone who was infinitely more shrewd and astute than the mere mortals of her age were aware. Unlike Oliver Cromwell, Diana, Princess of Wales successfully prosecuted her case to the kingdom, the world and most importantly, history. Naturally, like Cromwell, her interview and the subsequent relationship with the Muslim Al-Fayed family would be deemed treasonous by the Victorian misogynist, Queen Elizabeth II, who just as ruthlessly and casually had her assassinated as her mentor Queen Mary had Tsarina Alexandra and her family a Uranus return earlier.
Mou Mou, the most gloriously well-written and acted episode of The Crown. At every turn, the actor who portrayed Mohamed Al-Fayed left me teary-eyed or smiling by his brilliant performance. He effortlessly captured every idiosyncrasy of the Mohamed we have come to know in the media. The actor deftly captured the essence of this endearing mensch with bravura and sublime impishness. It was the only episode that I immediately had to re-watch to both fall in love and get all the nuances that the teary fog of me had missed. Of course, there were many beautiful scenes but one which was rather telling is of The Queen sending her emissaries to have items of the Duke of Windsor’s removed from his French chateau. This shows the Victorian misogynist mentoring of Queen Elizabeth by Queen Mary – ever grasping and coveting all manner of material things. No care in the world for the Duke & Duchess of Windsor whilst he was living but the moment he passes, they are keen on the Duchess’s invitation to swoop in and claw at whatever they fancied… crass.
Indeed, in time, how could anyone possibly have expected HM The Queen, to have related to the Duke & Duchess of Sussex otherwise. She was groomed by the monstrous Victorian misogynist, HM Queen Mary to be shrewdly calculating, murderous if necessary, defender of the saturnal aspects of what being Sovereign entails. She and the rest of he senior royals could have behaved no differently to the Sussexes. Most of all, The Queen did not care to countenance any talk of racism being in any way associated with the House of Windsor. Just suck it up and get on with it, despite, the hideous open racial harassment from HRH Princess Michael of Kent, sporting the blackamoor brooch. Trust me, if she were to emboldened to go public with the racially predatory lynching of Meghan, you can bet that there was unrelenting, unfathomable racism within the royal family and the institution towards the Sussexes.
Could there have been a better cast member for this season, 5, of The Crown. This actor performed his role immaculately to the letter. The fluidity and communion of spirits between him and Mohamed Al-Fayed was successfully captured by both actors’ nuanced and elegant performances, even when Mohamed was being inelegant.
This actor, though similar in look, did not capture the essence of whom Penelope Knatchbull, Countess Mountbatten of Burma is. Above all else, with a energy body of 7, the late Prince Philip’s lover at her very core is a courtesan and would not only damn well do as she pleases but not give a damn who noticed. With a first number of 7, Penelope is almost mannish in her domineering energy body and would prove vastly intimidating for the late Queen Elizabeth II, who already had a secondary chief feature of self-deprecation which means that she would have serious self-esteem issues. Energy body of 7 and born in the year of the snake, the late Queen Elizabeth II was no match for this woman.
The role would have been better served if the actor, Gillian Anderson, who capably showed her mettle were to have been cast as Penelope. Ms. Anderson ensouled the very essence of the persona of Baroness Thatcher. A snake female, Penelope, with an energy body of 7, is the kind of customer who would take a riding crop and beat to death a mere mortal and get away with it; she would also not ever once think about the incident thereafter. All snake women possessed of an energy body of 7 are true courtesans; they are supremely amoral. Gillian would have the right steely comportment to deftly portrait the real Penelope, which may have positively nothing to do with the persona the public sees; and isn’t this almost always the case for famous persons?
Well, hold on tightly duckies, there is lots more to come. Season 6 of the Crown promises Diana’s murder. More than that, it should have flashbacks to the marriage of the Duke & Duchess of York as in penultimate seasons 7 & 8, the fallout of paedophilia allegations for associating with Jeffrey Epstein will see his cancer-stricken mother come undone. Of course, HM The Queen died aged 96; more importantly, she died 25 years after Diana, Princess of Wales’s murder. It takes 24 years for a grand Solar cycle to unfold and all self-karma, created when a karmic debt is initiated as in Diana’s murder, leads to the debtor’s self-immolation. Philip and Elizabeth slowly immolated as the avenging of Diana’s murder took its toll, Philip at exactly 24 years and Elizabeth II a year later. There are no coincidences and Time reveals all truth.
There can be no mistaking the fact that the structural racism, the case for which was made by HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s blackamoor brooch incident and Prince Harry’s memoir SPARE, nicely serve as ample source material for seasons 7 & 8. By then, all the tea with regards Catherine and Ben Ainslie, William’s Tampax moment, which has left him #PrinceofPegging to say nothing of Charles and his teddies one 70 plus years old and other other a virile furry equerry. Let’s also not forget Rose and her come-back pussy, which resulted in the then Cambridges being banished to Adelaide Cottage from Anmer Hall. Also, Camilla’s obvious racism should be highlighted by her need for a parapluie when touring the amongst the ‘darkies’ so that she doesn’t have to shake their hands, which explains why she did not go to the night time declaration of statehood in Barbados and her recent touching a Black girl’s sleeve rather than hold her hand. Then, too, there is the banishment and exodus of the Sussexes to America to successfully escape the hideous spitefulness of the next generation Waleses.
Brendel, Alfred 5/1/1931 Czech Republic
Michael: This fragment is a first level old scholar – second life thereat. Alfred is in the perseverance mode with a goal of dominance. A pragmatist, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.
Body type is Lunar/Mars /Mercury.
Alfred’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary stubbornness.
The fragment Alfred is fourth-cast in first cadence, he is a member of greater cadence two. Alfred’s entity is two, cadre five, greater cadre 6, pod 208.
Alfred’s essence twin is a scholar and his warrior task companion is known to him.
Alfred’s three primary needs are: exchange, communion and security.
There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 4 with Merlin.
As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Will you just look at that, the Enola Gay’s cargo bay doors have opened! Incoming! This calls for a Fortnum & Mason hamper; this is serious tea!
Numerologically, these are the numbers for SPARE & HRH Prince Henry’s war with the Windsors. 10. 01. 2023 Tiger 1. 2. 9 = 3. The first royal memoir by a royal rather than a kiss-me-ass royal biography by one of these blasted sycophants who could never, unlike Harry’s memoir, have their specious drivel simultaneously launch in 16 languages.
1, energy body, this is a warrior soul with a score to settle. He is going to, like every mature soul and warrior soul, wage a campaign that is all about restoring his honour. Now that The Queen and his and Meghan’s entity mate has departed, he will feel positively no qualms about producing the receipts. 1 is in your face and brutally raw and uncompromisingly truthful. Like me, Henry has an attitude of scepticism; we are blunt, upfront, confrontational and will be unrelentingly vituperative at the drop of a hat. Harry is into this to protect his family and that means, defending his wife who was racially attacked by HRH Princess Michael of Kent with her unbelievable bold racially predatory, offensive blackamoor brooch worn for all the world’s media to see to The Queen’s 2017 Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace.
Mind of 2. This is someone that has much to say and will be most indefatigable in prosecuting his case! Not the least bit surprised should be anyone that Henry’s memoir runs past 400 pages. Also, a book that’s dropping on a day when the mind ruling it is two, this means that it is ruled by all that is rapid fire, quicksilver, brilliant. Most of all two is associated with artisan souls and there is no soul more nimble, strategic and clever than an artisan. Artisans input on 5 channels. Meghan is an artisan soul as was Diana, Princess of Wales. You will never win in a campaign against the intellect of an artisan. We may seems spacy but long before we head off to do battle, we have gone through plans A through Z where mere mortals simply will vet from plan A to D at most. Artisans are complex and are always misjudged, illegible.
Slaves and priest souls input on two channels. That would be the late Queen. The fact that she had seven in the second/mind position means that she read people with uncanny accuracy. Also, The Queen could see auras, the dead and all that beyond-the-veil arcana but she would never disclose this to any one save lifelong ladies-in-waiting and only a few of these persons. Warriors, Kings and Scholars input on one channel, this can leave such souls as coming off at times as thick but they are superior strategists and also more than passingly confrontational. Prince George is a King soul, which is most rare. Catherine, HM King Charles III, Prince Philip and Prince Henry are all warrior souls and all mature souls. I suspect that HRH Princess Anne Princess Royal may also be a warrior soul. Both William and Camilla, Queen Consort are scholar souls – I cannot stress enough how utterly arrogant and stubborn such persons can prove. Artisans are paired with Sage souls on the expression axis; however, sages input on three channels. This greatly facilitates live performance artists being able to channel through the creator’s vision by speech, song or dance. Creative artists are more often than not artisan souls; however, Pablo Picasso was a seventh young soul warrior.
Life path of 9, Harry’s memoir’s will be a campaign of high flying ideals and righting injustices, whether it is his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales’s murder or his wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s lynching as the most hated Black woman in history. Henry will be unsparing in defence of his high ideals. Lastly, with a destiny of 3, the number which rules media, publishing and the written word, quite remarkably, Henry’s memoir will go down to be just as revolutionary as HM King Henry VIII creating the Church of England rather than being at the mercy of the Church of Rome. Henry’s memoir is going to, for the first time, cause the public to turn on the tabloid media which has been predatorily harvesting off the royals and no single royal earns the tabloids more money than his wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. They make billions in inciting anti-Black racism towards Meghan and at no time do any of these entities, tabloids and alleged royal experts ever mention the racism to which Meghan was subjected. If you think for one nanosecond that HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s blackamoor brooch incident was a singular, isolated incident then you truly believe that that blasted anti-Semitic idiot actually walked on water rather than on a Plexiglas runway an inch below the lake’s surface.
This campaign is masterful. No royals. No alleged royal experts, no tabloids. No one, all of whom are the Sussexes’ detractors, and sworn enemies as that vile Jewish anti-Black racist, Tom Bower recently admitted, “It’s Meghan I’m after!” know what Harry delivers in his memoir ahead of the general public. SPARE will callously lay bare the hideous underpinnings of the British monarchy: tabloids, courtiers, household staffers, royals and their need to prey on others whilst turning a blind eye to the antics of other royals. Cutting the Sussexes loose after the contents of Harry’s memoir become global headline news, will only further expose their duplicity. The tabloids will be exposed for what they are: the trolling, lynching, race-baiting agents of the BRF.
Here’s to the Sussexes as they go forward from strength to strength. After SPARE, let’s hope the British tabloids would stay in their provincial backwaters and focus their attention on the real tea, as there is no “there” there for them to truthfully report on with regards the Montecito ducal family. Go on, report on Catherine and Sir Ben Ainslie and could little Damian be their love child as William has his own love child with the Chatelaine of Houghton Hall. And what of Charles and his teddsie wedsie, what does he suck on when cuddling with his teddy whilst Camilla broods at Ray Mill and his equerry keeps him stiff with drink, warmth and jousting that stirs the birds in the topiary close by. Indeed, who pegs whom and is it reciprocated… now no longer at Anmer Hall clearly it continues but definitely not at Adelaide Cottage. Think of the billions you could be making for merely telling the truth rather than inciting anti-Black racism as you have fiendishly engaged the past six years of lynching season. For everything there is a season and sooner or later the truth reigns above it all.
Continued success to Meghan, Duchess of Sussex on her Spotify podcast, Archetypes. It is a beautiful exposition of a superior intellect. Too, congratulations on the nomination at this year’s People’s Choice Awards.
Never mind Q’uoontifah & that lost anti-Semitic idiot, I damn well love being Black every moment whether lucidly awake in dreams or when awake!
As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
These utterly stunning dream experiences occurred on Thursday, February 16, 1989, whilst the Moon transited both Cancer and my second house.
I was on a street and just beyond the other side of the street was the edge of a cliff; it looked down into a distant valley. It was very sunny out. I was seated in front of a house.On my right was a man who had come home from work in a car. He looked very Italian except that he seemed to be very hirsute – as though he had quite dark skin.However, on closer inspection, he turned out to be rather hirsute. A little later on, he came outside again. His neighbours were looking at him, kind of strangely, like they weren’t already accustomed to looking or reacting to him in a strange manner.
He sat down next to me outside, on the neighbouring bench to my right, both of us with backs to the neighbours. He turned and looked at me and his face was rather ape-like.It was the colour black and his hair was quite different. This man had a long widow’s peak and his face was literally the colour black. It was quite ape-like. He said nothing. More than that, he seemed rather friendly and nice.Along that street, there were kids when a car had pulled up. They were very teenage kids – all boys. A boy came out further along and returned to join one of his companions.
Then it turned out that his companion was in a car that was black and seemed to move, as it were, on air-cushioned rubber wheels. This black car of his was rather aerodynamic.After his friend took off, he then – this is the little blond timid guy – went over towards the cliff. Directly in front of the hirsute ape-like man, who was seated to my right, the blond guy went into the bushes.The young guy turned out to have been his brother – that guy who looked like a twin of his or resembled a brother. They hung out together and then he went moving on.
As he passed me, going from right to left, a friend of his was coming down the road. The road had a curve in it and went steeply up a hill. The hill, in fact, looked like the hill at Toronto’s Prospect Cemetery on the south side of Kitchener Street. His friend came down and he was wearing a helmet because he had been on some sort of vehicle. He removed the helmet, carrying it in his right hand, as they greeted each other.Strangely, they greeted by grabbing each other around the hips and rubbed their crotches together, joked and laughed. In essence, they engaged in clothed frottage.
I thought it interesting that two males would engage in open sexual play, however, this seemed the natural standard way of greeting in this culture. Clearly, this was a sign that this was not exactly Kansas.I had the distinct impression that the twin blonds had gone into the gorge to do drugs. As they were blissing out, only the crown of their golden mops was visible.They were using the very intense lushness of the rolling hills, in the valley way below, as a stimulant. Everything here was so pronouncedly healthy, even the star that shined seemed more intense and pure than Sol.I carefully looked at some of the trees and realised that they were bonsai, furry, mossy centuries-old plants that seemed to hum at a frequency higher than their arboreal counterparts on Earth.
I was able to zoom into the plants in the valley way below and experience them in intimate close-up. Of course, this I accomplished whilst remaining seated on the bench where to my right on another sat the über-poilu, intensely warm, handsome ape-like man.The helmet was the same black, light, metal-plastic alloy material as the car. It seemed to have the ability to absorb the intense sunlight, which was not scorching, and cool the interior.The blond who greeted his Italian-looking helmeted friend – they were all, incidentally, the same hirsute ape-like stock as the jet-black man seated to my right – had patted the car as he moved around its rear into the road to meet his dark-haired friend.He had patted the car much like one would a trusted horse. At that, the car had hissed and lurched to the road from its hovering stationary position a foot off the ground.
Later on, in the second dream, I was still on the same street. There were all these little kids. They were on skateboards. They came down about four, five, six, of them – little guys. One of them was Black. He was quite light-skinned. They were from a high social class. They were very friendly and nice and I warmly interacted with them.However, they were quite reserved and it wasn’t as though they weren’t friendly. As I was a stranger, for that reason, they kept me at bay.On the lower part of the street, where I was with them, it was clearly a cemetery. As far as cemeteries go, it was quite different an arrangement. It had quite large tombstones in it – monuments.
There was one woman there in black who was seemingly Italian. She was carrying on; she was grieving by this one monument. It had on it a very interesting design and some of the graves were fresh.I explained to them, the little boys, that this was where one went. However, then one came back from there and was able to live a life again like they were now living.I explained to them in those terms, however, I did not force them to look at funerals. People’s focus on funerals as the end and fear of death was the trap, I explained to them.
In this the third dream, I was under these hugely tall trees and was working at the time. Clearly, I had been working for someone like Pete Wilkens or someone like him.I had left a shovel around. The shovel had been left about and from a long, long time ago. This was on the grounds of a park-like setting where there were lots of skeletons about. The skeletons were covered with a whole bunch of ants. It was strange because it seemed as though the bones were the remnants of lunch and had just been eaten.They seemed like the skeletons for fish except that the head bone of the fish – skull – was quite flat.
The head had three sides to it and the skeleton was again a narrow filament that had two identical spines that trailed the unusual-looking skull.The skeletons were quite white and were flexible like the white cartilage of a chicken breast. There was a bunch of ants all over them.I might also add that these flexible, double-spined, fish-like skeletons were covered with ants that were quite feathery and lumpy. These ants were almost like miniature tarantulas because they were so bulky, dark, rich and, in a way, nice to look at.
There was a shovel sitting about and I realised that I had left it there, when I worked last time which was some time ago, last season. However, nobody had actually moved it because it meant that it was my responsibility to have moved it.So I ended up moving a couple of rakes – they were, in fact, more like pole saws. When trying to clear the space, I took them from one area to the next.I must say that I was quite struck by the face of that particular man that I did see, whilst he sat on the neighbouring bench to my right, in the initial dream. Even here in another dream entirely, I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye.
The fourth dream found me going back to an apartment where Merlin and I were living together. There were ants all about the apartment.I told him,“You have to get out and go away for a while so I can clean away the ants.”I then went about disinfecting the place and got rid of the ants. I was even disinfecting beneath the floorboards… everywhere.Owing to his being full-blown with AIDS, I did not want Merlin being exposed to the harmful chemicals in the disinfectants. That, certainly, could have resulted in horrific consequences on his vastly compromised immune system.
With the fifth dream, I was in a large department store. There, I saw Isis da Braga who was there to buy a scarf. At the time, I was with two males; it was a Gay situation.Owen Hawksmoor was talking to someone who had a very large nose. The man to whom Owen spoke was Black. He seemed like we vaguely knew each other. He seemed, in fact, like Don Baxter.However, the face on this man was black and had hues of red in it. Not the colour black but as Black people look. More than that, such that it looked like the nose of an animal’s would like an aardvark or some such, the nose on this man was more like a snout.He wore white; both he and Owen did. There was some function, that one had to go to, for which Owen had complimentary tickets.
These two people, whom Owen and I had encountered, were saying that they did not know where their complimentary tickets were. I said that I knew I had mine. Anyway, Owen left them and went back up a flight of steps.It was quite light out, up the staircase, as though there was a skylight hung high overhead. Owen moved on and I went in search of Isis who had passed by. She was quite embarrassed, in fact, at seeing me with my arm about a Gay person.She went in and picked up a scarf and the scarf was worth 52$, I think, because she was putting down the balance of the money – the other half – 26$. She was there shopping.It was a black scarf and it had beautiful… the borders were red and green designs. It really was quite nice. I came and leaned on the counter and said hello to my sister.
She was reserved, cool and detached. She turned to me and was beautifully made up and looked very young with beautiful, flawless, flawless skin.She spoke about the fact that she did not go shopping with me anymore. She insisted that my accusation that she did not go shopping with me anymore because I was with men was not true.She was wearing a beautiful mustard-coloured jacket and a scarf about her neck. Indeed, she was quite well-off.
*The thing about these unusually droopy noses is that they looked as though this was a race of extra-humans (extra-terrestrials) which had evolved from simian mammals who were descended from proboscis monkey stock rather than not. It is a race of primates native to Borneo and the faces of those simians are rather human.This is how this man and others in this dream would appear. However, it was more than that look. END.
In the sixth dream, I was in an office that was like an indoor greenhouse. If you like, it was a mausoleum rather than greenhouse. It was sky-lit and there were a lot of caskets about. Some of them had flowers and some of them did not.When you came in, you went down some stairs and into a more open area. There you saw a burial crypt. It was an indoor burial crypt. There was a man about as well as a grand piano.Whenever the employees of the place came in, there was a woman standing about and she would excitedly say,“We have to go out, we have to go out.”I was with those little children, from the earlier dream, who were skateboarding and whom I had instructed earlier about the whole idea of reincarnation. These children were mostly White. We were also being hustled out of the place.
The woman then said,“What is he doing? There is not another service. Why is he trying to start up that piano?”The man at the piano was large and bent over and he looked somewhat out of place being there. Before we could be ushered out of the place, I managed to run up and put some flowers – some yellow flowers, on one of the brown caskets that was there.
*He was inordinately tall and hence drooped over a lot. Whilst seated at the grand piano, his towering height made it look as though an adult seated at a dollhouse piano. Too, he was inordinately pale… END.
As we were going out, the procession was coming in and people were being hustled in. It was quite a fast procession. I stuck around and tried to see the place and see why there was so much hustling.There and then, it turned out that I saw the casket. It was very flat and plain and I thought,‘Well why is it being hustled out? If it’s a funeral why would the relations be so ecstatic?’However, it turned out that because the burial box was so flat I thought it was going to be cremated. It turned out, however, that it was for the office. There was going to be a surprise party.
It was actually a cake. It was covered up in wonderful, colourful wrapping paper. There was going to be a celebration and those were all the workers from the company. The atmosphere was quite nice and friendly.
In this the seventh dream, I was in a very, very large and busy restaurant where I ordered myself a bowl of soup. I was going to go upstairs to the bathroom but I had my bowl of soup in my hand.It was very Gothic-styled. It seemed, in fact, like the inside of a château. It was in the Gothic style except that the walls were rose granite – rose-coloured granite. It was, however, rather smooth-surfaced.I then accidentally spilled my bowl of soup. The waitress who had come to my aid was dark-haired – short, dark hair. She looked like a dancer who danced with the Winnipeg Contemporary Dancers when I was living in Winnipeg – the one who was Lebanese and had had a back injury.
Anyway, this waitress went off and I was waiting there being quite embarrassed. I was trying to rush to the toilet. I asked someone where the toilet was and they said,“No, no, not upstairs.”It turned out that the washrooms were, in fact, to the rear. So off I went to the bathroom and I was quite embarrassed. I tidied up myself and I came back out and my white cotton pants – nice, beautiful trousers; they were baggy but they came in tight and folded in a pleat at the end at the hem – were quite stained by the soup.It was a dark sort of pea soup. A dark brownish fare, like a lentil soup, it was. However, it was not like a lentil soup because it was red.
I was trying to ask this man to move, in order to get by him, en route to the washrooms. There was a couple behind a man and they were very lovey-dovey.The man had to ask them to get up to let me get to the bathroom. He did not want to get up or anything like that but he finally realised he had to get up. So he basically moved and he was quite unusually blond.Everybody in this place was very unusual-looking. They had extraordinary features about them. They were excessively good-looking but they had an outstanding feature that made them seem Thothesque.Again, noses here were very long, droopy and bent over. Their noses were almost beaklike in that sense. That was the extraordinary thing about that jet-black skinned man, in the initial dream, as well as this blond man who had the same feature.
These persons were all exceptionally tall. They were each on the other side of seven-plus feet. Also, they were so über-poilu, it made it look like they were either jet-black when Black or yellow-white for being blond.Finally, he did move and when I was leaving, I looked at him. He was looking down at me because I was out of sorts, out of place, being there. Standing before him, he really did tower over me.Clearly, these persons were EHs – extra-humans or ETs.Another person had come by and tidied me up. He busily got me back to where I was seated. Then he had mumbled something like, “Why don’t you get out of here real fast?”
So I went out into the vestibule and I was waiting and waiting for the waitress to come by because I wanted to pay her for my bowl of soup. I think it was going to be $3 or something like that.Isis just said,“Why don’t we just get out of here?”We were waiting out front and it was busy so I finally got out. However, I was arguing and said,“That’s not the point of it.” I strongly felt that I should be paying my way. So I thought to just go back and put down my money on a table somewhere – I would feel better.However, I did finally leave, after having been more or less harassed by Isis without having paid. She was asking, “If you can save the money, why not save it?” that was her attitude.
When we were leaving there was a tall, enormously tall, man. He was White. Again, he had the same beaklike nose and there was something about his face that I found immediately sexual. His face was intensely sexualised.I was going to indulge and not leave because I so wanted to explore this man. However, Isis hustled me out of there.
Dream eight found me in the streets. I was walking with a baby – a little Black baby who was light-skinned. I carried the baby on my shoulders.It was rather nice. This time, out on the street, it was dark out and it was night time. This place we went to, that was quite busy, was bustling with lots of wonderful, wonderful people. It was very cosmopolitan here. A brief dream it was too.
I next found myself in a ninth dream experience that had a great deal of uproar and tumult to it. There were figures in black who were part of some sort of religious sect. These persons were just alarmingly fanatical.They were terrorists and they wore black. They had some sort of insignia on their bodies. As a matter of fact, they were looking for me; there was no mistaking that fact.I was in what would be Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s yard. I was trying to hide out there. There were, somehow, attempts to get me out.Then there was this truck which the people who were like security guards used. I was told where to find them and where they weren’t.
So I went into this yard and it seemed like part of Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s property and the neighbourhood in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. However, it was differently set up here.There was an Indian-looking girl – Amerindian-looking and not Dravidian. She, too, had a beaklike nose and I tried to explain to her,“Well look, you know I’m being pursued…”
“Oh yes!” further, she made reference to the fact, “Oh yes, you’re the one who killed Bob… or somebody.”Up on the roof was like Bob’s brother, whoever Bob was, but it wasn’t a name that I recognised. His name was Bob, however; it was Patrice Wellesley, of all people, who was keeping a lookout.He was supposed to notify the guard-like people. I intuitively knew that on the far side of the wall, of the place where I was hiding out, was a guy and a girl. She had very long black hair and was quite militant. They were looking out for me and talking.
I was telling the Amerindian-looking girl with the Thothesque nose, who was talking to me and dropping pieces of information, to just shut up and calm down, “You don’t need to say everything and carry on and on.”However, she still kept on blabbing away.I then managed to go around the side of the house. She was with her sister and they were playing some sort of game. So I thought to actually go around, to the front of the house, to ask her who her sister was.I then went around to the front of the house and there was her sister who seemed like Diana Nottingham – with whom I modelled at OCAD and did that pose with her at OCAD that Olaf Nordstrom had painted.
Anyway, she was quite wonderfully made up in whiteface. As though she were a Kabuki actor/actress, she wore white pancake makeup. She was, in fact, an actress. She was waiting to go on and perform a role of hers.It was quite interesting because she was, in fact, filling me in on what was going on,“In point of fact Arvin, you know, basically someone died because in self-defence in a rumble with them… it was just a lazy man about town, an idler and a drifter.”He apparently ended up dying because, during some sort of attack on me, as I was defending myself he was accidentally killed. As a result, I was on the run and there was a plot – the militant group was out to get me.
She told me that what I could do was go behind the Methodist Church in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. The place, however, was set out as if a mélange of Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts and elsewhere.So she told me to go across the railroad tracks. On coming around, I would be able to come home free to my home in Crab Hill. However, she pointed out that all along the route there were the same guards – militant fanatics.However, I just had to play it safe. She confidently assured me that they could be headed off. I was grateful for her advice and took her directives to heart.Well, low and behold, the girl – the militant sibling – came around the yard and caught me. When she caught me, I fled in escape. I went and hid behind the wall.I am not referring to Diana or one of the two sisters who had been around the backyard but there were two other sisters. These other two sisters were part of the militant group that was on the hunt for me.
The girl pulled out a weapon and it had a little blade on it. It was quite deadly and I kept hiding myself trying to extricate myself out of the place. I did so by holding up one of the sisters, in front of me, as a hostage.Someone got spliced in the left hand. I don’t recall that it was me or if it was me, I simply did not feel any pain when attacked. The vicious-looking wound had self-healed right away. I had focussed my light energies on the wound and caused it to instantaneously self-heal.Anyway, I was able to push the sister onto them. I then made my way around to the back of the house. By this time, the brother was coming around the house from the other direction.
When I say I went around to the back of the house, it was where I had originally encountered the two militant sisters. By that point, she had already called for help from the guardsman. He was somewhat ecstatic as he came around. However, this was my chance to flee. So I climbed over the fence and immediately there was a lot of plastic on and all over everything. When I climbed over the wall it was, clearly, what in the waking state would be the very back end of the Methodist Church estate.It was covered with a heavy plastic and there was a lot of wood. There was scaffolding everywhere. I climbed along the wood and the sister – the white-faced, actor of the two sisters – had told me that I could get immunity by saying that I was coming to work on the grounds or some such.
Next, I crawled along the scaffolding and looked to my left. However, this being a dream, it had semblances to being Sandy Point but it wasn’t really Sandy Point either.I realised that there were apartments, tiny apartments, which were glass-enclosed. They were all quite in disarray. People lived there but nobody seemed to be home.Here I was trying to make my escape and if anybody had seen me, of course, I would be squealed on. Then I finally jumped down, out of the ceiling-like area, because there were crates and boxes and a straw-stuffed bed under me directly below the window.I came down to an open area and there I saw a much darker version of Artemis da Braga, my niece. She was sitting wrapped with a telephone cord about her as she played with the phone.I greeted her but I did not want to get her excited because I wanted to flee the area.
Next, in dream ten, I came out of this beautiful house and came out into a wonderful backyard. Immediately, whilst there, I saw another of those vans. There had also been a van in the earlier dream that showed how these people, the militant people, worked.They had a van and it had another little van on the inside when it opened up claw-like. It appeared that the top and the bottom, the back rather, could open up. Inside it revealed another vehicle that was covered in a brownish greasy goop. The most interesting feature of this entire affair was that, although they looked human enough, the militiamen were not human. They were extra-human. So too was the machine which, from its goopy fluids, was sentient.It was an EH species which they were using to capture and feed one to. It seemed that the machine-like EHs were, in fact, in control of the militia-type EHs rather than the reverse.
It seemed more creature than a vehicle and, somehow, this was what I was supposed to be put in when captured. These two Black men, who were guarding the house and who let me know that they were guarding the house, were saying,“Aha! Now we’ve caught you.”You know, I thought about it and there was just no way that I was going to let them capture me.‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought.At the time, one of them was taking a pee – both these men were Black. They were quite casual about having caught me. They apparently were going to get their supervisor who would take care of me.
The supervisor came and he looked like the guy from Trinidad who had worked as a chef at the Underground Railroad Restaurant when, long ago, I worked there. He did, at least, seem like that man.This man, who was their supervisor, was also Black. He had the semblance, the air about him, of that chef but he did not so much look a great deal like him. He was rotund and fairly light-complected.He lived in the house. Rather, he did not live in the house but he was staying in the house as a caretaker. I thought,‘I’m not going to be captured. I’m not going to be caught. I can disguise myself.’
I immediately started accelerating my energies and, as a result, I was able to transform myself. As I upped my frequency, I heard an increase in the universal hum.I looked down at the backs of both my outstretched hands, keenly observing the intense sunlight react to my skin in a glowing sizzling manner, until my aura intensified and became visible about my body.My aura’s light grew brighter as my skin actually glowed with increasing intensity. It continued until the skin, throughout my entire body, was indistinguishable from the rest of the intense morning sunlight. When they went down the hill and came back with the guy, I was standing there right in front of the house. It was this particular, large wooden house.
It wasn’t large, for being a bungalow, but the door was large. This house was definitely not part of the landscape in Sandy Point, St. Kitts. As I looked on, the guards came bearing the portly gentleman.I was aware from the way he – the supervisor, Zen sage – was talking that he was aware that I was there. Perhaps, he could see me but the other two – the militant guardsmen – couldn’t see me.I realised what I had done: I had made myself light so that I blended in with the landscape and couldn’t be seen. I had rendered myself invisible!
I then decided that I could further transform myself. Next, I made myself into this little white piece of what seemed like string. However, it was more like nylon. It was like shiny waxed dental floss.Such that half way there was a loop in it, it was tied in a knot. It was doubled on itself so that it was, I would guess, three to five inches long at the most.I obviously was astrally projected to another world where, rather lucidly, I was dreaming and interacting with extra-humans. The dental floss-like string was the cord of light which keeps one’s astral body connected, to the waking state body, when astral-projected during sleep.
Immediately, the caretaker guy took the cord – the wax-like cord – which was my transformed-dreamer self in his hand. It was my astral body’s cord which was left rendered visible whilst I remained invisible.He began giving the two guardsmen a walk-through of the house in which only he should have been. It was a house that was no longer lived in. It was wooden all about and very organic.It was a house that allowed for natural light to pour in. There was a skylight. The house was low in the sense that it was dug in. The house was built such that it was somewhat half-buried below the surface. In that way, it was kept cool because it was partly below-ground. All about, on either side, as you walked in every part of this beautiful, sprawling bungalow were every manner of cactus.
These were cacti that were shaped like trees that had leaves. Absolutely stunning and incredible, they enlivened the house throughout.He gave me a tour of the place with the two guardsmen, who could not see me, in tow. As he walked them back to the front door he said,“So you see, he really couldn’t be here. You go off and look for him.”He tossed me or what was my representation – the wax-looking string or my astral body’s umbilical-like cord of light – from his right hand sending it through a doorway of the house. He then went about his business and showed them to the door and got rid of them.At this point, I rematerialised back to my regular dreamer self in this dream and I was able to let on to him that I knew that he knew of my being invisible. So I called him, on another phone in the house, and I remained absolutely silent.I then telepathically shared my thoughts with him. I inferred that I knew that he was aware that I was present in the house though invisible to most. Of course, he knew that I was there but he was just not going to acknowledge my being friendly with him.The fact is that he knew that I was in trouble. He was just trying, out of the goodness of his heart, to help me out. However, he wasn’t going to befriend me or anything like that.
So anyway, on my own I began exploring this beautiful, beautiful labyrinth-like bungalow. The walls of it were wooden. It was a reddish wood like redwoods normally look. It had a shiny hue to it because it was polished.I was talking about it to someone, later on in the dream, and it was in fact the same guy – the caretaker – who had accompanied me at one point. I said it seemed like it was built by Frank Lloyd Wright and he said,“No. Not really…”It seemed like it but it was a different style altogether; however, it was more or less like Frank Lloyd Wright. Seriously though, it was a totally different style.So I went about exploring the place. I went in this one room that was clearly a bedroom. I opened the door and went in – it was a glass door. I went in and on the left were shelves.
There were tiny, tiny, little cacti in pots and some of them were large and some of them were blooming. They were heliotropically craning over to one side.This place had been abandoned for quite some time. However, all the cacti in the place had managed to grow quite large. They were big, bulbous, beautiful and wonderfully lifelike.The spread to the bed was turned down and discarded. It had been left just as when last used by the owner. There was a bulldog; it was not a live one but a statue of a bulldog.This person had a great deal of style and was quite successful. I realised that the owner, the former occupant, was Black. I saw the face and I can’t say that I can recall the face but, somehow, I got the impression that the face was a face of mine if you like.
It was interesting because when I saw the face that is basically the information that I got from looking at the face in the photo. There was a tiny time-faded photograph of a face. It was of a Black man.This was the sense that I got from it, that it was me, in fact.There were beautiful trousers about. As well, there was a large armoire with tons and tons of beautiful, silk robes that I had worn in that life.They were worn around the house by the former occupant. There were, on the bed, some clothes. Too, there was a table beside the bed.Everything in this bungalow was very organic: the bed was very organic, the desk was and even the fixtures were very organic. As well, the cloth was very organic – by organic, I mean that it wasn’t inanimate.
It was organic because it was lifelike. More than that, it was organic because it was breathing. That’s why it had lived so long because it was quite some time since last occupied by the owner.However, it was very much so still alive. The sheet and bedding, on the bed, were woollen and greyish-coloured.The only reason why I had entered the room, in the first place, was I wanted to roam – to see if there were any signs of underwear… there was. There was tons of underwear on the shelves behind me.I wanted to check and sniff his underwear, to see if he had masturbated.
Anyway, when I got into the room, that little adventure had totally evaporated. For having seen the photograph, if you like I was quite interested in exploring the place and getting to refamiliarise myself with the place.The bedroom was just absolutely beautiful. Off to the left, rather behind the shelves and straight ahead, was the closet and the bed was to the right of the door.
Down this long hallway that was sky-lit were the tables and tables of clothing. There was a door past the shelves, on the left, and it looked into more and more clothes.I then came out of there and I went about exploring all over. This time, I went to explore all the cacti in the place. There were tons and tons of them.Shortly thereafter, I was joined by Carl Leroiderien, Merlin and someone else who seemed like Mario of Paris – Mario D’Agostino, however, it wasn’t him.I had a sense of Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny being about and Carl Leroiderien had seemed like a custodian of the place. Carl was a caretaker or curator of the sprawling bungalow which now seemed like an historic site.When he was excitedly walking everyone through the place, to show them the place, he was referring to the owner. I was there but, again, none of these people had any awareness that I was there – not even Merlin.
He was sort of filling them in on who the owner was. From what I could see, Carl was doing a good job of it.There were cacti that were tall. There were also red ones. There was one cactus that was tall and it had needles on it. It had large, large leaves and two or three leaves like those of a royal palm’s.Most of it was like a palm tree but it was like a breadfruit leaf or some sort of leaf like a maple leaf – albeit an extra large maple leaf. It was, however, cactus.Everywhere there were plants on either side of the skylight hallways. The bungalow was a series of long halls that were all connected and veered off in different directions.
However, it was a house that had basically become a living garden such that it was organic. The cacti truly were the lungs of the house. The air was really nice and it was cool.The humans were able to live with the cacti because it was a totally self-sustainable dwelling. As the light came in heliotropically sustaining the various cacti species, it added breath, depth and dimension to the space thereby making it equally organic.Too, because it was partially submerged belowground, there was a lot of moisture from underground that kept these plants alive. The cacti were quite happy and they had grown so beautifully.It was as if they were bonsai cacti. It was quite incredible how they were all over the place throughout the house.
Then I went down some steps to another open area of the bungalow. Again, there were more cacti. We moved off and came to an area where Carl said,“Oh let’s go downstairs, I can show you the basement. You can see all these wonderful things.”When you looked out the skylight area, it was of the street, the pathway into what would seem Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. So I immediately was afraid to be seen yet I was assured by Carl as he stilled my nerves telepathically saying,‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’I was concerned about the people, who lived across the street, reporting me to the militia-types. There was bamboo, organic bamboo if you like, that was made into a fence.It seemed like the backyard of what was the neighbour’s house and they weren’t there. I was told it was quite safe that it was okay. The neighbours weren’t there to squeal on me.
Before you went down the steps, into this other area, there were all these beautiful, beautiful organic works that are quite common in the Orient. For example there were many objets d’art.These were objets d’art which were beautiful temples and totems. They were all made from the ivory of elephants’ tusks. It was all beautifully detailed and in miniature – all the miniature designs were made of ivory.That was the sort of stuff. This particular objet d’art was large. It was square-shaped so that it wasn’t like an elephant’s tusk. More like an obelisk, if you like, it was.They were more so little temples. They were shrines and Greek temples if you like. What was truly fascinating was how incredibly detailed they were though scaled down versions of the real architectural gems.
We moved on and now we came to an area that had nothing but wares. There were lots of baskets everywhere because this was where the ornaments were kept. They were all stored therein.Carl was the caretaker of these things. He was quite familiar with every item and, again, there were bamboo basket-like wares and objets d’art.I was told that this was, in fact, like a wine cooler. It was so delicately and intricately made. Also, the item was collapsible. It could open. The objet d’art was like a valise and it could open up.Merlin went and opened it and was prying into it. It had two African skulls or heads on it and it was quite beautifully detailed as a matter of fact.
We then moved on and came into the downstairs area. This place was like a cellar. Somehow, copious rays of sunlight made it to this part of the sprawling, multi-levelled bungalow.Even though we were further underground yet, somehow, the sunlight came in. However, I soon realised that it wasn’t sunlight. It was just this light that was white and somewhat diffuse.It was quite soft and nice to the touch. Among the many stored wares, there was something that had a white bamboo-like coil. This thing had a piece of string attached to it with two yellow sticks or shoots like chopsticks.
You could insert it and it was, in fact, quite sexual. The Mario D’Agostino character immediately grabbed it up. Whilst simulating sexual play, he was playing around with it.He was making noises filled with sexual innuendo and then said,“Umm, get undressed and put it on your cock because that’s what it’s made for.”Oh he was so happy to perform and went off to try on the item.
*Here now, some further comments set in the dream in the beautiful house. Here, the atmosphere in this house was one of serenity and it was a reflection of that particular life that one had led whence the proprietor was Black.Tall and very erudite, he seemed a man of the world. He was well-travelled. He loved beautiful music and he had a collection of things in his bedroom that were totems from his travels.He was obviously tall because there were lots of khaki and white summer pants which all gave a sense of his height. When I had first entered into the room, there was also a rack that I had bumped into.I hadn’t noticed it because it was suspended from the ceiling. It was racked with leather suspenders and an enormous collection of belts: broad belts, narrow belts, as well, skinny belts.
There were all kinds of beautiful belts. They were very expensive and they were also very organic and ancient. They weren’t brand new any of them.It was all a reflection of the person’s spirit. You never met the person but you knew the person through the house. It was beautiful and wonderfully planned out.The sprawling, organic bungalow was so multidimensional; it went off in all these directions and avenues because that was who this person was in that lifetime. In a box to call home, he was not contained or restrained.The organic house constantly veered off. It had many apartments and veered off and had many cul de sacs. There were areas where he could go and be removed from all the other areas yet be surrounded by plants.
At all times, he was surrounded by life itself and it was healthy… quite nice.Whilst at the restaurant having the lentil-looking soup, the reason for the extra-tall, obvious extra-human being impatient with me was more subtle than one may assume. With their sophisticated proboscis, it is safe to assume that smell was the most developed of this extra-human race’s senses rather than sight as is the case for we humans.Likely, there was something very off-putting to my pheromone makeup which left the seated extra-human uncomfortable. I don’t think that it was a matter of my race, Black, but my species, Earthly human, which made the über-poilu, blond extra-human uncomfortable.
As I was in his home world, he naturally felt put upon for having the unfavourable aspects of my pheromones anywhere near him. At the end of the day, he was an incarnate ensouled fragment who is one of seven soul types and with the same selection of overleaves as any Earthly human. Any Earthly human would have similarly responded to having someone of outré pheromone and species in their midst.
A very serene dream it remarkablywas. END.
As ever, Life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
All sevens can see beyond the veil and they are always without exception very refined, reserved and do not do uncouth nor drama. Why is that you ask? At the core of their being, such persons are callously amoral – they do not care… they do not empathise. So then let’s peer beyond the gullible small-islanders’ inability to look beyond the rigorously maintained façade of the major players of the BRF and, in particular, relative to the Duke & Duchess of Sussex.
Diana, Princess of Wales 1961 <O> 1997
Why would HM The Queen take so long to present after Diana’s death? She did not give a damn, the woman was an inconvenience and she was not going to honour her by appearing before the little people, who clearly loved Diana above all others in the kingdom. She detested Diana. She also had to come to terms with the fact that Diana was eliminated and clearly a lot of atoning had to be done to eventually face the public. Her appearance with the windows of Buckingham Palace open was a cold, ugly affair. Don’t ever forget, PM Tony Blair had to beg HM The Queen to come forward and address the very pained public.
Apart from this utterly saccharine speech, there were moments captured of HM The Queen outside Buckingham Palace on the family’s return from Balmoral. Whilst Charles, William and Harry attended The Queen and HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen’s reaction to the grieving subjects was a cold nasty affair. There was one point where someone reached out to her in their moment of grief and despair at Diana’s death and she simply shuddered and moved on with a smile that was the fakest most mechanical movement of facial muscles imaginable. Regardless what she said in that speech, this is the same woman who did absolutely nothing as Diana emotionally and mentally fell apart whilst the rest of the BRF and staffers abused Diana. Of course, it goes without saying, Diana was struggling with the fact that she was not loved and they all knew that Charles and Camilla were true lovers – especially if that child sequestered in Australia is the adulterers’. Nonetheless, they could, none of them: HM Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother, Charles, Philip, Anne and the entire ghoulish cast, have given two fucks how mightily Diana suffered. Tough!
Regardless what one may think of Mohamed Al-Fayed; there is very little to suggest that the man was just a grieving father. He had the means to have had the truth of the matter rigorously investigated. The classist, racist British establishment and the BRF did not want the disgrace, as they perceived it, of the mother of a future king of the realm being wedded to an Arabic, moneyed Moslem whom they thought of as being too brash and having bought his way in, when in fact he was not especially wanted. There was a price to pay.
Dodi and Diana had two numbers in common, 8 & 7. For both of them, theirs was a 7 in the fourth position; this placement of 7 is more often than not the sign of public assassination – and not just merely assassination. Numbers do not lie; Mohamed knows the truth. Besides, as a father, he would have had countless dreams after Dodi’s passing in which he would have been enlightened as to what really took place and who the source of the assassination order would have been. The Duke of Lancaster would not have been unaware.
Just remember, what is past, is present, is future. Everything that the Sussexes are being put through, is precisely what Mohamed Al-Fayed experienced from the British Establishment, aristocracy and BRF. Of course Mohamed Al-Fayed certainly had no qualms about telling them all to go to hell and did, as well he should have. They crucified his son for having the temerity to seek to join the BRF by proxy.
They would have been spied on by Mi5 and CIA and obviously, the very day that Dodi went out and purchased a 700$k engagement ring for a known expectant, Diana, Princess of Wales, they incredulously perished in a car crash. Of course, Diana survived; however, she was not meant to have survived so she was then put down. It takes a copious dosage of morphine or whatever else they did, to have Diana finally stop being a goddamn pain in the arse. Never forget that she had provoked their ire by producing a firstborn with decidedly Bourbon markers. In all of this, of course, was Mohamed Al-Fayed whose numerology coupled with his wealth, assured that he did not give a damn and called it as he saw it, which is to say that he was and remains spot on about what went down.
Diana’s appalling treatment by the senior royals, of which HM The Queen was keenly aware, was savage in the extreme. One should not be in the least surprised that Meghan, a Black American self-made woman with more charisma, intellect and eloquence than the slovenly broodmare who gave birth to the blasted freak, Prince Damien, was racially preyed on and driven out of the kingdom. Good fucking god, how in high hell do you explain that hideous woman, Princess Michael of Kent being at Meghan’s wedding after she had worn the blackamoor brooch to The Queen’s Christmas lunch, 2017. She then was sat closer to the Prince & Princess of Wales (Camilla rightfully should be called the Princess of Wales because she literally cannibalised Diana, Princess of Wales; calling her Duchess of Cornwall is too good – she should be labelled as what she is) and the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge at The Queen’s platinum jubilee service of thanksgiving at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022 than even the Wessexes, whilst the Sussexes were sat across the aisle and behind the Wessexes and next to the disgraced Duke of York’s two daughters and their admirable spouses. All this would have been with the tacit approval of HM The Queen, yet I certainly hope that the Sussexes do not see the monarch as being in any way an ally of theirs; she is not.
Per the ubiquity of a fly on shit, there has been Princess Michael of Kent aka Princess Blackamoor, partout. She was forever holding holier-than-thou court in the royal box at Wimbledon 2022 as if the point needed to be stressed further, beyond the seating at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022. But lapping it up in spades, she most certainly was. Less than a month prior, there was Lord Snowdon, who sat like the Kents, close to the Cambridges and next to that aesthetically challenged buffoon with the mannish spouse, and on leaving St. Paul’s Cathedral, made a point of completely ignoring the Sussexes as they waited at the top of the stairs for their ride. Snowdon, at the time, snickered and went to chat up the clown, who had been seen embraced and his loyalty assured by William recently photographed for effect, hugging him, as they smugly telegraphed to the world their collective snub of the Sussexes. Of course, there sat Snowdon in the royal box at Wimbledon, who had been found being intimately same-sexed, which male royal never does, sat next to that blasted classist boor, minor TV thespian and snob, legs crossed and his mangina’s anal verge likely just-so softly plush for being filler-saturated. Of course, it goes without saying, his plush bussy was also likely waxed and bleached. Charmant. Sooner or later, Princess Blackamoor will crawl the frig into her casket and when she does, she most definitely will rot the fuck in hell with Idi Amin sat on her god-fugly face – the vile racist swine. Rule number 1, you don’t like Black people… fuck you! As Merlin once remarked, “What good is Black rage if it’s kept in a Ming vase on the mantel?”
As if it were not enough to drive home the fact that the Cambridges are really hyper-obsessed with putting that BBD – no, not big Black dick, Black Bitch/Diva, Meghan, in her place, Catherine just had to invite Martina Hingis to the royal box. Not as if she had won multiple grand slams at Wimbledon or something, like the Williams sisters.
Of course, Hingis was notorious back in the day to have alleged that there was no racism in tennis and she had no clue what the Williams sisters and their father were going on about. Always, the racists give themselves away by readily opining about the non-existence of racism.
Princess Blackamoor’s daughter who always looks like the sporty buffoon’s very mannish wife’s twin brother who’s recently fully transitioned. Surprise, surprise, though Princess Blackamoor feigned approval, in the end her ambiguous-gendered spawn came to her senses and married a perfectly sensible WASP, rather than the Dravidian, who though not Black, is not White.
Of course, the only one who was both elegant and the epitome of class, was the very stylish, acerbic Olivia Bentley of Made in Chelsea, who obviously does not hang around with grifters whose baby daddy has of late been dropping soap and being somebody’s bitch. This was at the recent service of thanksgiving for a loved royal confidante.
So strange this tale and, of course, whatever you want to believe of what was said to have actually occurred, you are free to so choose. Asking for cigarettes is certainly telling.
Here’s a little insight into HM The Queen’s amoral 7thness; she returned to London from Malta, gave birth to HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal then returned to Malta sans new-born mere days later. Naturally, it was the nannies’ duty to care for the new-born. Why should any Queen have to be a mere mother, indeed. Back to Malta she returned to her favoured stallion.
Of course, 8 years later after some obvious froideur, along comes what would in her tenth decade prove her own nightmare and Jeffrey Epstein’s prized blackmail, sex-crazed royal addict, whose second offspring bears an uncanny resemblance to the much favoured steed, Porchy.
As with Mohamed Al-Fayed, the Windsors and their organisation have got all the power to act like a unchallenged crime syndicate. Just as Mohamed was dismissed by the media as being a cuckoo, grieving old man for asking pertinent questions at the death of his son, Dodi Al-Fayed and his new love, Diana Princess of Wales, so too they have managed to have Meghan, Duchess of Sussex eviscerated in the media. Too bad for them though that they do not control American media and Meghan is an American and has power players in her corner who will always matter. Just look at the power of the Windsors. Lady Colin Campbell has never been able to write a biography about the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Obviously, this is because Prince William, a tempestuous stubborn customer, has made it perfectly clear to all the royal rota hacks and more importantly all the heads of the book publishing houses that there is to be no permission or approval of biographies of either him or his dull-as-dishwater wife with an equally violent temper.
Eleven years into their marriage and the only biography to have been written about either the Duke or Duchess of Cambridge has been “William at 40″ by Robert Jobson. Lady Colin Campbell writing her scathing tomes on the Sussexes is all about income stream for her. In the long term, she is hoping that this puts her in favour with the Cambridges, who see her for the gutter-sniping fraud that she is. Just think about it, the Poundland Countess, with her very own castle, has never written a book about Camilla, Charles or William and Catherine. How free is the press in the kingdom, if one cannot write about some members of the BRF? As such, it is a land of flagrant propaganda and little else as the pantomime rolls from one generation to the next as it has from one millennium to the next.
Moreover, when it pleases the Windsors and the firm to be oversaturated in the media, there is always a sacrificial lamb proffered. Diana was never liked by her husband, even less so by his mother, who knew all along that she was a convenient cover for Charles’s dalliances and Australian-disposed baggage, all of which would be conveniently covered up with Diana being skewered in the media. There are two things that the modern BRF do with predicable élan: royal weddings, which sell the fairy story and then the scandals follow thereafter. Charles and Diana, the wedding of the century, followed soon thereafter by Sarah, Duchess of York being fed to the Fleet Street abattoirs. Of course, as we have now come to see, “Fergie” was the initially proffered lamb, as it turns out, it was so much smoke and mirrors to cover the Wales’ toxic sham of a marriage, which was coming fast undone.
There is a part of me that secretly likes this woman because at the end of the day, she is Jamaican and there is only one word which does not exist in Jamaican patois… shy! Guaranteed, you will laugh loudest when with Jamaicans!
Lady Colin Campbell Books:
Publication Order of Standalone Novels
It’s been pulped and I’ve a copy
Publication Order of Non-Fiction Books
Lady Colin Campbell’s Guide to Being a Modern Lady
Diana in Private
The Royal Marriages
A Life Worth Living
The Real Diana
Daughter of Narcissus
The Untold Life of Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother
The Queen’s Marriage
People of Colour and the Royals
Meghan and Harry
Voilà! Not a single biography of adulterers Charles & Camilla. So too none of Prince Philip, HM The Queen, HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal and, of course, none of either William and Catherine, together or alone. How in high hell can the most deliciously scathing biographer of the realm not once have put pen to paper and written from Porchy to Rose Hanbury and all the juicy tea.
Furthermore, where is that biography of Prince Philip and Penelope, star-crossed lovers? Indeed, Penelope Knatchbull, Countess Mountbatten of Burma was not only well-sat at the Westminster Abbey service of thanksgiving for HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh but also, she was the only non-Windsor family member in attendance at HRH Prince Philip’s funeral in April 2021, ‘trusted confidante’ of the late prince as she was… take a sip dears. God only knows, it is not as if, Lady Colin Campbell has another 50 years of living and writing to go; certainly, the recent passing of the elegant Lily Safra should have given her pause. Stop inciting hatred for dollars on YouTube and get to writing! Just look at the wealth of material: Porchy, Penelope, Camilla, Tampon-Prince, their Australian-sequestered love child… and obvious others.
Speaking of biographies… I will not include herein a picture of his fucking ugly face; however, suffice it to say, no other group are possessed of need to incite anti-Black racism as are some Jews, in particular Ashkenazi. Of course, such persons are always, as is the cultural norm, readily believed and their word seen as divine law. As I am Afro-Sephardic, I could not give a goddamn whom so fuck-all takes offence. This man has written a scathing biography, which is lauded in all quarters because god only knows, not only does he clearly walk on water but he obviously farts Skittles.
15/9/1984 Rat Henry, Duke of Sussex 6.6.1 = 4
4/8/1981 Rooster Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4.3.4 = 11
6/5/2019 Pig Archie Harrison 6.2.5 = 4
4/6/2021 Ox Lilibet Diana 4.1.6 = 11
In numerology there are no lies… as in dreams. There is perfect synergy between Harry’s and Archie’s numbers, just as the same is true between Meghan’s and Lilibet Diana’s numbers. According to one of many lies being peddled by this charlatan biographer, who is just loving inciting more hatred for Meghan for having stepped out of her pre-ordained line – some people – Meghan could not have been born in 1981 and clearly is possibly as old as 46. Well, I have run the numbers and each child will numerologically have at least 2 numbers as the parent with whom they have a parenting bond. Obviously, as with Archie & Harry, Lilibet Diana would have to have been born with master number 11 like Meghan for there to be that harmony. Also, Lilibet Diana would be born with master numbers when it is so closely bonded a family; it is literally them against the Windsor’s world, which is considerable.
4/8/1981 Rooster Meghan Markle 4.3.4 = 11
4/8/1975 Rabbit Meghan Markle 4.3.7 = 5
4/8/1976 Dragon Meghan Markle 4.3.8 = 6
4/8/1977 Snake Meghan Markle 4.3.9 = 7
4/8/1978 Horse Meghan Markle 4.3.1 = 8
4/8/1979 Goat Meghan Markle 4.3.2 = 9
4/8/1980 Monkey Meghan Markle 4.3.3 = 1
The only numbers which makes sense vis-à-vis Lilibet Diana’s and Harry’s, for that matter, are those of August 4, 1981, year of the Rooster. That leaves Meghan with master numbers of 11, which always denotes a life of destiny and such people are incredibly astute, come fully prepared for the journey ahead. If Archie and Harry are so simpatico, then clearly Lilibet Diana would have to be equally simpatico with her mum, Meghan and that she is to a mum born, August 4, 1981. End of discussion. Of course, like Orly Taitz herr Schmuckface just knows that for having his head so far up god’s ass, he speaks/writes the truth. Well, of course, the children do not exist; they are invisible, Meghan was never pregnant, it was a pillow. And on and on and fuck-all, on and on.
Of course, he it was who had some rather bigoted choice observations, unsolicited, of President Barack Obama. But enough about vile buffoons, biting off infinitely more than they can chew – the Skittles-farting clown. This is the thing about some Jews, they are always being given a pass when they are racially predatory towards Blacks. And this is where BRF-sanctioned, character assassination biographer du jour, who has already been called out for having appropriated persons quotes and used as sources and warped their quotes in his vendetta against the schwarze shiksa, proves himself just another anti-Black racist. As though, only Jews are supposed to have ever experienced persecution, just as with Tina Brown (not Jewish), Mr. Schmuckface writes a 300-page plus book and never once mentions Princess Michael of Kent’s blackamoor brooch, which has been the biggest exposé of the racism to which Meghan, Duchess of Sussex was subjected. Since then as if to drive home the point, that blasted flat-arsed, hideous Rhino-legged racist swine, Princess Blackamoor, has been upfront and prominently placed at every opportunity.
Honest to frigging god, do you think that herr Schmuckface would have written a biography about a Jewish fiancée of Harry’s, who had been subjected to anti-Semitism when a minor royal showed up at HM The Queen’s Christmas lunch, wearing a swastika brooch and claiming not to have known that it was offensive and in this hyperbole, claiming that it was a Hindu cross brooch. Though it is true and even an Ethiopian and Navajo cross, we all, the world over, know that a damn swastika is a symbol of hideous anti-Semitism. Herr Schmuckface is a vicious coward; he knows that all he has to do, is go out there and say that Meghan made Catherine cry and that settles it. He is after all a Jew – it must be so. He is a damn bigot and a liar. The proof that Catherine made Meghan cry is validated by her behaviour at the March 2020 Commonwealth Service of Thanksgiving at Westminster Abbey. Catherine had been rude to Meghan in the lead up to the royal wedding about the bridesmaids’ tights. Catherine is an insecure woman, who was threatened by Meghan’s greater charisma, intellect and eloquence. The proof that Catherine made Meghan cry, is validated when she came up to take her seat at Westminster Abbey and though Meghan waved her right wrist that was placed on a her lap as she pointedly smiled at Catherine, Catherine refused to look at or acknowledge Meghan. At that point, the world was convinced that Meghan had made Catherine cry, which is all the more reason, Catherine deliberately ignored Meghan to perpetuate the lie, thanks to Camilla Tominey’s exclusive warped version, in the Daily Telegraph in November 2018, of what occurred after the Sussexes’ successful first tour in the South Pacific.
Most of all, Catherine is a White female who happens to be prejudiced towards Blacks – energy body of 9 – and she does not give a damn that it came to this. She will be Queen Consort and has given birth to the future sovereign… she does not have to give a damn what anyone thinks. To hell with the yank imposter and a Black one at that. Catherine, William for that matter, favour Jews and she has time and again demonstrated unease around Blacks, though, at this point, she has been made aware that optics are more important than personal bias. End of discussion.
Just like that yenta, Angela Whiny-whatshername, and Tina Brown, there must never be any discussion of anti-Black racism with regards the BRF’s senior and minor titled royals. They have gleefully torn their flat arses in the negro from Compton’s face since that day in December 2017 and as recently as the thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022, yet there is no connection to racism neither are the BRF racist. Just like Tina and the two Jews in question, the time is long past to stop cutting HM The Queen slack. She has been aware of this hideous racism all along and done nothing; indeed, it has gone on like a bad joke month after month, after month. The best way to condone repugnant behaviour is to ignore it and do nothing about it. Herr Schmuckface has lied about who made whom cry and he has a serious credibility issue when he runs his ugly head off in excess of 300 pages and never once mentions the blackamoor brooch; talk about a clear-cut case of bias. To hell with the lot of these BRF-bought or purely sycophantic biographers.
Listen to Catherine in the background; in the original version – long scrapped from YouTube – she accuses the amateur photographer of having stalked them and seen recently doing so. All this triggers William who is her task companion as well as the ordinal partner in their pairing. The poor man doesn’t stand a chance, she said that he was there and that is that. Of course, it behoves William to at all times have security tracking with them… anywhere… at all times. There are no excuses. William sounds so vulnerable and pained; it is also an image of the Cambridges that must not be seen. When you are going to go to such great lengths to demonise your own brother and his Black wife; you cannot have it both ways. At the risk of stating the obvious, it takes two hands to clap.
Now we come to the modern age, and time to throw another fairy story wedding. William was finally presented to the realm and as stupid can only be expected to do stupid, there was he got into the carriage and sat with his back to the horses and then remained sat whilst his new bride entered the carriage. Neither his brother nor father sat their arse down until their new wife was sat in the carriage – no uncouth, unaware dolts, Charles & Harry. Of course, from day one, the Cambridges openly rowed in full view of everyone on the ride back to Buckingham Palace and again on the balcony, they hissed at each other. Far be it from the blind to have taken notice of anything so obvious as truth. Of course, this wedding occurred long after the inconvenience of Diana was dealt with once and for all and she was put down… truly off to the abattoir she was sent and conveniently so in a tunnel where none of the many street level surveillance cameras could have caught anything.
Now the fairy story needed to be updated and the Windsors prove themselves progressive and inclusive; the Commonwealth after all is not exclusively Caucasian. It is one thing to talk the talk but you have got to be able to walk the walk. As HRH Prince Charles and Doria Ragland returned to the quire after having signed the registry, there was HRH Prince William openly ridiculing Meghan and her culture before her mother, Doria. This he also did before his embarrassed father, the Hollywood players across the quire aisle, HM The Queen and the entire world. When the Sussexes proved too popular and eclipsed the Cambridges, the bigoted Cambridges had to sabotage the Sussexes. As in the past, after a fairy story wedding, time for scandal. Without a sacrificial lamb delivered to the Fleet Street abattoirs, the pantomime and the Windsors lose their lustre… their very appeal. What better way to annul the very existence of the Duchess of Sussex and her marriage into the BRF, start a campaign to vilify and demonise her. Of course, though not dissimilar to North Korea in its jaundiced coverage of the Windsors, the Fleet Street abattoirs keep offering too much grizzle and shank. All this, as was the case with Sarah, Duchess of York and her fall from grace, is to cover the scandals within the thorny marriage of the Cambridges.
Interesting isn’t; then again, there are no coincidences. The official portrait of the Cambridges has Catherine wearing a green dress. The night that actor, Will Smith slapped comedian Chris Rock, his wife, Jada Pinkett Smith was wearing a green dress with yards of train. Green is the negative colour of 9/toxic energy; Jada has four 9s in her numerology. Catherine was not comfortable, sat next to Meghan in the royal box at Wimbledon and thus wore green and had her sister-in-law sat between her and her sister, Pippa Middleton-Matthews. Persons with 9 are more toxic, bitchy and vile for wearing green. Catherine studied art history and she knows the vibration that clothes and jewellery effect; she is subtle, vicious but does not go unnoticed by those with eyes to see. Green, of course, represents nature, life, moss, arboreal splendour and its negative aspect is reflected in all things that are venomous, acidic, toxic.
What these sorry saps did not factor into the equation, was Meghan collecting her rock, Harry, and saying, “life is not a dress rehearsal and I don’t do Prissy. Let’s get the hell outta here!” Like Sarah, Duchess of York, Meghan was supposed to have stuck around and been walked all over by the BRF and Fleet Street. And this is why the Sussexes have won, from HM The Queen on down to that blasted buffoon, to say nothing of the many dalliances exposed and whispered about.
Just as William did not attend Wimbledon on the same day that Lord Snowdon was sat his Athenian arse next to the minor thespian put-through, so too he is very careful to never have James Middleton show up at Wimbledon and definitely not sat in the royal box whilst he is there. Naturally, one would not want to have persons start entertaining the thought that James has been ridden like a prized polo pony for many moons now. There is a reason why, James is kept safely out of reach, if only to pop up time and again, doing his best Saint Francis of Assisi… a right sissy that one… to be sure. So as much as they would like to have wanted the Sussexes about being shat on by Fleet Street and the rest of the realm, to serve as foil for the Cambridges’ fractured, messy marriage – exhibit Prince Damien for one – they have got no end of thinly veiled scandals percolating just below the surface.
What the whole debacle in St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022 revealed at HM The Queen’s platinum jubilee service of thanksgiving, is how weak the Windsors are next to the Sussexes. The Queen deliberately did not attend because she wanted to have the Sussexes embarrassed before the world without her being present and looking as though complicit. What… no shit, pigs don’t fly! She has spent the better part of ten, eight in an official capacity, decades pulling the wool over the eyes of the somnambulant clowns of her island realm but few else are duped by her and her clan’s antics. Why even go so low as to have the Sussexes sat where they were but then to top it off, just as her being at the Sussexes’ wedding, Princess Blackamoor was sat within fart-sniffing distance of the Prince & Princess of Wales as well as the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. They have no power; when the Sussexes exited the island sanatorium, the Windsors lost their power to thoroughly fuck with and manipulate them. They have upped their attacks by having a spate of biographies printed; however, everyone of them fail to mention the blackamoor brooch incident because, clearly, all these biographers are sanctioned and directed on how to focus the narrative of the runaway slave, Meghan. To not mention the blackamoor brooch incident and Princess Blackamoor’s subsequent prominence, does one thing and one thing only; it exposes the fact that the Windsors are die-hard racists. All the nonsense of Commonwealth unity is a damn farce.
Don’t you worry your sweet little head, you’ve got scandal aplenty with Prince Damien chomping at the bit to get on with life and cause you no end of dread and embarrassment. As for Prince Damien, two other royals had a fourth number of 7 and they were both assassinated: Diana, Princess of Wales (1/7/1961 Ox 1.8.7 = 7) and Lord Louis Mountbatten, Earl of Burma 25/6/1900 Rat 7.4.5 = 7). It is very possible that either of his parents will choose to have Prince Damien put down for being a royal pain in the arse; it is what they do and have always done.
HM The Queen’s reign has been possessed of her amoral nature; it has had a cycle of abuses that show utter disregard for human decency, compassion, as well as, both emotional and mental wellbeing. During her reign there has been one consistency, no care for senior royals wellbeing if they are not in line to be future sovereign. From HRH Princess Margaret, her sister – whose emotional and mental health she ruined by her ruthless inconsiderateness. Not just her having abandoned the new-born HRH Princess Anne to return to HRH Prince Philip in Malta, in later years, she would turn a blind eye and allow the utter abuse of Diana, Princess of Wales who had been simply used for approved heirs, to say nothing how Sarah, Duchess of York has been abused and kept around like a despised corgi just so that one can kick it at every opportunity.
Do Drink Up… Backstory Time.
Diana was not a stranger to them. As the preceding photograph attests, seven years into her marriage to Andrew Parker-Bowles, (who incidentally was also a lover of HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal), there was Camilla, clearly having an affair with HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, whilst grooming Lady Diana Spencer to be Charles’ approved concubine; how not unlike Ghislaine Maxwell was the very married Mrs. Camilla Parker-Bowles. All of this, HM The Queen would have been intimately aware of and clearly approved of. So a barely legal, Lady Diana Spencer was being squired, groomed and proffered by Camilla who by that point had sequestered her lovechild with HRH Prince Charles to the colonies in Australia. Obviously, HM The Queen had a direct hand in the lovechild being removed from the scene; there are simply some scandals that cannot be tolerated. The scandals that spring from the Fleet Street abattoirs do so with the royal seal of approval by none other than HM The Queen.
Diana, for being a mature soul artisan, was no pushover. She was a quick study, when she saw that she was merely a convenient, acceptable womb and that Camilla, her handler, would never stop meddling in her marriage to Camilla’s true lover, like any artisan-soul worth their adventurous, dramatic salt, Diana went off and engaged in revenge lust with the continent’s biggest royal lothario. That dalliance is precisely why HM King Juan-Carlos of Spain, father of Diana’s lovechild, was disinvited at the last minute to the royal wedding of HRH Prince Charles of Wales and Lady Diana Spencer. What was HM The Queen to do at that point, Charles & Diana were already set to be wedded and she, after all, had long abandoned Philip and been besotted and sired by Lord Porchester – and you can bet that she did not give a goddamn what anyone thought. As Charles ignored and carried on with Camila immediately after his wedding, Diana simply resumed relations with King Juan-Carlos and a pregnancy was expected so who would be any the wiser. Meanwhile, she knew damn well that as Queen, she could rip off Porchy’s clothes and mount him on the Buckingham Palace balcony at trooping the colour and not a single damn fool on the island realm would have seen any such thing. Period.
Well, of course, Porchy’s boy, HM The Queen’s favoured lovechild was going to have a full 5-star wedding at Westminster Abbey. Another royal wedding, means more tourists after all and more merch income. Pretty soon, though, the fairy story started turning into an abundant flock of lambs for the Fleet Street abattoirs. Toe-sucking and pretty soon, Fergie was cast into the wilderness; not in direct line for the throne anyway, which afforded her to be diversionary scandal. Then faster than a sneeze, there was Diana making perfectly frigging goddamn clear that she was done playing along or playing nice. Never mind that before Penelope Knatchbull, there was HRH Princess Alexandra of Kent, yet HRH Prince Philip made it perfectly clear that he did not ever want to see Sarah, Duchess of York in the same room as him after her divorce. To that end, she was not invited to William and Catherine’s wedding and Meghan and Harry insisted that she be at their wedding; however, she was sat across the quire aisle from the rest of the royals. Incidentally, the Sussexes should not have been surprised at their placement at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022 as this was what HM The Queen decreed. Nonetheless, HM The Queen also made sure that Princess Blackamoor was placed close to the Waleses and Cambridges at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022.
Diana started taking lovers. Naturally, to toss off Diana and begin her character assassination at the Fleet Street abattoirs, HM The Queen in a move to protect and avenge her honour, has the notion of HRH Prince Harry being Diana’s lovechild with James Hewitt floated. What a very convenient arsenal to draw on, as she was so intimate with this development two decades early with the lovechild with Porchy; simultaneously, it goes a long way to make the notion of Charles & Camilla more feasible in future, which like a turtle she has managed to live to see that PR rebranding of the adulterous Camilla the Ghislaine Maxwell-like groomer and Charles the Tampon prince. Naturally, James Hewitt was just another lamb proffered by HM The Queen and her syndicate, to protect Prince William’s true parentage and thereby get back at Diana for having fucked with not just Charles & Camilla but herself, HM The Queen, by fucking HM King Juan-Carlos of Spain. Of course, in due course as Charles was off loving Camilla and many male lovers, Diana, Princess of Wales wasted little time, taking lovers married or not as has always been the royal way.
After HM The Queen went out and had her lovechild with Lord Porchester, who turned into a real karmic tsunami, Philip for near five decades openly lived a life of passion and companionship with the very married Countess of Burma, Penelope Knatchbull. Just like Porchy’s lovechild, they do as they please and do not give a damn what the little islanders think. Of course, Philip lived to see the day that he was avenged for having been humiliated by a lovechild being in line to the throne ahead of his daughter, HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal.
Of course, well before there was the very married Penelope Knatchbull, Countess of Burma, there was HRH Princess Alexandra of Kent, HM King George V’s granddaughter and daughter of HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent. Princess Alexandra’s numerology: 25/12/1936 Rat! 7.1.2 = 1. Philip’s affair with Princess Alexandra is what caused the rift in the sovereign’s marriage which resulted in HM The Queen’s affair with the Porchmeister and eventually their passion produced the rather barrel-hipped porchfest, Prince Andrew who exposed the lust and passion that produced him in the debauched affair that saw Jeffrey Epstein, Ghislaine Maxwell and Virginia Roberts-Giuffre being more than tangential bit players and infamous persons known the world over, one to whom they had to pay hush money. This is where it now gets interesting, after Andrew’s birth there was no going back and soon it was Penelope Knatchbull, the very married Countess of Burma with whom Prince Philip was passionately consumed. Penelope’s numerology is most interesting: 16.4.1953 Snake. 7.2.2 = 11. Both women are 7 energy bodied, you can’t get more amoral than that – they can also see dead people, auras et al. The more excitingly fascinating of the two royal mistresses of Prince Philip’s would hands down be Penelope; she has master number 11. These persons are inordinately charming and incredibly powerful and exceptionally gifted in the sexual arts. Moreover, Penelope is born in the year of the Snake; they can be monstrous, which is why Chinese traditionally avoided having babies in the year of the snake for fear that they would give birth to a female. For Princess Alexandra, a Rat, she was just in it for the adventure and with amoral 7 energy body, it was damn great sex and she was not going to not get her fix. Again, it is what the royals have always done.
One of the most important things that HRH Prince Harry said in his engagement interview, occurred when he corrected BBC host, Mishal Husain by stating, “Or they think they know!” If HM The Queen wants the realm to know, it will be filtered via the abattoirs on Fleet Street. Everything else will be smoke and mirrors and the standard, “Never explain. Never complain” rules the day. Indeed, when you’ve much to hide, so say you.
Royals and their lovers indeed. HRH Princess Margaret, Countess Snowdon 21/8/1930 Horse 3.2.6 = 11
Margaret was possessed of master number 11; she did not give a living shit and said and did as she pleased. She was also innately talented and exceedingly charismatic. She had three lovers of note and only one of them did she share 2 numbers in common. This would have been her one true love, Peter Townsend (22/11/1914 Tiger 4.6.3 = 4). Peter, however, was divorced and his wife was still alive, which means that as the Governor of the Church of England, HM The Queen could not have sanctioned Margaret’s marriage to her true love and divorced spouse. With two numbers in common, it is very likely that there was a high degree of past-life connection between Margaret and Peter Townsend. He was shipped off to Belgium so that she could not have her star-crossed lover on the side. As karma would have it within ten years of Margaret being bitterly separated from Peter Townsend by his relocation to Belgium, Prince Philip was ploughing Princess Alexandra and before the decade was out, HM The Queen had her lovechild with Lord Prochester, HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York and we know damn well how all that karma turned out, Epstein, Maxwell, Roberts-Giuffre. All the more reason why it was callous in the extreme to have dispatched Peter Townsend to Belgium. Margaret could have wedded whomever and kept Peter as lover, open or otherwise; this after all, is what both HM The Queen and Prince Philip did… it is what the royals have always done.
Margaret having been told to suck it up and get on with living, then settled for Antony Armstrong-Jones, 1st Earl Snowdon. It is hard to see what had these two walking down the aisle, unless Antony Armstrong-Jones (7/3/1930 Horse 7.1.5 = 4) was hung like a prized steed. Margaret and Antony did not a single number in common share; she had to have kids and if he loved being pegged by strap-on or cock, he would not have been the first royal male with same-sex proclivities. Finally, having had enough of playing at happily married, Margaret dispensed with her pegged hubby and cut to the chase. She took Roddy Llewellyn (9/10/1947 Pig 9.1.4 = 5) as her lover. She needed to be well-ploughed and often and when that is the order, no one fills the role better than a Pig. Pigs are loud, lusty, sexually obsessive souls who will happily fulfil themselves and partners as often as possible. Soused on drink and nicotine all Princess Margaret wanted was damn good sex and that is just what Roddy would have provided. Like the Earl Snowdon, Margaret and Roddy had no numbers in common. At 17 years Margaret’s junior, Roddy was merely a throbbing sex toy and knew his role.
Please, Switch to Elderflower; It Is Most Soothing…
Catherine has mastered the art of cussing behind clenched teeth whilst smiling that ever-present smile of hers. Her 9 energy body here is toxic in the extreme and that is why for most of the time, William’s face is warped into a pursed-lipped silence. William is a submissive; he is a bottom who loves being bullied by his wife and it is part of their psychosexual dynamic. Catherine is a dominatrix. Who again made whom cry?
Catherine peppered William with abuse common to dominatrixes whilst smiling and looking his way; just look at her exasperation at the 40 second mark. On arriving at the top of the stairs, Catherine looked across to William who had still not made it up. She cuts the eye at him and does not give a damn who the world over noticed.
Bottoms Up! Now we learn where best fake-toothed, bald, submissive Billy likes to wear his crown jewels! If that is not rich…. of course, it has always been there. You can even see it in the way Catherine triggers William in the clip of them out bike-riding and encountering an amateur photographer. Of course, William’s mum, Diana, Princess of Wales was 1 energy-bodied and that is the sign of the dominatrix/bully. I have also known four women along life’s journey and everyone of them had men whom they utterly controlled, emasculated and pussy-whipped their every breath. Heck, two of those women, with energy body of 9, loved using a strap-on on their lovers/partners.
Perhaps, indeed, he loves being pegged by James Middleton, Earl of Insolvency. Again, William’s fourth number is 5, it signifies male sexual fluidity, submissive behaviour, sexual excess, sexual scandal; furthermore, William is moving centred and all such persons are highly sex-focussed individuals. 5 represents excess – excessive submission. All this has happened throughout the history of the royal family; now, we live in an age where very little goes unnoticed.
Just look at William in both photographs on separate occasions; his lips are pursed and he is self-contained, emasculated and submissive. William is also jealous as hell but there isn’t a damn thing that he can do about it. A woman loves whom she loves and that’s that! Meanwhile, Catherine (9/1/1982 Rooster 9.1.3 = 4) does not waste time in telegraphing her heightened sexuality when focussed on Ben; she is all over and into Sir Ben Ainslie (5/2/1977 Dragon 5.7.4 = 7). This has been going on at least since 2014 and always, no one ever makes mention. In light of what we know about Prince Philip and HM The Queen, in this generation, we also do have a parallel dynamic. Catherine has made it perfectly clear, time and again, that William is a goddamn irritant. Not to be overlooked, is the fact that Dragons and Dogs do NOT get along; there is no way that William would ever feel comfortable around Ben and will be consumed with jealousy rather than not with regards Ben; Catherine intuitively knows this and plays it up even more. Make no mistake about it, there is more than flirting at play here. What’s poor Willy to do but go self-peg or cocksuck a couple of fags (British version or is that a pun?).
Catherine openly flirts with Ben and what does it say about their relationship when he adjusts her helmet; it is the most bold display of their intimacy. Of course, on the day of this Commonwealth invitational sailing event between Britain and New Zealand – Britain won – Catherine could not have bothered nor would she have dropped the sailing event, to attend Wembley Stadium with her husband, William, whilst the ladies England team squared off against Germany in the Ladies Euros 2022 finals, which they won. There was William alone and unattended by his wife, Catherine, who was in Plymouth openly flirting with her very intimate friend, Ben Ainslie.
More important for Catherine was spending sportive quality time with Sir Ben. Well, of course, Sir Ben is married but so too is Penelope Knatchbull and Princess Alexandra wedded when they were the open lovers of Prince Philip’s, HM The Queen or no queen, to say nothing of the rest of humanity. But did anyone ever notice or write biographies and harp on as though the sky were imminently about to collapse?
Honestly, though they only have one match numerologically, there may be a strong past-life history between both Ben & Catherine or they may well be entity/cadre mates; either way, she is a warrior and all warrior souls whether male or female are very highly sexed persons, for whom there is never any shame in their game when they want to be sexually satisfied. Catherine is no different and she has the perfect partner. More sex workers and street walkers are warrior souls than any other role… so you know.
You definitely do not see Catherine ever looking this downright maudlin when in the company of Sir Ben Ainslie. “Lady sings the blues. She’s got it bad…” Sing it Billie Holiday. You wait, Billy, she’s gonna peg you good. Take a sip and breathe dears… exhale; isn’t Elderflower superb?
William is an insipid, foul-tempered man-child, who does find ready support in the court buffoon, whose wife is as equally dominant as is Catherine. He, too, likely does love being pegged. This could have been such smooth sailing; however, you just had to go tempting karma by being nasty little upfront racists towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Now that she is gone, you’ve blown your cover… from Prince Damien to personal preference on how to wear the crown jewels, are truly unmasking.
If you going to reincarnate and work as a team on a life devoted to stewardship, this remarkably august pair would be as fine a blueprint as you could hope for. I don’t know if they are task companions or essence twins but what I do know, is that they are without doubt august mature souls with a strong past-life history. They do a remarkable job of not just maintaining an estate, Houghton Hall, they have handsomely adapted it to survive and thrive in modern times.
All four of their numbers match; this is a bucolic reward incarnation for both and it has to do with a lifetime, which was chosen at the level of soul because they had richly earned/deserved it. As the 7th Marquess of Cholmondeley his 9 energy body is vastly different to Catherine’s. For one, he was born into the aristocracy and for another a woman with 9 energy body is vastly more acerbic, predatory than a male with 9 energy body; Catherine was also not of aristocratic birth, which only steeled her 9 energy body’s exoskeleton. Rose’s 6 energy body means that as also of aristocratic birth, she is all about being grounded, family-focussed and eschewing drama. This couple so get each other that it would not be surprising if they regularly finished each other’s sentences, experienced a strong degree of telepathy, most definitely communicate rather actively in dreams and when they are together can effect magical stillness when in a room. They are quite remarkable. Life is a business; they get it and run a business they do. As any good rat knows, life is about balance and duality. They indulge and when they play, they lose themselves.
Much has been whispered at tea about this pairing of couples. Honey, I don’t read tea leaves. I am inclined to believe that Catherine wanted Rose frozen out, simply because Catherine is a warrior soul and all warrior souls are quick to do battle, anywhere, anytime, with whomsoever with enemies real or imagined, many of whom prove the latter. Catherine, as with Meghan, is easily threatened. In this case, Rose’s aristocratic birth would be reason enough to look to freeze her out.
The Rocksavages are mature souls and as Rats, they could give two frigs about trifling drama; they are far too sophisticated to get caught up in that. They are aristocratic; one does as one has always done. It is the spouse’s duty to accept and live with it or suffer the consequences. William’s fourth number of 5 means that as there has been smoke, and copious amounts, I might add, I say there most definitely is a raging fire… hey, blame it on climate change.
Wasn’t that sublime? It’s remarkably elegant and sensual. I find it also induces the most languorously lucid dreams. Always good to take the time for tea. Cheers. Speaking of dreams, I think the link to this dream almost 30 years ago, is a fitting metaphor for how the BRF, Fleet Street and the island realm dwellers relate to the Sussexes. Don’t, like the dog in this dream, be like the aforementioned: BRF, Fleet Street and island dwellers of the realm.
Saturday past, as it is a holiday weekend here, my spouse and I crated Buster and took him to my sister Pandora’s. There we had too much Moet, can you possibly ever have too much champagne, and had an early birthday dinner with luscious raspberry-covered cake ahead of my 62nd on Tuesday. 2/8/1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11. Buster sat on the desk, looking out the window because since Pandora and hubby moved back to town from Ottawa, her two cats – mother and daughter – can’t seem to make heads or tail of him. Buster scurries about and now it’s gotten to the point of a hiss there, a hiss here. Either way, he calms himself by taking to the window and gazing up at the Aura condominium, which towers higher still than those across Bay Street.
Miles Davis – Trumpet
Wayne Shorter – Saxophone
Herbie Hancock – Piano
Ron Carter – Bass
Tony Williams – Drums
As this is the 65th anniversary of Ron Carter’s career as Jazz bassist extraordinaire, I thought this concert a fitting tribute. Jazz is the magical language of Black love and spirituality. From Emmett Till to George Floyd, honestly, how can you possibly expect us to suffer the repugnant affront of you, seeking to cancel Jazz, cancel Black culture by your grudging ubiquity? You will never do.
As ever, life is like a flying dream; if you look down, you’re fucked. Enjoy the ride and fear no one!
Just when I thought there could be no tea more sublime than soursop bush tea – a favourite since childhood in the West Indies, I discovered Fortnum & Mason’s elderflower-flavoured green tea. As my latest order arrived just in time for what would have been Merlin’s 74th birthday on July 21, [21/7/1947 Pig 3.1.4 = 8] I thought to go one better and try and get myself a lemon and elderflower cake for my birthday on August 2 [2/8/1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11]. After all, it was the Sussexes’ gorgeous-looking lemon and elderflower wedding cake that got me thinking. Soon, I was on the quest for an elderflower-flavoured cake for my upcoming birthday. Daniel et Daniel, which really is not what it was in the 80s when Merlin and I got choice pastries and at least one dish per week there, carried no such cake. Restless, I called partout and eventually got around to placing a call to another of the Weston family’s refined businesses, the Loblaws at Maple Leaf Gardens. Eventually, I was put through to the bakery department where I got an haughty prude, who seemed too bothered to have to take the call. For the third time, I repeated that I was looking for an elderflower-flavoured cake, when Ms. Krakow, 1978, third runner-up dismissively bulldozed back, “Elderflower? No! We only use white flour in our cakes!” Well, there has to be a first time for everything because early in my seventh decade, I laughed so damn hard that I fell onto the sofa, clapping, tearing up and simultaneously experienced the most mind-altering trifecta of ageing: leaking, farting and feeling damn near on the cusp of what one assumes an aneurysm must feel like. I am determined to yet have that lemon and elderflower-flavoured cake.
The tea photographed is actually not elderflower; it is a far more pale, sublimely subtle affair.
Beyond these gates, at a royal Roman villa, recently occurred the most sublimely magical theatre…..
Unescorted by her father, Lady Kitty Spencer proved that Spencer women are indomitable whether her aunt, Diana, Princess of Wales or for that matter, Georgiana spencer, Duchess of Devonshire. Ah those fabulous, formidable Spencer women!
30/12/1990 (Horse) Lady Kitty Spencer-Lewis 3.6.7 = 7
Georgiana Spencer Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire…. a Spencer woman to the core.
7/6/1757 (Goat) Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire 7.4.6 = 8
A Spencer woman who more than measured up to Georgiana – standard bearer of Spencer fortitude, Diana, Princess of Wales.
1/7/1961 (Ox) Diana, Princess of Wales 1.8.7 = 7.
Diana despite what has been claimed, was immensely uncomplicated and the most dynamic Spencer woman. She was 1 energy body, which means that regardless of her artisan soul doe-eyed fawning, she was a loud, combative, bossy bully-arsed Amazon and as tough as they come. Diana’s second number of 8 simply means that she was going to earn even more money than that into which she was born, which was true – though the Spencers are infinitely more ancient a family than the Windsors. Most of all, Diana was possessed of double 7s. All 7 persons can see beyond the veil and know exactly what is going down at all times. They can see ‘dead people’ as the saying goes but tend to rarely advertise this. They see auras and they more than anyone else can penetrate beyond the veil such that they can be as readily focussed on the astral plane as they can the physical plane. They are master manipulators and they are the ultimate power in any dynamic. Diana was neither pawn nor unaware. Most of all, all persons with more than one 7 in their numerological makeup and when the fourth/destiny number is a 7 run the very real risk of being murdered/assassinated.
29/5/1917 (Snake) President John F. Kennedy 2.7.7. = 7.
There are only 2 deaths of persons in public life in the West during the 20th century, which to our very core collectively broadsided us and shook us to our soul… all of us. President John F. Kennedy and Diana, Princess of Wales. The President was openly assassinated as it was a message to all future presidents not to ever think of trying to dismantle the Federal Reserve, which is a private rather than government entity. All persons in public life who are assassinated if they are politicians will have a 4th number of 4, 5 or 8; however, when that public person has a 7 as fourth number they were assassinated by a institution in Kennedy’s case the cartel families which own the U.S. federal reserve and in Diana’s case the dynastic institution and power behind the Windsor dynasty. Diana was pregnant and as mother of a future sovereign and future head of the Church of England, she could not be allowed to start a rival dynastic house, which would doubtless be after she had converted to another religion.
21/4/1926 (Tiger) Duke of Lancaster 3.7.7 = 8.
Diana was a damn bully and her two 7s were no match for her ultimate rival, the very powerful Duke of Lancaster, who also happens to have two 7s and the fourth number is 8, which is the ultimate sign of ruthless power. More artisan souls get knocked off for being a pain in the arse than any other role. Flaunting her pregnancy in the South of France was the final straw for the Duke of Lancaster. Diana had bullied the Duke of Lancaster’s son, Charles, Prince of Wales. Indeed, it was quite one thing for Diana to have provoked the Duke of Lancaster’s ire by producing a firstborn who only happened to be an obvious Bourbon bastard but it was quite another to be hellbent on further ridiculing and insulting the Duke of Lancaster by starting a rival dynasty and of a totally unacceptable faith.
Diana’s death was such callous open warfare. It was such vicious business that we became for a week, and longer, unhinged. How could this have happened? How could every effort not have been made to save Diana when clearly she had survived the car crash? Well, when make it look like an accident, does not work, then you scream down the phone, “then kill her goddamn it! I want that damn woman dead!” Like John F. Kennedy’s open assassination, we collectively fell to our knees and came undone with Diana having been ruthlessly assassinated.
Time is a most callous business and sooner or later, like shit, it always surfaces the secrets and lies and lays them irrefutably bare. One of the features of Diana’s two 7s is that the fourth number being 7 means that such persons once assassinated, have the ability to avenge their murder from beyond the grave. This is rare but does occur when there is more than one 7 and the fourth number is a 7. Prince Andrew’s undoing and the Sussexes quitting royal life in a blow to the Duke of Lancaster’s Commonwealth legacy, seem in part to be influenced by the long shadow that Diana’s assassination has caused. In quitting royal duties, Diana’s revenge has also struck a blow to Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, who treated Diana so horribly. Indeed, as the Duke of Lancaster has shrunken with age so, too, it seems that the longer the Duke of Lancaster lives, the more Diana’s revenge exacts its toll.
Just as the Duke of Lancaster grew drunk sipping on Diana’s warm blood whilst seething with contempt for the rabble drunk with grief, so too time will reveal why the Duke of Lancaster refused to honour Diana’s murder for days on end. Time will callously reveal the dark visage of the most deceptive Duke of Lancaster yet – double 7s notwithstanding.
Though in utero, enwombed in this photograph is the most fascinating Spencer woman of the modern age after, Diana, Princess of Wales. Lilibet Diana Mountbatten-Windsor born 4 June 2021 an Ox, she will have Diana, her paternal grandmother’s inner strength. Most of all, what this reborn soul has is an inner fortitude that will be a force to be reckoned with. 4/6/2021 Ox 4.1.6 = 11. This Spencer woman is a powerhouse, who will stand shoulder to shoulder with Diana and Georgiana before her. Lilibet has 3 numbers in common with her father, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 Rat 6.6.1 = 4 and, of course, she has two numbers in common with her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981 Rooster 4.3.4 = 11. Having master numbers of 11 means that just as Meghan is more famous than Harry in their dynamic so, too, is Lilibet Diana going to be more famous than Archie her older-souled brother. It matters, too, that during a near recent past life of Lilibet Diana’s, she was famous and a seasoned performer – she has reborn, having already mastered the fame game. More than that, like her mother, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, she is as tough as they come and with master numbers of 11, Lilibet like her mother will be iconic and a lone panther. Persons will drop in and leave her life – they will never stay a nanosecond longer than necessary. She was born to rule… and will.
Michael: This young fragment is a third-level mature sage – second life thereat. Lilibet is in observation mode with a goal of dominance and has an attitude of idealist.
Lilibet has neither centreing nor chief features at this time, owing to her age – this occurs during late teen years.
Lilibet’s body type is Mars Mercury.
The fragment Lilibet is second-cast in the third cadence. Lilibet is a member of greater cadence four. Lilibet is a member of entity two, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418. (Adjacent entity, same cadre as her father, mother, brother, Prince George and The Queen).
Lilibet’s essence twin is a sage and the task companion a warrior incarnate at this time.
Lilibet has shared 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.
There is an agreement with the older brother for emotional support.
This fragment, Lilibet, has been a revered performer in a recent past incarnation,primarily operatic but with some aspect of light entertainment. She was also present in several lives of note in European aristocracy (Italy and Spain)
End (August, 2021).
22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5
Speaking of Spencer women… Always follow the numbers for clues as to just how history is likely to repeat itself; of course, with each generation the players and the drama may change but the numbers always produce the same personae; however, the results may vastly vary. Want to know how Prince George of Cambridge is going to turn out? Apart from the fact that like his maternal and paternal uncles, he is gap-toothed and thus in his immediate past life, like both uncles were, also black. George is a king soul, not that that should make him superhuman; however, the template for this royal role-play is Edward VIII, Duke of Windsor.
25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7
14/11/1948 (Rat) HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales 5.7.2 = 5
23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5
25/6/1900 (Rat) Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma 7.4.5 = 7
Also, possessed of two 7s, like Diana, Princess of Wales and the Duke of Lancaster, was Earl Louis Mountbatten of Burma. Just as with Diana & President John F. Kennedy, one of his multiple 7s was in the fourth position, which resulted in him having been assassinated. Of course, the line at the time and possibly still floated was that it was an IRA hit job. Nonsense. Louis when in India as Edwina his stylish wife openly saw Nehru, this freed up Louis to be with his one true love, Edward, then Prince of Wales, who was truly besotted with the charming, manipulative double 7 lover. This is why, they were sequestered in the colonies in India where their love could be fully flagrant and that it was. Persons with 2 and 5 in their numerology, King George V, Prince William, Duke of Windsor, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Prince George of Cambridge are sexually addictive and indulge readily and with whomsoever. Whether male or female, they will have long, passionate, abiding, same sex-focussed love affairs, though, will marry and procreate as is expected of them. All Edward, Duke of Windsor wanted was to marry Louis Mountbatten and fuck night and day but that could not have been. So, the very mannish, bullying Wallis was a useful beard. Of course, Edward would have gotten off on being bullied by Wallis and likely Louis also got off on watching them at play whilst Wallis would definitely have gotten off on Edward, Prince of Wales and Louis lovemaking. Eventually, the well-hung Louis Mountbatten would move on to Edward’s coveted great-nephew, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. Equally as besotted, Charles, Prince of Wales would have loved Louis Mountbatten as deeply and passionately as his great-uncle, Edward, Duke of Windsor had decades earlier in India and thereafter.Of course, it was not until Louis was assassinated that Charles finally sought to get over the assassination of his lover, Louis Mountbatten, by marrying not the Rottweiler beard, rather the conveniently clueless virgin, Diana who faster than a sneeze grew wise and more importantly shrewd and gave the Windsor’s something to gloat about, the flat-footed Bourbon bastard heir to the Windsor dynasty.
19/2/1960 (Rat) Prince Andrew, Duke of York 1.3.1 = 5.
Where 2s favour being bottoms and being bullied, 7s however, are sadistic and among their sexual fetishes apart from S&M, is having sexual slaves and also power-tripping by way of having sex with minors. It is a known fact that Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Edward, Duke of Windsor and Charles, Prince of Wales’s special friend, Louis Mountbatten got himself assassinated for his sexually predatory exploits with male minors, which saw the IRA having no part in his assassination. Whereas one could lie and cover in the past as in 1979, today, and thanks to American irreverence, Prince Andrew finds himself exposed with nowhere to hide for cover and mummy’s ermine coat just won’t do. Andrew is a bully, 1 energy body, and it is no surprise that with a fourth number of 5, Andrew has been exposed as a sexual predator; infamy is a common outcome when 5 is in the fourth position. Andrew is also a rat and more rats cause their families to stay up late at night in the near-dark, looking at the ceiling and wanting the rat curse to go away.
3/6/1865 (Ox) King George V 3.9.2 = 5
23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5
21/6/1982 (Dog) HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge 3.9.2 = 5
5/1/1938 (Ox) King Juan Carlos 5.6.9 = 2
King Juan Carlos is also possessed of 2 & 5 in his numerology; however, his 5 is in the first position – the energy body. This is the signature of the serial womaniser who likely has fathered multiple offspring. Prince William has three numbers in common with Juan Carlos whereas with Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, William shares only two numbers. William also shares no numbers with his mother whereas Harry shares one with Diana, Princess of Wales.
9/1/1982 (Rooster) Catherine HRH Duchess of Cambridge 9.1.3 = 4
22/7/2013 (Snake) HRH Prince George of Cambridge 4.2.8 = 5
With the tyranny that is both his parents’ 9s, apart from the usual 2 and 5 mix, which will leave Prince George sexually addictive, he does possess one feature that is mildly alarming. He has 8 as his third number. This position of 8 usually manifests as massive financial setbacks and losses. All in all, 8 in the third position likely means that during his lifetime, George will possibly lose his title to the crown jewels either by abdication; quite simply, George can find himself displaced, for doing something that has not been done before. In short with that 2 & 5 mix of being sexually fluid, George just might end up becoming the second Spencer woman named Georgiana!
Windsor, George 22/7/2013 London, England
Michael: This fragment is a fourth-level mature king – third life thereat. George is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, George, at this time (December 2019) does not yet have centreing.
George does not yet have chief features.
George’s body type is Jupiter/Mercury and a small tertiary of Venus.
The fragment George is fourth-cast in the seventh cadence. George is a member of greater cadence seven. George’s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7 pod 418.
George’s essence twin is a king – they are likely to meet at a later date and also head of state. The task companion is a warrior.
George’s three primary needs are: expression, power, security and freedom.
There is a facilitating agreement with the father, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, for training and preparation for ‘duties’.
There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 2 with Merlin.
END. (December, 2019).
With a predominantly Jupiter body type, HRH Prince George of Cambridge, like King George IV before him, will tend towards having a large overpowering body; his 5 does run the risk of him being gluttonous.
4/8/1900 (Rat) Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother 4.3.4 = 11
4/8/1981 (Rooster) Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4.3.4 = 11
Both women are mature souls: Meghan (mid-cycle mature artisan soul) slightly older-souled than Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (second mature slave soul). Numerologically, both women are vibrationally exact in every way. How you would respond to one, is exactly how you would respond to the other in a one-on-one encounter. However, aristocratic Elizabeth married a royal and though an outsider (Scottish) was not baited and hounded by an as yet out-of-control tabloid press. Meghan, self-made, black and an American exposed everything that is ugly about British society in an age where post Charles & Diana, the tabloid media are way out-of-control and hold to ransom the BRF. In marrying Meghan, Prince Harry has exposed what ‘yank’-hating, ugly, racist, truly small-minded, classist boors inhabit the small isle of England.
19/6/1896 (Monkey) Wallis, Duchess of Windsor 1.7.4 = 3
23/6/1894 (Horse) Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor 5.2.7 = 5
Let me start by making it perfectly clear; the only 3 similarities between Wallis and Meghan are these: both are women, both are American and both are human. They have positively nothing else in common. Secondly, before you can reincarnate, you must first die and Meghan was already very much so alive before Wallis, Duchess of Windsor died in 1986. All men with both 2 and 5 in their numerology are innate bottoms regardless their sexual focus; they love to be dominated by strong sexual and emotional partners. 2 introduces fluidity with regards sense of self to all such men. With the combination of 5 which rules excess, gluttony, perversion and insatiable indulgences, all such men need to be sexually dominated, owned and submit to their partner. 1 in the first number, the energy body, is that of the bully, the bossy, emasculating woman. Such women would be driven to be with men who wish to be dominated and who were born to strong, controlling women. The combination of 2 & 5 in a man’s chart always leads to sexual intensity, perversion and being gratified by fetishes of one type or another. From being yelled at, punched, bullied, cursed, pissed on to being strapped such men are also turned on by men and love to be controlled by strong men with whom they are prepared to indulge but would never consider it homoeroticised. Wallis with an energy body of 1 would perceive Edward, Duke of Windsor as her bitch and may well have referred to him as such during their very intense, ritualised and heavily fetish-focussed sexual relations. Edward, Duke of Windsor was as he was because 2 causes fluidity in men which is readily perceived as weakness, effeminacy… or both. 5 persons will always rebel against the rigidity, judgmental, controlling, stubborn restrictiveness of 9. Even though possessed of 5 himself, King George V’s 9 proved too overwhelming for Edward, Duke of Windsor and would have caused him to rebel which resulted in his relationship with Wallis because of her 1 and also because his father’s 9 meant that he positively despised Americans and their culture. Wherever you find 5 in a numerological chart, you also find both excess and infamy.