The Only Way Out!

‘Keep My Wife’s Name Out Your Fucking Mouth!’ Will Smith at 94th Academy Awards, 27.3.2022 Year of the Tiger 9.3.9 = 3.

Will Smith 25/9/1968 Monkey 7.7.4 = 9

Will’s enjoyed the most fabulous worldwide popularity and transcended that all important barrier of RACE, which is no small feat in this world. Of course, his double 7s would be instrumental in that potent charismatic image. Double 7s like that of HM The Queen assures great favour with the public.

Will Smith and son, Jaden Smith on the Graham Norton Show in 2013; this was the height of his career and he is (was) a billion-dollar box office Hollywood megastar. Love Heather Graham’s dancing whilst sat on the sofa. What is really telling is that fellow Philly actor/star Bradley Cooper went onstage 9 years later, 2022’s Oscars, to reason with Will Smith as he committed what could very likely prove career suicide. Let’s be real, Alec Baldwin pulled a gun on a cinematographer who could not have been a fellow actor rehearsing a scene with him, he pulled the trigger and she lost her life, yet there has been no uproar as with what occurred at the Oscars on March 27, which was a 9 day to be sure.

Bradley Cooper 5.1.1975 Tiger 5.6.1 = 3

From an appearance on the Graham Norton Show to 9 years later, having witnessed what could prove the death of Will’s career. Though he is a box office champ, it may yet prove a case of art imitating life as per the 2006 film, The Pursuit of Happyness in which Will starred and for which he was Oscar-nominated in the best actor category. That 6 in Bradley’s numerology is why he immediately rushed to the senior star’s aid. Who knows what past-life connections they share.

Denzel Washington 28.12.1954 Horse 1. 4. 5 = 1

Two 1s, Denzel is solid and he is doing his best to save the optics of this disaster before the eyes of the Academy and the world. No matter how you cut it, Denzel is now the elder Black statesman in the Academy with Sidney Poitier’s recent passing. He had to intervene and it is obvious that Denzel is infinitely wiser and more shrewd than Will; he knows what’s going on.

Tyler Perry 13.9.1969 Rooster 4.4.2 = 1

Tyler Perry, like Denzel, has 1 in his numerology; he is a leader and stabilising. More than that, those two 4s validate his being self-made. At the end of the day, just like Denzel Washington, he knew the optics of Will going off before the world and blowing up, sabotaging his image… to say nothing of his career. At the end of the day, it was compassionate Black men, who know what he is going through and have likely been there and it was rather commendable of them to have intervene.

More than that, it was also truly noble of Bradley Cooper to stepped in. Of course, Tyler was there for Will because it was to reassure him that if the wheels were to fall off the cart of his crossover appeal, there would always be a place for him to explore his acting career with Tyler Perry at his studios and production company.

Whoopi Goldberg 13.11.1955 Sheep 4.6.8 = 9

Whoopi’s got clout in the Academy so it really doesn’t matter what those grasping fools who seem to think that the Academy Awards are an Anglo-American awards think; it is not. It is strictly an American award and not a film festival, which features international cinema. These same people were calling for her to lose her job on The View now wanting her and the Academy to strip Will Smith of his best actor Oscar.

Benedict Cumberbatch 19.7.1976 Dragon 1.8.4 = 4

Naturally, the greedy schmucks from the isle of rabid, racist boors were chomping at the bit, thinking that in the event that Will were stripped of his best actor Oscar then that odd-looking expressionless android, Benedict Cumberbactch, would be awarded for also having been nominated for best actor. What are these idiots on? They seem not to realise that there is no way that he would have garnered more votes than Denzel Washington, who was also nominated in the same category.

Ricky Gervais 25.6.1961 Ox 7.4.3 = 3

Naturally, desperate to takeover the Oscars hosting gig, along comes that greasy little leprechaun from the isle of racist swine, trying to sway opinion. As you can see, thanks to your ugly collective visage having been revealed, the Oprah Interview has served to put your kind on notice. Americans are second to none and you are not entitled to take work from Americans. Period.

Judd Apatow 6.12.1967 Sheep 3.9.5 = 2

This incident, what Chris Rock aptly declared, ‘That was the greatest night in television’ proved truth serum for American society and its obsession with race. Straight away within hours of the Oscars, which occurred on a 9 day (27th March), all the little bigots couldn’t wait to show their true colours. Apatow with a mindset of 9 had to mouth off. You have been too good and too loved the world over.

Rob Reiner 6.3.1947 PIg 6.9.3 = 9

Yet another mindset of 9, Rob just had to chime in, unsolicited, to all and sundry that Will Smith was a monster, who needed to be punished. Always, it will be those with a second number of 9, mindset, who will readily show whom they racially hate when something like this explodes in the culture.

Dasha Zhukova 8.6.1981 Rooster 8.5.6 = 1

Notice that 8 is first-placed in Dasha’s numerological makeup; it’s the ‘this is the finest comeback billionaire tail in all the land’ placement of 8, the money planet. Far be it from Rob or Judd to have expressed moral outrage when this racially charge bomb culturally exploded. Hell, Jackie Mason and Don Rickles spent their entire careers, going onstage being openly racists towards Blacks and I don’t recall either Judd or Rob ever once protesting. Not that we need reminding but always of paramount import it is, to never lose sight of who one’s friends are.

Jim Carey 17.1.1962 Ox 8.9.9 = 8

Not only has he got a mindset of 9 as do Rob & Judd, he also has a secondary 9. Naturally, for this enraged White male, he is running to every mountaintop, letting it be known that Will Smith needs to be arrested and thrown in jail. There were two breakout stars from hit 90s TV show In Living Color, Jennifer Lopez and Jim Carey. Far be it of him, in the ensuing years to have ever featured a Black male or female co-star in any of his box-office successes; god only knows, there was no guarantee that he would ever have risen to prominence, were it not for the exposure that the very Black Wayan siblings afforded him on their show, In Living Color. Far be it from Jim Carey to have ever taken to the media and express his moral outrage at the modern day lynching of George Floyd almost 3 years ago. Instead, in this reanimation of that age-old American pastime, there has he, and others of his special ilk, growing white-hot and tumescent chanting, ‘Yee haw light up them crosses, it’s nigger lynching time!’

Jim Carey Sexually Preys on Alicia Silverstone at 1997 MTV Movie Awards
Sexually Predatory Jim Carey After Will Smith
Jim Carey 1997 Oscars…. Nah This Jackass Could Not Have Been Lowering the Tone.

Stupid people do stupid shit and you can always count on second number of 9 persons to out themselves when all of a sudden, they selectively display indignation at that which offends their perception of what is acceptable and just. Not for one nanosecond do I condone what Will Smith did, when slapping Chris Rock at the 94th Academy Awards; however, why is no one perceiving the double standard at play here? Of course, with two 8s in his numerology, apart from wanting that monstrous Black male thrown in jail, he damn well would have sued him for 200$m – is that per chance a bid to recoup funds paid out to silence the discarded Irish lover who took her life? Glass house dwellers, honest to effing god.

Alec Baldwin 3.4.1958 Dog 3.7.3 = 4

Less than sixth months ago, not 6 or 60 years earlier, Alec Baldwin pulled the trigger and the cinematographer on his film shoot was killed. Where were all these suddenly indignant White males: Judd Apatow, Rob Reiner, Jim Carey et al? That’s what second number of 9, mindset, tells you about all three men and such persons. They are always prejudiced towards a particular group of persons. Here is this arrogant White male, who after having killed another human being acts as though it was a mere coyote; even if he had shot a dog, there would have been widespread condemnation to be sure. Nonetheless, Mr. Arrogant White male (Alec Baldwin) decides to turn mouthpiece of the NRA and lies himself delirious with this semantics two-step about who loaded the gun and he did not pull the trigger. Motherfucker, guns are not sentient; you were holding the goddamn frigging gun, it went off, a human being was killed!

Alas, a White male, less wealthy than Will Smith gets to arrogantly evade the law and during all this time, there has been no cross-burning mob partout, looking to lynch that goddamn so-and-so. Just imagine the effrontery of Alec Baldwin, refusing to turn over his phone to the police without repercussion after a human being lost her life as a direct result of his action. Just look at his demeanour on the day that the cinematograph lost her life; he was distraught, winded and horror-struct… but damn well not for long that’s for sure.

Hilaria Baldwin 6.1.1984 Pig 6.7.2 = 6

Naturally, before you can indignantly shout, ‘are you frigging kidding me?’ along comes his wife, Hilaria Baldwin, ready to hurl invectives at the media for bothering them. Then the week leading up to the Oscars, adding further insult to injury, the Baldwins smugly, gleefully announced that they are expecting baby number 7; get the hell out of here! How’s that for further tearing his arse in the collective face of the cinematographer’s family, friends and colleagues. Alec Baldwin ought to long ago been Bubba’s bitch, instead he is adding to the planet’s number one problem: overpopulation – that’s right, stupid people breeding to excess. Of course, with two 6s, Hilaria craves domesticity and the only way she has been able to keep that comfortably moneyed man, is to have become addicted to her water breaking.

Jada Pinkett Smith 18.9.1971 Pig 9.9.9 = 9

My impression of Jada until the Oscars 2022 was that she was likely a priest soul. Priest souls regardless of gender or ethnicity more often than not, will have striking eyes, more importantly, those eyes are very likely be almond-shaped. In recent times with her alopecia, I have come to love the beautiful shape of her skull. I specifically chose to look at the Oscars this year because of the date’s numerology: 27.3.2022 which is 9.3.9 = 3. I knew that something impactful was going to go down, which would have something to do with things being said that likely ought not to have been. The moment that Will Smith slapped Chris Rock, I immediately began doing the numerology of Will, Chris and Jada… there had to be clues somewhere. I have never done the Michael Overleaves for any of the three persons nor their numerology. I was so stunned when finally doing Jada’s numbers that my hand began trembling, I dropped the pen and stood up, placed my cupped hands over my nose and mouth and felt the tears warmly snake through my fingers. Never in the 41 years of studying numerology had I encountered someone with four 9s.

9 is the most toxic number and as someone who sleeps and meditates daily in a pyramid with crystals, I simply cannot be in proximity to 9-numbered persons. They will always have a perfected look about them, especially when the first number is 9; they are immensely photogenic but god are such persons alarmingly negative. 9s are shit-disturbers and saboteurs/saboteuses. With four 9s Jada is simply Marquis de Sade with a strap-on. Born in 1971, Pigs are sexually consuming. With four 9s, Jada is quite simply a truly vampiric human; she manipulates, emasculates, gourmandises and sabotages others.

Jada is also going through her Chiron return, which means that from stratospheric heights, there is strong likelihood that one could as if unexpectedly experience sudden Icarian fall/ruin. There was one persona of Will’s that was exclusively controlled by Jada; rather than Will channelling her, she channelled that persona of Will’s, over which she has complete control, to do her bidding – this has likely been going on for years. As nothing is happenstance, Jada showed up to the Oscars where Will would be lionised with the best actor Oscar for King Richard, wearing a crushed, dark-green gown with mounds of fabric snaking after her. Sight being the most developed of human senses, we are most triggered by colours. Green in its negative expression represents greed, control, jealousy, sadism, even, domination, bile. Jada has a sadistic control/relationship with Will, who moments before she began channelling/possessing him and took to the stage of the Dolby Theater, was laughing where she sat steely and viciously cutting her eyes at Chris Rock In a heartbeat, Jada immediately animated that persona of hers which inhabits/possesses Will, up to the stage he went and slapped Chris Rock. All Jada had to do when Will stood up was grab his left arm and ask him to sit down. Period. Not happening, though, when she was on a possessed mission to put Chris Rock in his place.

Since when does a grown man take to a stage and slap another man? Men do not slap men; they punch to the face, gut or knee the groin but men do not slap men. Truly possessed, Jada’s animated persona which truly inhabits Will, took to the stage and gave the plot away and like a woman would a man, Will slapped Chris. Jada, as Will possessed, became the ultimate drag king dominatrix with a strap-on, took to the Dolby Theater stage and did Jada’s bidding through Will’s long-controlled body. Still Jada possessed, Will then returns to his seat and drunk with power as master manipulator/vampire Jada-possessed Will further gives the plot away.

Jada enraged booms through the possessed vessel – which Will during his acceptance speech actually said ‘vessel’ – “Keep my wife’s name out your fucking mouth!” not once but twice to stake her claim whilst possessing Will as she coolly sat next to him saying absolutely nothing, Jada through Will repeated, “Keep my wife’s name out your fucking mouth!” And just like that he was deflated as she returned to her body, her vampiric fix satisfied and Will and his career/life came crashing down to Earth before the whole world as the Oscars were being watched LIVE around the planet.

Like a 9 would, let alone four 9s, Jada saw no point in releasing a statement until four days later. 9s never apologise and when they rarely do, it is utterly disingenuous, so why bother. 9s are perfectionists, fault-finding, pains in the arse, shit-disturbing, conceited troublemakers, who bring ruin wherever they are focussed. So what the hell if she has alopecia? Tough. We are all diseased; life by its very nature is in a constant process of dying and rejuvenating, which in the final analysis ends with death triumphing. Alopecia is just another way for Jada with four 9s to be manipulator by playing victim when she is the most skilled rapacious vampire. In the Michael Teachings Jada would be a classic example of a wife with a chief feature of grandiose greed, driving her husband to ruin.

Lust may make you do crazy things but never once on this planet, has love made anyone do anything crazy. Just look at Will’s posture in that Red Table Talk session, which I have never once watched, he is slumped, winded and utterly under Jada’s control. Jada has emasculated a fine Black man because she is power mad. The time is now, Will. Get up, reach into her handbag, take back your balls, surround yourself with a good phalanx of lawyers and divorce yourself from the madness because love never does crazy. Will needs to find himself then find someone who makes love to his fourth sex. Most people don’t even know that there is a fourth sex or that they even have one, which apart from your mouth, arse or upfront sex is the major sex organ and it resides between your ears. What the world saw at the Oscars is that Jada does not empower Will and has neither love nor respect for Will. Love never ruins nor emasculates you. Will slapped Chris because as much as he was possessed by Jada’s vampiric persona within himself, Will was also crying out for help. That slap and his shouting are what Jada does to him night and day year in year out; he is so numbed with pain that his protest was a way of parroting her and his trapped and emasculated true self but outside their home’s privacy, which only ever empowers Jada. In that end, Will was fighting back and finding his power against Jada, whether he realised it in the moment or not.

Like a scorpion ready to poison and destroy, Jada wore a green gown that had the same posterior carriage/tail as a scorpion. Jada experiencing her Chiron return has proven the anti-feminist; she empowers no one. She has for long years slowly possessed and consumed Will. Hell, she so wanted to get this crazy mess over with, having dissected his life on her Red Table Talk sessions that she devoured him before the world; to hell with the slap occurring later at Governors Ball. Perhaps, Jada thought that in winning an Oscar, Will would threaten to or go ahead and divorce her; this way, she ruined him before he could strike first. How like a vampiric, venomous spider/scorpion/snake she proved. The anti-feminist fears her power, has not mastered her power so is left to consume others with their power and thereby rob them of their power. The anti-feminist does not empower neither self nor other women and she definitely does not empower men.

Kim Kardashian 21.10.1980 Monkey  3.4.4 = 11

Kim Kardashian the ultimate feminist worthy of every man and woman’s respect. Where a mere woman crying victim, would be ashamed and be destroyed by a sex tape, Kim knew that sex is the source of all human empowerment. With a performance on that tape that rivalled the most aggressive Gay power bottom, Kim like a true feminist found her power by not being victim and definitely not looking to victimise her sex tape partner in return. Kim empowered herself and has proven a true modern day feminist without shame of either sex or her sex and in the process has enabled both men and women to embrace sex and their sex and to healthily empower themselves emotionally, mentally and physically. There is power in feeling no shame. Look at those numbers; she is self-made. Most of all, the moment you displease her, she will dispense with you – master numbers 11.

Chris Rock 7.2.1965 Sheep 7.9.3 = 1

Chris has 7 as his energy body; as such, it anchors him and thank goodness for that! 7 persons are always reserved, do not do crazy and they can always be counted on to be socially gracious and never do they go off piste. As drag king Jada-possessed Will in a strap-on took to the stage, Chris, who like all 7s readily see and read energy, at heart centre knew that it was not Will – Will was not truly present. In keeping his cool and shakily coming back when declaring, “That was the greatest night in television,” he saved the Oscars and did not sabotage his career. Chris in doing nothing, did the most beautiful, empowering act as it was his way of seeing to it that a brother, another man, desperately needing to find his power and escape a crazy existence, masquerading as love, began finding his way.

Will Smith partying at Vanity Fair Oscars party, 2022

Will Smith has spent the last 30 plus years in a bubble wherein, he was perceived at large almost as though a castrato: entertaining, affable and devoid that most dreaded of qualities, black maleness. He has yet to wake up to his new reality. As of that slap at the Oscars, everything has radically changed. In that moment, the perception of him was radically altered and he became a violent enraged, angry Black male. He became the object of this world’s hatred, scorn and with it, will come a tsunami of ridicule as the world over 100s of millions will celebrate his fall from grace because there is no sweeter schadenfreude on this planet than that the fallen-from-grace Black male, Michael Jackson, Tiger Woods and Bill Cosby are prime examples of that. Alas, for the hyper-wealthy disillusioned many, they go through life singing, ‘I used to be Black but now I’m rich.’ Then for others like Tyler Perry and Denzel Washington, who are firmly grounded in reality, they know that being Black and rich are not mutually exclusive. Woe to Will Smith for going out and partying after his crocodile tears at the Dolby Theater hours earlier. The optics at the Vanity Fair Oscar party revealed that he has never once rapped, ‘I used to be Black now I’m Black and rich.’ For others like Denzel and Tyler it is an even sweeter rap, ‘I used to be Black and proud, now I’m Black proud and richer!’ Perception is everything and choices have consequences.

Marvin Gaye What’s Going On.

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

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

Fleeing the Court of the Bucklebury Cannibal.

A few weeks ago, after I bike rode along the pathway between the two condo towers at Scrivener Square, I had the most awesome epiphany this past week… Back then, a white male about 6′ 4″ bike-riding ahead of me, was looked at by a tall, silver-haired white female well into her 8th decade. She had had nice work done through the years and having stood aside with umbrella in the downpour and watched him go by as I approached, she came over towards my ebike, her face becoming warped with hatefulness when demanding that I not ride through the path again, her bony warped right index finger stabbing at me – as it was raining and I wore my pine green poncho, my bodycam was not on display.

Breaking the snazzy ebike, I leaned in, doing a pretty damn good Betty Davis impersonation in Cabin in the Cotton, smartly shot back, “I’d like to stay and chat but I’m afraid you smell like a mouldy crate of rotten oranges…. bye now!” Hopping onto the spiffy machine, I merrily scatted through upper middle class hell, Rosedale, en route home whilst enjoying the rain, chill and fall of beautiful-coloured leaves. When will the moneyed classes ever realise that they occupy the most squalid ghetto; naturally, as that ghetto exists beneath their ears, they haven’t a fucking clue. Days later as I rode through the familiar streets of Cabbagetown, I suddenly realised the significance of the interlude with the septuagenarian which occurred outside the towers where previously Meghan, Duchess of Sussex lived when filming Suits here in Toronto. Honest to god, who the fuck on Avenue Foch knows that woman on the rainy Scrivener pathway exists or could possibly care?

Now with a thankful job relocation, a dog-walking female on Sumach with the warmest large blue eyes smiled at me as I rode past, vocalesing and said, “Jazz in the rain, how lovely…” My god, somebody wake me, this must be the most lucid of dreams. Then on the ride to work a couple of days later, as a couple diagonally crossed Sumach on leaving Riverdale Park and onto Carlton along which TV journalist, Valerie Pringle’s parents lived, they smiled and said hello. That was when it all fell into place. I had long been wondering whence the animus towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex came. I knew that their combined 9s were the focal point and though Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge is the stronger of the two, I always doubted where the impetus for Meghan’s rejection lay. Yet there it was, not only was it a matter of race, which of course it is, it was also a matter of classism.

Like the petit, class-conscious burghers of Rosedale, I suddenly had all the clues fall into place and there it was. Not only is it a case of women being socially conditioned to mistrust one another and create rivalries where there needs be none; however, it was most definitely about classism. The affectations of the class-conscious parvenu royals – clan Middleton, is the most odious, damaging ill to beset the House of Windsor. There she was, Catherine, on the steps of St. George’s chapel and in a display that betrayed her numerology, upper middle class snobbery and overleaves, she made sure to stay clear of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s mum. Doria Ragland represents that most otiose of undesirables known to the white middle classes, she is black.

Catherine it was who saw to it that Meghan did not come close to her as they and families watched their husbands playing polo. Not once did Catherine’s children so much as go over to curiously interact with the infant Archie, who only happens to be their cousin. Of course, it is obvious from the distancing and rejection of Meghan by Catherine and family at the Polo that the Cambridge royal kids were groomed to not recognise Archie as family – the only cousin they have is Pipa’s offspring.

Indeed, it was the same Catherine who saw to it that Meghan was excluded from attending her sister, Pipa’s wedding by laying down the rather arbitrary law: women not engaged or married could not attend the church service. Nonetheless, there was HRH Princess Eugenie of York, who attended the wedding with her lover, Jack Brooksbank to whom she was not then wedded nor for that matter engaged.

The hatred, animus and dread that Catherine bore Meghan was always palpable. The introduction of the dubbed ‘Fab Four’ was a dud as Catherine sat there, saying nothing and unmistakably telegraphed how much she did not consider herself anything but a solo act with William as her sidekick. Sat there onstage expectant with her third child, there were times when she looked at William and openly ridiculed Meghan in her suppressed laughter. At Wimbledon, Catherine wore her shades and her best ‘fuck you, get lost’ smile, which she readily slapped in Meghan’s direction at every chance. This is the same Catherine who had made Meghan cry because little Ms. Social Snakes & Ladders Hoochie Mama had gone from middle class gurning wallflower stalker of the Bourbon bastard, to ahead of the aristocracy and given birth to the future Sovereign. At the Sussexes’ last Commonwealth Service at Westminster Abbey, in March 2020, Catherine walked up turned around avoided Meghan in an open snub and focussed throughout on Sophie, Countess of Wessex and never so much as acknowledged Meghan to say nothing of Harry, who until she gave birth to HRH Prince George of Cambridge, future Sovereign, perceived her as the sister he never had – what did Catherine care what Harry thought, she already had a brother and birthed a future Sovereign. William, his beloved mother’s son, did the honourable thing, knowing well the optics of the situation and acknowledged both his brother and sister-in-law. This vulgarly classist behaviour by Catherine towards Meghan, is precisely the sort of ugly parvenu posturing that an aristocratic woman like India Hicks or Diana, Princess of Wales would never have engaged in. For one, both persons are/were far more travelled, socially skilled and emotionally intelligent to know that one simply does not go there, especially when the monarchy is at the heart of a commonwealth of nations, which is racially diverse, for which one has to be at all times conscious and sensitive.

The impact of the damage that Catherine has caused with her animus towards Meghan, will have long-lasting, generational effects. Unlike Diana, Princess of Wales and India Hicks, two members of the aristocracy, neither would, for being of aristocratic birth, have behaved towards Meghan the way that Catherine has. Indeed, Catherine has unfairly, for being future Queen Consort, painted the aristocracy as racist, classist boors. In the immediate, it has caused Barbados to replace the Sovereign as head of state with a recently installed President. It will also see more predominantly black Commonwealth member states break away and appoint presidents as Barbados has recently done. Also, it is going to cause in a generation or two, the end of the haemorrhaging of Oscars to Britons when the award is after all an American and not an international one.

Just as she never is seen going anywhere near black children or having black children featured in school visits, Catherine has also seen to it that she has yet to tour a predominantly black Commonwealth member state. Recently, she, William and their children were in Kenya to film the conservation special with Sir David Attenborough, yet they saw fit not to have included an official tour of the Commonwealth member states in the region. She simply does not give a damn neither does she care what it looks like. Catherine will not touch a black child; all that, when her sister-in-law is a black woman.

Blissfully unaware, there was Catherine with her emasculated, over-sexed and sexually submissive Bourbon dolt, sat across the less than 20 foot aisle of the quire before some of the most keenly astute professional psychologists, the television auteurs and executives, who attended the Sussexes’ wedding. That’s all that television is; it is about knowing every nuance and angle and how best to manipulate such so that one can convey and lay bare all the ranges of human emotions and character desired. Clueless were the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge to the fact that Rev. Curry was a tool for laying bare their sketchy-as-fuck characters to the world and for generations to come at that. Sat there were they before persons who would have written out their colleague, the bride, Meghan Markle, in season one of Suits if she were a bully and not a team player. If Meghan as the Palace, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge and sycophantic British media, especially the tabloid medium, would have you believe, were the bully that they allege, she would never have made it to season two of Suits; for being impossible to work with, Meghan would have had her character, Rachel Zane, written out of the show by way of being killed off, leaving town or some such. The Cambridges actually think that they are more aware and sophisticated than are Meghan and her television professional colleagues and industry executives, who sat across the quire from the Bourbon oaf and his cannibalistic hoochie mama – and all by virtue of something as quaint as being of royal birth in the British Isles.

Stalker to the core, until the day Catherine dies, Meghan will live rent free in the empty hall of mirrors between the vindictive, future Queen Consort’s ears. Having succeeded in banishing Meghan, Duchess of Sussex from the Kingdom, ruled by the mousy inarticulate Queen of torpid intellect, there was Catherine further cannibalising Meghan by wearing the same dress as Abigail Spencer wore to Meghan’s wedding to beloved Diana’s son, HRH Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex. This happened after Meghan’s triumphant reception at the Global Citizen’s concert in New York City’s Central Park. She was adored and the love for Meghan was palpable, despite the ritual lynching she receives from royal household mouthpieces like fetid tabloids such as DailyMail. The significance of Catherine wearing the identical dress as Abigail Spencer wore to Meghan’s wedding, is an invidious attack on Meghan, which precisely is the kind of ‘cunning’ tactic that a petty, shit-disturbing woman possessed of a first (energy body) number of 9 would indulge in. Abigail Spencer was born August 4, 1981; that’s right, the same day as Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and that is Catherine’s indirect way of stalking and unrelentingly bullying Meghan as she did leading up to Meghan’s wedding, which resulted in Meghan breaking down and crying but which the million little arse-eating, lisping queers in her court, rushed off to their tabloid mouthpieces like the DailyMail and spun yet another lie to further malign and slander the Duchess of Sussex, who happened to prove more popular and possessed of more star power than their mousy-as-all-fuck, cannibalising androgynous queen.

Meghan in New York City with briefcase whilst en route to speak and conduct discussions at the United Nations. Mere weeks later, the copycat, cannibalistic stalker Catherine carries a briefcase for the first time ever en route to making a speech or more appropriately en route to channelling mice at a séance – honest to frigging god. More importantly, as a dog can always be expected to lick itself, Catherine traipsing in with a briefcase, is also about throwing serious shade and openly ridiculing Meghan, that N-Word Yank, who had the nerve to come anywhere near the mousy little inarticulate, bitchy, shit-disturbing, classist boor of coalmining pedigree. Look at her guffawing with the two wee little closet queer minstrel leprechauns. Ever plotting and scheming; how she must love cocksucking a fag indeed.

Meghan wears a hat not usually worn at the Remembrance Sunday ceremonies at the Cenotaph in 2019. Now with Philip’s death and the Queen fast immolating, Catherine knowing that with the Queen’s absence in 2021 at the same event, she will be in the middle in the Queen’s usual position, rather than Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, because Catherine rather than Camilla is a future Queen Mother which Camilla never will be. So Catherine with another opportunity to cannibalise Meghan, wears a replica hat as Meghan’s two years earlier, in 2019, to telegraph her obsession and stalking of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Never before had Catherine worn a broad-brimmed, downturned hat to the Remembrance Sunday ceremony at the Cenotaph. Ever, like all women possessed of an energy body of 9, Catherine couldn’t resist to tear her flat arse in Meghan’s face. “That’s right, I am the one who wears that hat better than you and you will never stand on this balcony again. Now fuck off and stay gone….” How Meghan has that pernicious hoochie mama stalker – she whose stage presence can best be described as sodden cardboard… but it gurns! – of trifling pedigree and no class thoroughly possessed.

James Middleton eviscerates the enemy, Tom Bradby of ITN, at the 1:16:00 mark of the BBC’s coverage of the 2018 Royal Wedding of Duke & Duchess of Sussex.

HM The Queen has not yet died, to say nothing of HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales still being very much alive, yet there is Catherine, having William demonstrate the future of the monarchy. No doubt in due course, James Middleton with two well-endowed brothers-in-law, every bottom’s dreams come true, will be styled the Earl of Boomf. On arrival at the Sussexes wedding in May 2018, there is James hissing and being adversarial with Tom Bradby as by then, it was known to the scheming Cambridges that Tom Bradby supported the Sussexes.

Of course, that support by Bradby for the Sussexes would culminate in Meghan’s confiding to Bradby in that incendiary interview whilst on their African tour in October, 2019. With both Prince Philip’s death and the Sussexes’ sit-down interview with Oprah, Catherine has stepped up her campaign of attrition against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Now that the Sussexes are not resident in any of the royal households – remind me again why Meghan refused to occupy the newly refurbished apartment at Kensington Palace next-door to William and Catherine but headed instead to Frogmore Cottage – Catherine’s inability to control the media narrative against Meghan has lost its grip.

So there was stalker Catherine, she most definitely not of aristocratic birth, playing catch up and alas, she has an original thought – she is going to conduct an interview. What does that Oprah know anyway? Of course, there was Meghan on Ellen, being adored and displaying a degree of emotional intelligence and charm, which no doubt caused the gurning, mousy silent film ingenue to chain smoke and wolf down a half dozen lima beans.

Back in June 2017, I was staying in Chelsea when on returning from a Royal Ballet performance, soon the mood was broken by the sounds of multiple fire brigade sirens peeling into the night. Looking out, the sky was ablaze with an orange beacon and with time calls came through that there was a tower on fire. The next day, HM The Queen arrived at the site of the Grenfell Tower fire, followed shortly thereafter by HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. There was no Catherine in sight. This past Remembrance week, 2021, there was Catherine, the little elitist kiss-ass, looking like everybody’s favourite little shabbos goy. Running and dispensing hugs, a thing her parvenu classist bigotry could never bring herself to do with the impoverished in her Kingdom. Imagine her dispensing hugs to the little people of Grenfell indeed. Meanwhile, there was Meghan, Duchess of Sussex “Boots on the ground” heading into the Grenfell community, volunteering, giving back and soon enough there was the Together cookbook to which she contributed in a bid to assist the devastated community getting back on its feet.

Why do the Cambridges think that America is yearning for a tour by themselves in 2022? Just as they outed themselves before the industry professionals at the Sussexes’ wedding, who were sat across the quire from them and the rest of the world, everyone knows damn well who is at the centre of the vilification of the Sussexes and chiefly Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Catherine, enabled by her bullied husband, and a frankly racist British tabloid medium, idly sat by and allowed the narrative of Meghan the bully who made her, Catherine, cry at the time of the Sussexes’ royal wedding in 2018, when it was patently not true. How then are you supposed to believe these godforsaken boors. Again, someone please inform the blissfully unaware Cambridges that America has not been a colony going on three centuries; there is no need for a tour of these utterly useless, clueless, racist boors. Go on, go tour all those predominantly black Commonwealth member states instead.

That’s right so says Billy shiny pate, which like St. Paul’s Cathedral’s copula is rather high and mighty but empty nonetheless. A head full of petty, perniciousness and bigotry that betrays his nineness – second number of 9 as per his mindset – how William perceives all reality. God only knows, there aren’t too many people in both India and Pakistan, which likely explains why he has toured both countries with his pale, one-dimensional gurning boor. Oh and let’s not forget that trip to Bhutan so that he could predatorily get close to one of his potential conquests. The royal rota and British tabloids truly are stupid if they think that persons, most especially Americans, are not aware how the Cambridges are given a free pass and all that is wrong with the status quo is Meghan. You banished her, resoundingly got rid of her without somehow no one in British journalism asking what role the Cambridges have played in the whole affair. Now with Meghan banished, the Great & Perfect White Queen has emerged and yet she still can’t get enough; on and on, she continues with her cannibalistic campaign of stalking Meghan and thereby betraying her guilt. Britons are simply small-minded, small-island simpletons if they can’t see that Americans are not readily fooled. One thing is certain, Americans are second to no one and they most definitely do not like to be attacked and treated unfairly by persons whom they successfully fought a war to be rid of. Americans are about being out there and being self-made and representing and my god, how Meghan has brilliantly succeeded in doing just that. She is the very epitome of the American dream and no amount of racist slander and trying to paint her as bully and liar is going to change Americans’ opinions of Meghan. And therein lies the explanation of Catherine’s obsession with Meghan. Meghan is American and self-made, did it all on her own with her own drive and inordinate talents. Catherine on the other hand, represents the British paradigm, you only matter for being of noble birth or if as in Catherine’s case, you did sweet fuck-all but stalk, fuck your way to a walk down the aisle at Westminster Abbey with the Bourdon bastard’s balls attached to your garter.

That crass, violent public display is what caused Meghan to cry. Meghan cried because incredulously and impatiently it was a way to take Catherine to task and address her monstrous vulgarity by asking, “Bitch why don’t you grow a pair and be a real woman… a fucking feminist?” Catherine is as common as muck and her using the race card to demonise and banish a more charismatic and popular sister-in-law from the kingdom via the lies planted mostly in the tabloid medium, is a keen example of Catherine being a product of the vulgar middle classes. There positively is no way that Diana would have been so callously brusque in her ongoing war with Charles when in public as Catherine was towards beloved Diana’s firstborn whom she, Catherine, has clearly emasculated as per the unedited contretemps which the BBC chose to keep in their show, BBC’s A Berry Royal Christmas – more like, Bullocks! It’s A Bullied Royal Christmas. Catherine does not give a damn; she has no class. William is irrelevant to her; if he died tomorrow, she would fast become Regent on William’s passing until HRH Prince George of Cambridge came of age and acceded the throne. Catherine knows and understands her power and in that sense, she has driven the narrative of cannibalising and driving Meghan from the kingdom and she doesn’t give a fuck what it looks like. She is of the middle class and as such erroneously gives the aristocracy a bad name; however, on closer inspection, Catherine truly cannot give the aristocracy a bad name – Catherine gives herself a bad name and no one else. She has certainly done more to damage and sabotage HM The Queen’s legacy than any other single member of the BRF and that includes HRH Prince Andrew of York’s proclivity for deflowering minor meat.

Just look at her family, the Middletons, at the Sussexes’ wedding. They stood there, an absolute island, isolated and onto themselves; they never so much as once spoke to anyone else because they had gone from coal mine to Palace faster than one could dynastically sneeze where monarchies are concerned. No more than lepers; frightfully middle class, they stood there without the aristocracy paying them any mind and of course dynastic parvenu, they stood there snickering at tout le monde.

At long last, someone has the balls to stand up to these slithering bullies and set the record straight. Naturally, the royal households: Buckingham Palace, Clarence House and Kensington Palace all shrill and moan in protesting the BBC’s The Princes and the Press. Finally, the fissure has revealed itself to paraphrase Andrew Marr and unmistakably, the slithering saboteurs’ faces will finally be unmasked to all of Britain. That’s right, Catherine, no matter what you do, being a future Queen Consort & Queen Mother does not enable you to escape the karma of your numbers. 9 in the first position and in time, for all history, Catherine will be exposed as a shit-disturbing boor and a petty middle class bigot.

As for William, much like King George V, with whom he shares the exact same numerology, he hates Americans as George V hated Wallis Simpson and all Americans – ergo his loathing of Meghan, who serves to show up that androgynous sodden cardboard, Catherine, for all she is – nothing… beyond her ability to gurn with sociopathic élan. Furthermore, William will go down in history as William the Oaf, completely and utterly unaware as when he shot off his clueless mouth, criticising Jeff Bezos for going into space rather than working on climate change then having to suck up to self-made American, Jeff Bezos at Cop26 because… he’s a frigging, goddamn tactless fool. William is looking for funding for his Earthshot Prize and more importantly, he would rather Jeff Bezos not retaliate by throwing funds at the very American, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and the Sussexes’ Archewell Foundation. William is milquetoast and his partner in crime is a petty classist boor, to say nothing of bore, who is rather ill-equipped to be on the world stage in any meaningful capacity. Never forget that whereas Harry has only one brother, William has two; his older brother, like William will in time, is a Sovereign. There is no randomness or coincidences when it comes to genetics; there is no fluke in the current Crown Princess of Spain, having the same teeth and gum aesthetics as William. Yes, Diana strayed but the timeline plus when and with whom she strayed, is falsified to hide the very real fact that HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales is not William’s father.

Prince William and Kate Middleton in Dublin - Dublin Live
That's The Spirit! Will & Kate Sample Shots At A Harvest Event 🥃 •  Celebrity WotNot
Kate Middleton Shimmers in Mint Green While Serving Beer With Prince William  in Northern Ireland | Entertainment Tonight

Catherine’s got that alcoholic’s dead eye. Always, she loves a good stiff drink in public – just imagine what goes on behind closed doors – and at such times when in public, she is always aggressively playful and in so doing further emasculates William, who at all such times becomes catatonically wooden. But y’are Blanche, y’are a fucking dump! That’s right, just another common as muck, middle class boor. What’s more, she’s just a coal-mining Bucklebury hoochie mama and she sure loves her liquor! Having resoundingly stalked and cannibalised poor William, as she hustled and stalked the backwoods runway in Scotland, what else was she, Catherine, of no discernible class or sophistication to say nothing of intellect and stage presence, to do but turn icy hoochie mama and cannibalise Meghan with the aide of the rabid castrati who work the royal biography, journalist racket – most of whom have a 9 somewhere in their numerology.

Sad really, but unwittingly they and Catherine are blissfully unaware that they are doing nothing but undoing much of the work done by HM The Queen, for which, of course, they ever turn around and start laying blame at Meghan’s door for causing HM The Queen so much grief and distress in her twilight years.

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

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

Triple 8s! Now There’s A Recipe for Schadenfreude!

A few years back, a theatre friend came over for dinner – remember those pre-pandemic rituals when that was a thing – and big time insisted that we stop to watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Of course, for being a lucid dreamer, I almost never look at TV and only went out and got one, to watch Diana, Princess of Wales’ funeral in September 1997. Et juste comme ça, I was hooked. So glad the Briton was sent packing so full of it and like all Britons in Hollywood, overdoing the hauteur and accent on the ‘Yanks.’ But enough about that.

This season, after last season and Denise Richards promised and supplied nothing, I have actually been watching every episode multiple times. Then this past Wednesday, something clicked, Sutton was being bullied by the cornered, knock-kneed boor and I thought out loud, ‘Holy fuck, why have I never done her numbers all this fucking time? And as the saying goes, Google is your friend and off I went.

Erika Jayne… Numbers never lie and where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Hell the forest is ablaze!

10/7/1971 (Pig) Erika Jayne 1.8.8 = 8.

Clarity before we dive in. This is Vedic numerology, which does not gussy anything up. It deals with the negative manifestation of all numbers 1 through 9 as these are the energies which we are here to transmute during the course of the incarnation. Secondly, the numbers are arranged in quantitative order; in short, a day is less than a month, which in turn, is less than a year. Conversely, the first number – the day of one’s birth represents the energy body. The mind is the day and month and the second number – the way one thinks. The number total of the day and month plus the year is the life path – the third number – and lastly, the fourth is all three numbers totalled, which represents the destiny/soul number… in short what you are here to learn.

1 – energy body – the bully! Realising that it is game over, ones (1) – the bully – will cannibalise those who see through them. In the recent episode of RHOBH, Erika suddenly turning nasty and cannibalising Sutton, triggered this eureka moment for me. Like monstrous Saddam Hussein, realising that the end was at hand, his last act was to viciously cannibalise his executioners. This is precisely what Erika was doing to Sutton. The insults and vicious attacks simply betray that Sutton knows the truth. More importantly, Sutton did not come by her wealth by dubious means. When and if you cheat, you do not win and this is what stings for Erika… she is on the cusp of losing it all and Sutton has everything that she has never had, regardless the façade, and never will. 1 energy body persons are intensely feared. One fears being banished by them as they so cunningly gaslight and pull the wool over one’s eyes.

8 – the mind – that on which one is chiefly focused. 8 is the money number. All persons with 8 for the mindset number will get paid top dollar for whatever they do. The are motivated by being very well-compensated for their time and they will always marry into money rather than not. Like Diana, Princess of Wales, Erika is also 1/8… they have nothing else in common. Second number of 8 people are motivated by a need never to be dependent and never experience want as they witnessed in someone, likely a parent, during childhood. These persons are also motivated by the need for power and winning… at all costs.

8 – Life path – what you will experience. 8 being the money number as 8 is also cyclical and doubles back on itself and represents duality, there is the very real risk of experiencing an Icarian reversal in fortunes during the course of life. Depending on the other numbers in one’s numerological makeup, you will either bounce back or fare not so well. A person, for instance, with three in their makeup when having a lifepath of 8 will see the financial setback as a challenge to battle back from and will have a great laugh when getting back on top. However, if you have more than one 8, you are less likely to succeed in coming back, especially when your reversal of fortune will likely be owing to one having been a damn thief.

8 – Soul/Destiny number… Lord Jesus is all one can say when this is the fourth number and it is even more damning when there are two other 8s! The wonderful thing about 8 is that in hindsight, it always lays bare all the clues. With three 8s, Erika Jayne has been revealing her hand – it is almost as though it were deliberate but that is the beauty of karma. With a destiny number of 8, whatever bad karma you create during the course of the lifetime, will be settled here and now and not down the road in a future life.

Yes, indeed, It’s Expensive to Be Me is the anthem of the bully who drove her man to criminal ends to make an over-the-hill pretender a pop queen to an archly fickle, ghettoised demographic. Pat the Puss is just a future reference to a life behind bars in due course. Hell, she may as well remake the McGuire Sisters hit song Sugartime with lyrics like: Pussy in the morning. Pussy in the Evening. Pussy at Suppertime, all done in an orange jumpsuit of course… now there is an idea for a Halloween outfit this year for Lisa Rinna. Damn right, Bitches, she has made a Pretty Mess of life… right down to the Tammy Faye Bakker tears. Go on Sutton, do the right thing, there is no honour in being associated with a damn thief…

Orphans… Lion Air… Hormones. Fuck it, the fork says she’s done… No seriously, Fuck You! Bitch Bye!

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

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

Once A Queen…

Back in May 2018, at the time of their dazzling wedding, many television commentators asked, how is Meghan going to change the monarchy? Well, now we know how… certainly, not as anyone had envisioned. However, the need to demonise, vilify and make sport of being racially predatory, was the singularly focussed agendum of many – especially those of the tabloid press and obviously some royals.

Meghan is a master strategist; like every artisan, she knows how to lay a trap and watch mere fools reveal their hand.

Hey Stooopid! Well, of course, the thick-as-a-plank William would take the bait, which was issued by the Sussexes when speaking with Oprah Winfrey before everyone on either side of the pond. William’s rebuttal, the pissed off double negative uncharacteristic outburst, naturally serves as a validation of whom the Sussexes wished to protect, though, not really. “We’re Very Much Not A Racist Family.” Naturally, he who chose during his gap year to travel to a Catholic South American country to assist disadvantaged persons – persons they were who were not part of the Commonwealth, of which one day he will be king – more importantly, a country to which he travelled where not only was it not a Commonwealth nation but it is also not a predominantly black country.

Really, William, the mother of your closest royal male friend, shows up to your brother’s future wife’s inaugural Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace and she wears a blackamoor brooch and this is not racist? Certainly, it could not be racist when that male best friend royal’s wife is Jewish and works as an actor in Los Angeles. Nah, there couldn’t possibly be malicious, racially predatory, shade-throwing afoot in such an open display of racism, which you did not object to, especially when it was your supposed much-loved brother’s affianced. For that outburst of William’s to the reporter, the prosecution would say to his colleague, I’m afraid you’ve a fool for a client, to which the defense attorney would not object. If Princess Michael of Kent wore the blackamoor brooch to the Sussexes’ wedding as a result of Meghan allegedly having made Catherine cry, days leading up to the wedding that would be one thing – doing so as a way to put the upstart American in her place. Either way, it would have been no less controversial. Indeed, it would have been more controversial had she worn the blackamoor brooch to the wedding as more blacks with the televised global audience would have been aware of the racist attack than were aware of the Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace.

For being task companions and both possessed of 9 in their numerology, William as he guilty admitted by his outburst, have been the major racist architects of the Sussexes banishment from court – all of which they orchestrated by having the tabloid press do their bidding and the sycophantic ‘royal experts’ vilify the Duchess of Sussex at every turn. As ever, this being a patriarchal society, thus two prominent women had to be pitted against each other. Catherine, a weak, mousy inarticulate woman was threatened by a self-made woman… a black woman and that simply just could not be tolerated. Of course, Catherine fully empowered as future Queen Consort and future Queen Mother, disinvited Meghan from her sister’s wedding to the exceptionally well-hung, odd-looking billionaire whose father’s legal troubles are not dissimilar to prince Andrew’s. At the short-lived Royal Foundation press conference, Catherine sat there hissing an already full bellied python ready to unhinge, strangle and expediently devour the far too challenging prey that was her brother-in-law’s affianced. At Wimbledon 2019, Catherine much as she had at Ascot was just grinning her best ‘fuck you, fuck off’ mask, telegraphing to her sycophants that the American was truly done and finished. Catherine, energy body of 9 – the fiendish shit-disturber, dominatrix and archly discriminating snob held court and telegraphed much at Wimbledon and Royal Ascot 2019.

Back in March 2017, Harry and Meghan flew to Tom Inskip’s wedding in Jamaica. Two months later, betraying their grudge and racist ill-conceived plan to ban Meghan the American, the self-made black woman from the wedding, the Cambridges devised a scheme whereby Pippa was made to ban anyone who was neither wedded nor engaged to attend the church service of her wedding. Meghan, though, to be bullied and shown by the petty Cambridges that she was not welcome was invited to attend the wedding reception in Bucklebury where there was no press. This naturally was a message to Meghan that she was not going to enjoy a long lasting relationship with Harry if they had anything to do with it. However, there was one glaring omission to their bold-faced lie at excluding Meghan from Pippa’s wedding to the billionaire son of a sexual predator – Princess Eugenie attended the church service of the wedding with her boyfriend Jack Brooksbank. Though at the time, the media lied for the Cambridges by alleging that there was assured knowledge that both Jack and Eugenie had been secretly engaged in December 2016; therefore, this enabled Jack to accompany Princess Eugenie to the wedding’s church service. Time as ever always reveals truth; thus it was that in January 2018, long months after Pippa’s wedding HRH Prince Andrew proudly announced that Jack and Princess Eugenie were engaged. So in Pippa’s aka the Cambridge’s alternate reality, Harry a senior royal to Eugenie cannot bring his lover, Meghan, to non-royal Pippa’s wedding; however, junior royal Eugenie was accompanied by Jack at both wedding service and reception. Damn right, slam the door in her damn face and toss the goddamn flowers in the trash – that is what any self-respecting, self-made woman would do. Americans are no one’s inferior and black Americans definitely do not have time to play Prissy to anyone.

All of this drama has originated with the Cambridges, who for being possessed of 9 and being task companions readily became obsessed with banishing Meghan from court. After having successfully banned Meghan from Pippa’s wedding, Meghan was the last person to be surprised at princess flat-arsed-no-calved Michael of Kent showing up to Buckingham Palace 7 months later, sporting the blackamoor brooch because that’s damn well what Catherine & William would have wanted and directed princess Eurotrash to do. Now it was Meghan’s turn to repay Catherine in kind. Catherine who studied art history at university and who had clearly chosen the bridal party for her sister Pippa’s wedding, felt herself perfectly entitled to insist that Meghan’s flower girls and page boys should follow the royal tradition and be stockinged – her son and daughter were part of the party after all. Finally, Meghan gets what Meghan wants and there was damn well no way after being banned from Pippa’s wedding and Princess Michael’s blackamoor brooch that the Mulroney twins were going to look like blasted little stockinged poufters before the world simply because power mad Catherine knows best. In the end, though Meghan won the day, she broke down and cried after being yelled at and put in her place by future Queen Consort and future Queen Mother over-compensatory commoner Catherine. Catherine first number of 9 (shit disturber, dominatrix), perseverance mode and primary need of power could make the strongest self-made woman cry – especially within the confines of the hereditary system that sees her do as she damn well please without ever being challenged and certainly by über milquetoast William.

There they were sat, William and Catherine, throwing shade at his brother’s wedding before the 2 billion onlookers across the planet… to say nothing of the shrewdly observant television industry insiders across the quire’s narrow history-worn aisle. They betrayed their true nature because this is the bane of whites when being racialised towards blacks: open ridicule without a care in the world is more the norm than not; indeed, without the lightest awareness are they just how stupidly ignorant such behaviour is perceived by all humanity, who happen not to be small-minded bigoted whites. Indeed, smugly racialised are such persons who are possessed of zero awareness of just how stupid they are; alas, such persons never own their racism. It is that fix, like all other addictions, that they simply cannot get enough of. Catherine’s visit to Clapham Common was a PR stunt, which only occurred thanks to the truth of what occurred, leading up to Meghan’s wedding being outed during the sit-down with Oprah Winfrey. Meghan made only 2 balcony appearances at Trooping the Colour and on both occasions, she was relegated to the back of the balcony whilst HRH Prince Andrew, who is not a more senior royal than HRH Prince Harry and wife, was given a front row placement. That was not happenstance; just as it was not happenstance that as the Sussexes were banished from court, HM The Queen’s 2019 Christmas address would feature four sovereigns in a crafty way of eclipsing the much too popular Sussexes then along came the jealous Cambridges with their Bourbon-Bucklebury muggles on parade for Christmas Day service in Sandringham; as ever, there the Cambridge kinder progressed, looking just as lost, stupid and clueless as can be expected of bastardised Bourbon blood. Do you think that after that bit of “Fuck you, one of these things just doesn’t belong here” ploy by the Cambridges (the 4 sovereigns photos and the Sandringham walkabout) Meghan was going to sit there before the Queen, Oprah, and not lob a torch over the castle wall by mentioning the royal’s racist obsession with what intensity of melanin Harry’s children would manifest – to which, of course, William could not keep his damn guilty yap shut.

Diana, Princess of Wales spoke across time to her boys and the message was loudly and deeply embedded into the very fabric of Harry’s being: “If you find someone in life, you must hang on to it and look after it. And if you are lucky enough to find someone who loves you, then you must protect it.” Protecting the love with the soul which previously was the matriarch of the Tudor Dynasty, is a true mark of fealty and valour in love. Who has time to remain at the court of two bullying, grudging, jealous boors, who not only have 9 in their numerological makeup but are also task companions? William is not smart in the least but he is stubbornly rigid and exactingly uncompromising; he is also driven by an equally bullying dominatrix whose remarkable jealously has seen Meghan’s articulate command of the stage, scrubbed from the Internet as was deftly and elegantly on display at the 2018 British Fashion Awards.

Not only has Meghan shrewdly outed the Cambridges for the racist boors that they are, she has also cast a rather unflattering light on racism in American cinema, which must and will change. The small-islanded, arch racism that Meghan for simply being, exposed in the British psyche, will lead to Americans taking action on the constant influx of Britons, jumping the queue into Hollywood and being afforded American awards when Americans find themselves being passed over time and again in favour of Britons as arrivistes in Hollywood suck up and seek entry and access to British aristocracy by tossing Emmys and Oscars at British thespians. Honest to fucking god, why in the hell did Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson, to name but two, get awarded an American acting award when they aren’t Americans and there is a nation of more than 330 million with actors of every range and hue, being passed over time and again in favour of hideously racist Britons. And what exactly does one get in return but stinking arrogance and a complete contempt and disregard for American culture and its people. You never ever hear Britons in American, commenting on race; then again, Meghan for marrying at the very apex of their classist/racist society, exposed Britons for being even more hideously racist than Americans can ever possibly be considered. How is American cinema thriving when the tendency is towards brown-nosing Britons and for what? So many American stories from American civilisation are being eclipsed by these arrogant, archly condescending, cultural boors who can never decade after decade of being in Hollywood, shake that godawful, small-island accent that sounds as though talking whilst juggling hot coals up your flat arse. How much longer is American cinema to be deprived the celebration of Hispanic, Amerindian, Asian, Black and all the other rich cultures, which make up the American quilt, in favour of being recolonised by these racist boors?

What gives this displaced, boorish haus frau the right to go on an American talk-show and bully and belittle Americans? Since when have Americans been tolerated on British television? That’s right, regardless the Oscars and Emmys tossed their way, it has garnered nothing for Americans on the other side of the pond. What exactly do you think that racist boor, storming off set was up to, save looking to be relocated by the Murdoch family to America so he can grandstand on Fox TV, spewing his obsessive, racist hatred for Meghan, Duchess of Sussex day in, day fucking out – God only knows, an American could not have been found to replace Larry King on CNN. For having been there and done that, Piers’ plan in walking off the set of GMB, is to relocate across the pond and continue his racist diatribes with Meghan, Duchess of Sussex in mind; after all, someone has to take up the space recently vacated by Rush Limbaugh on American conservative talk radio. Indeed, Piers is yet another racist, hate-filled white male, who is adored and empowered by the tribe for “telling it like it is…” though perception for such persons is tribal, thankfully for the rest of humanity, perception is entirely a personal matter.

The second photo is a screenshot of ITV’s broadcast of the 2018 Remembrance Day in Whitehall. The red line of the YouTube video passes just below my right ear as I gazed across Whitehall to the balcony where directly opposite stood Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. Ahead, there were persons 4 deep in front of me, I never did see the royal males who stood directly before me, facing the Cenotaph and laying wreaths there. I went home that night and when I got in, I was so overwhelmed with the amount of hatred directed at the Duchess of Sussex from every single person around me that I just silently lay there in my hotel bed and cried. It was the longest release…. I knew that I was crying because the vitriol made me recall the exquisite isolation and pain I knew for living in Winnipeg. Moreover, I recalled at one point as I walked back to the hotel what Diana, Princess of Wales had said in her televised interview with Martin Bashir: “There is no better way to dismantle a personality than to isolate it.” In that moment, I knew that Meghan’s life was not as it seemed; yet, I hoped against all hope that this pang of fear was not true. Yet in the end, we have all come to realise that it was true; this was especially evident when Meghan appeared in the landau with Harry and the Duchesses of Cornwall and Cambridge – she was bloated, depressed and at an obvious low point. What is even more disturbing, is knowing the amount of pain that his mother suffered, William has unrelentingly charged forth with his court of sycophants – blackamoor brooch and all – making Meghan’s life exquisitely unbearable… Can you not just imagine the amount of racially predatory peals of laughter that regularly rang thorough Kensington Palace as Meghan was being further subjected to some hideously racist indignity by obsequious staffers, courtiers, his friends and wife. Why if it were not for a campaign of racist attacks would the Sussexes refuse to move into the refurbished Kensington Palace apartment next to the Cambridges and settled instead on Frogmore Cottage?

One fact has become increasingly clearer, William is HFA. Though he is well-practised to within an inch of his life, beneath that deceptive Neptune conjunct the ascendant veneer are the giveaways; among them, he has a marked aversion for blacks, regardless what his handlers have made him get out there and do – it is after all a job. This explains why he never tours predominantly black Commonwealth nations. It also explains why he goes steely even deadly at times in that manner that is common to spectrum fare and no other humans.

Bully and violently loud to say nothing of stubborn are also marked HFA traits, which he possesses in spades and which are borne out by both his geniture and numerology. There is also that vaguely je ne sais quoi aspect to his totally; it is that babyish quality that all spectrum persons possess and his Neptune is conjunct the ascendant – talk about your loaded piece of burnt toast indeed. As with a preponderance of HFA persons, William’s geniture is marked by a stellium. If ever one needed further proof, his dark Moon conjunction sits at the descendant – Catherine the dominatrix revealed to a T.

All of this racist, immature, destructive behaviour would have, after the Sussexes, more devastated HM The Queen than any other royal. The Sussexes as Commonwealth Youth Ambassadors were going to keep alive The Queen’smost cherished legacy, the Commonwealth. Meghan attended Royal Ascot only once, June 2018. Naturally, her arch enemies, the Cambridges, stayed away so that they could stay at home and watch the procession on TV whilst bitching and ridiculing just as openly as they did Meghan and her culture before 2 billion people at the Sussexes’ wedding. Then there were the Cambridges the next year, 2019, with Catherine smugly celebrating because to that point, it was a done deal, Meghan had cracked and it was just a matter of time before they were kicked out of the Firm and be banished from what was soon to be Wiliam & Catherine’s realm.

Well thank the good lord the BRF and empire has no power over American media and in particular very powerful American media persons who happen to be black. William apart from having a stellium has Neptune conjunct the ascendant opposite the dark moon conjunction which sits squarely at the descendant. William is a weak, deceptive, not very swift eel, who is totally dominated by a unrelentingly power mad partner Catherine (dark moon in Gemini at the descendant). Numbers, astrology and overleaves do not lie…. you can fool no one and William and Catherine will never win in the current power play against the Sussexes for ultimately Americans neither care nor defer to royalty and once a Queen, Meghan is supremely in control and empowered by the supremely knowledgeable Harry born in the year of the Rat.

These are the all-important supporting power hitters who not only know where the bones are buried, they have the emails and texts. More than that, they are all strong, self-made, shrewd, intelligent women and absolutely nothing is more thrilling than the empowering laughter of a strong woman.

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

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

Black Lives Matter

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex delivered an address to the graduating students at her alma mater, Los Angeles’ Immaculate Heart High School. The nuanced and emotionally poignant speech addressed the pressing issue of systemic racism, which has come to the fore with the racially predatory murder of George Floyd.

Meghan’s poise, articulateness and emotional intelligence are why the British media and spiritually malignant millions across the globe, have made the Duchess of Sussex the most famous lynched, black woman in history. Like the Tudor matriarch of her prior incarnation, Meghan is a survivor and is abundantly gifted to shine brighter and soar higher above those who know nothing but hatefulness.

_Archie

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex on the occasion of Archie’s first birthday.

One sweet sun-satiated day in May, 2018, Harry & Meghan were serenaded as they blissfully walked down to the river, entered the ferry that will see them uneclipsed, boldly cross the seas of time, like none of their contemporaries. Shine on Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, for you are loved by the most gloriously empathetic human, who embodies the beauty of spirit that was Diana, Princess of Wales. You are exactly where you are supposed to be, bringing inspiration and joy, enabling your light to best shine – as never you could have for being in the archly toxic confines of the royal households and the spiritually dense who vampirically, parasitically abound therein.

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Please visit my other site: https://theblackduchess.com

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

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

4.3.4 = 11

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Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has the most masterful numbers. She does, indeed, have master numbers: 11. Look at those eyes, the eyes of Queen Mother, to HM King Henry VI, grandmother to HM King Henry VIII and great-grandmother to HM Queen Elizabeth I. She has staying power, thanks to those double 4s and with an attitude of 3, she is renowned for being most articulate and a skilled communicator of the message.

4 – focussed, solid, self-made, resolute, inner-directed, reincarnated with an agendum.

3 – attitude of 3 – gracious living, the great communicator, when one speaks others listen. There is only win-win, failure is never an option for these persons. Incidentally, Ben Mulroney is an attitude of 3, which is why he is a gracious interviewer – non-confrontational. Also, I have noticed that a lot of persons who planned a life in the public sphere tend to have 9 and 3 in their make up, as in both HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and his lovely wife, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge. Incidentally, these three persons, Ben and the Cambridges would have been very relaxed in each others company and true to her 9 energy body, Catherine would likely have made a dig at her husband along the lines, ‘He certainly has a great head of hair…’ As it is perfectly naturally for straight men to be attracted to each other, they would not be human if they did not, both men would have been pleasantly warmed by the other’s make-up with their similar 9 and 3. Catherine and Ben both are 9 energy body; they would have found each other more than passingly fascinating. Catherine is a warrior which means that she will always be steely; as for Ben, don’t know his overleaves but I am guessing that he is more so on the expression axis rather than not – an artisan or sage soul. In my experience, whereas 9 women can be extremely rude and dismissive, 9 men are reserved and not given to readily passing judgment.

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There is also the matter of Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge being in perseverance mode, which is as unrelenting a foe as you can ever imagine, on top of which she is a warrior. This woman was born to be Queen Consort and that’s the end of that, there will be no Camilla rewriting the script. Interestingly enough, both Diana, Princess of Wales’ sons are wedded to very strong women – as well they should be. In both cases, both couples are entity mates, which is as good a partnering as one can hope for. Meghan, however, with double 4s and master number of 11 is here to rule as when previously she had as Queen Mother and Tudor dynasty matriarch.

meghan geniture

Not only is 11 a master number but it also leaves all such persons lone wolves, regardless how popular they are. This explains why Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex will faster-than-a-sneeze dispense with persons when need be. And yes, she has every damn right to be done with the blasted dreck that do not know the meaning of family: honour, fealty, discretion. I am, where the master number 11 is concerned, just such a person… 2.1.8 = 11. Of course, like Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge that attitude of 1 means that I am more inclined to be shy and reserved than ‘on’. At least that was the rule when Merlin was incarnate and we were together. Now, more of the 11 comes to the fore and I simply give two-fucks and sound off loudly and most articulately.

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Recently, owing to a host of prickly transits, to say nothing of the mercury retrograde, I have found myself beset with some entanglements that have provoked the less polished side of my Venus/Uranus conjunction. This all began around the time that I wrote the blog about that blasted tarbaby frog finally showing his true colours. I had no less than 8 French Canadians getting up in my business, demanding that I delete aforementioned blog and that these were the indiscretions of youth. Bitch please! After having lived in Montréal for seven years with the best task companion/comrade-in-arms an equally seventh level mature soul, though, she a warrior, we gave as good as we got. Of course, said warrior became my wife at Palais du Justice on Bob Marley’s birthday in 1999. Today, we remain the best of friends and she now he, has a fully beard than I have ever sported…. alas, I digress. A couple of weeks ago, I was being regaled by my sister who lives in Nevis about my mother’s cousin whose funeral it was that day. She died at age 107 and was attended by quite the turn out with le tout Nevis’ elites in tow. Though I have never met, her great-granddaughter was part of the descendants who eulogised the grand dame; that great-granddaughter was Mel B (Scary Spice) of Spice Girls fame. I have though several times met my fathers cousin, the inimitable and truly regal, Cicely Tyson, wife of Jazz genius, Miles Davis a man who did not gladly suffer people who hate him or his race…. as well he damn ought to have.

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As I entered the little school in my neighbourhood, a spry spirit who always is good for a laugh, beamed on seeing me as he sat on his scooter with equally situated mates and inquired, “And who will you be voting for?” to which I shot back, “You can damn well bet it won’t be for no blasted motherfucking, cocksucking tarbaby-arsed frog!” raucous laughter peppered the air as I went in and voted conservative for the first time in my life. Enough of that sissy-arsed twat, who is nothing more than Modi’s pappishow with his displaced femme au foyer, fag-hag frau, Madame Plotte-Visage herself, who looks more and more each day like Tammy Faye Bakker. You don’t like black people… go fuck yourself… god only knows, you did not invent Jazz!

Days earlier en route home with my little suitcase in tow, I got up off the bench to take the Wellesley 94 bus eastbound to my art-filled lair. The bus pulled in and queerly parked such that the back door was a good three feet away – I have never seen the appeal of metric… nothing beats knowing whether you are dealing with 9.5 or 10.5 inches! Though my suitcase was too heavy, I was prepared to step off the platform to make for the rear doors, yet, the doors did not open. Finally, I joined the Dravidian male who had been waiting to board the rear doors as well. When I got to the front door, noisily pulling my suitcase, I looked up stunned as the doors slammed shut just as I was getting ready to board. The doors then opened after the driver looked at me with a smug smirk creasing her lizard-lipped face. I got in and as ever, I said thank you. As I progressed towards the double seats by the rear door, the bus suddenly broke, causing me to lurch forward. Taking it all in stride, I opted not to assume anything by this trio of events which most blacks would see after the third incident as being racially provocative. Up the couple of steps I got with my heavy suitcase; this only made me realise my advancing years as suddenly the urge to pee came on. I had switched from Bleu par Chanel a couple of years back when senior leak suddenly meant that after five minutes Bleu fades and gives way to god forbid that most malodourous of bouquets: loud-smelling, dribbled piss. Now it is Christian Dior’s Sauvage as the scent lingers and dissipates any provoked thoughts of raunchy water sports.

Having made my way to the back seat, there were all told less than a dozen souls on the bus. On arriving at the first stop from the station, the driver got up at Church Street. I thought that there must be someone wheelchair bound, trying to board, hence she got from her seat to assist. As I was otherwise engaged in thoughts libidinal and what I’d like to do with that burly mesomorph at work, whose woman just upped and left him, I remained focussed on artisan channels 3 to 5 instead. Just then, I noticed the bus driver step up the two steps and make it towards me, seated at the centre of the bus’ long back seat. Leaning her, her nasty-looking perm straight out of the 90s, she gruffly barked at me in a manner that suggested that couth had ever been foreign to her. “Look, everybody has bad days okay. There’s no need to swear at me.” I said nothing, looking instead past her as the thought occurred to me that the bus was being driven by duppy incarnate. Since my name ain’t Shaneequa, I remained calm and looked up at a face warped uglier by rage, which I also found uncomfortably too close. I was hemmed in. “Get off my bus or I call the police!” As I chose to say nothing or move a single muscle, she got even more incandescent with irrationally unprovoked rage, “That’s it get off my bus now, I’m calling the police!” As she turned to walk away, it gave a good look at her flat-arsed, no-calved god fugly hideousness and I got up and began making it for the bus’ front doors. As I slowly strode for the front doors, I expertly memorised her bus ID and every detail of slender hipped, extra-vertebrae-looking alien body and realised that she was likely trans; either way, just then a definite non sequitur. For once, I said nothing on exiting and as I really needed to pee, thought of hailing a cab when noticing another bus directly in back of the scene of my misadventure. I got aboard, said hello to the driver, a guapo Filipino and grabbed a seat on the even less populated bus. Also, I memorised the ID information associated with his bus. On exiting the bus, as per usual, I said thanks and exchanged pleasantries. As soon as I got situated at home, with Buster on my lap purring away, I took to the TTC’s site and chose the tab that allows for filing complaints. In exquisite detail, as well you are I shared what occurred and confidently knew that at no point would any of the bus’ cameras capture me saying anything to the female driver. She is, as per her contract, never to leave her seat nor confront a passenger. I have never seen her since.

Well in the grip of Mercury retrograde, I strolled into one of many little joints which I love frequenting as I like chatting with the proprietors and in the process, giving them my business. On close to a decade of frequenting this particular store, where I picked up a lottery ticket or two, my bike was leaning against the row of sugary treats, I turned just in time to see an old weathered hag out on Yonge Street beadily gawking in and cutting her hateful eyes at me. Possessed of some right afforded her by god only knows fuck-all whom – the blasted motherfuck, she bounded into the store, well into her ninth decade and looking and smelling of ill-health and poverty, “Get that goddamn bike outta here.” I was wearing my helmet with lights attached front and back in broad daylight as one does. Without so much as missing a beat, I launched into her with a ferocity, she likely had never before encountered, which is why she felt perfectly entitled to take such liberties. “Get your fucking ugly arse out of here, go the fuck to Wal-Mart make your way to the back of the store and tell them I sent you to put a down paying on your fucking casket as you are obviously too fucking poor to afford to die all this time…” Never having had her racially predatory behaviour challenged before, she stood there suddenly catatonic. “Go on, here you go, start that fucking down paying today…” with that, I tossed the few coins in my pocket at her feet and barged on in full throttle loud, vituperativeness. “Pick it the fuck up, high time your fucking ugly, broke arse and casket were lowered into the ground. Come in here opening your motherfucking lizard-lipped mouth, barking at me. Pick it the blasted motherfuck up and crawl the fuck in your casket.” She tried to weakly say something to which I kept up my defense against being racially preyed on, “Shut up and die, go on… scoot. There’s no need for your fuck-all ugly, broke arse, smelly cunt hanging around… get the fuck off the planet.” Never ever during a mercury retrograde will this venus-uranus leo hold his tongue when being racially preyed on. Faster than the loudest sneeze, I rammed my fist up her rotting arse, yanked and ripped at her calcified soul, pulled it out, wiped arse with it, then slapped her silly in the face before making her gag on a soul being held hostage by her useless maudlin existence. I have become so less inclined to tolerate this perpetual abuse which we as blacks endure on a daily basis yet pretend as though it does not exist. There are, though, times when you need to protest. Back in 1988 after meeting Wayne Robson’s firstborn, as I moved south down the west side of Bond Street to go visit Merlin at St. Michael’s Hospital who was suffering his first bout of AIDS-related pneumocystis, I screamed at the top of my lungs at an old Caucasian female who on noticing me began hurriedly crossing to the east side of Bond, “I don’t want your fucking handbag…” Never ceases to amaze the arsenal of behaviour that non-blacks project onto us as they get their racially predatory fix: sniffing, outright ridicule, dragging feet, yawning, bumping into you, blowing cigarette smoke in your direction… those are the passive racially predatory acts. More often, it is like that act in the convenience store, so racially obsessed that one feels oneself perfectly entitled to project that ignorance in a malicious, accusatory, bullying manner towards blacks. Indeed, ever notice the inordinate number of overweight blacks; they like all persons who were sexually preyed on in their early years more often than not develop eating disorders.

With Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s lynching daily in print media, social media and just about everywhere else, I have become increasing intolerant of any and all such BS. Do not because I am black start, apropos of fuck-all nothing, braying about how much you hate and can’t stand that Meghan bitch as if the blasted fuck these arsewipes know the woman. Out of the blue someone whom I thought had long made the only logical move viable to her sorry arse and crawled into her casket, called up trying for the nth time to get me to start today and join that pyramid scheme of hers for which she is ever travelling to some rah-rah seminar and on the cusp of getting rich yet still ain’t and needs you to join this very day; this, I can assure you, is about as appealing as trying to get me to bed some moneyed old fuck with a micro penis and bad breath. Nah… I’m all about the dharma.

Last summer everyone called up, demanding to know if I were not going to the Raptors championship parade. Hell no! Crowds you say… not happening. The day of the parade, I kept being called up by excited friends, asking me if I was watching and wasn’t it phenomenal. Very matter of factly, I declared to one, “When these fucking Goys do Yom Kippur, they certainly do know how to go all out.” Of course, after having explained myself days later at a dinner party, the point was well taken. This is a country with soft ethnic cleansing of blacks: negative immigration and population growth, a entrenched history of employment discrimination, which sees blacks being ghettoised in casual positions in the work place, especially at crown corporations (government-owned) – I have worked at two: Canada Post and the Toronto Convention Centre; in the case of the former, I arrived in Montréal from Vancouver to find myself the first full-time black in the work place; as fighting is nothing but foreplay in my books, I organised a lone Haitienne and got her to file a Human Rights complaint which she won. This resulted in back pay and all the mostly Haitian blacks awarded full-time and back pay where they had served as casual for 5, 10, 15 years. Naturally, the messenger/lightning rod always comes into someone cross-hairs. At one point, where they tried firing me the local union president told me to go to hell and go back to Canada; thus, I ventured into my firing interview with a lawyer in tow – had never happened before and was not then fired after multiple frantic calls to Ottawa to find out how to deal with him. Before being fired, that blasted porcine pequiste fucker decided to avail himself of my tax dollars by running in the federal election, thankfully he did not win but when he tried two years later, I wrote to Jack Layton who had frequented our Cabbagetown home in the 80s when we lived next door to a rather parvenu and highly snobbish Alfred Sung and informed Mr. Layton that if he did not withdraw that vile racist, my lawyer and I would go to the media and expose him – the letter of course was cced to all the other federal party leaders. In the end, the Bloc Quebecois thanked me for the letter and ran a black Haitienne in the riding from which the union head was summarily dropped and that Haitienne, Ms. Bardot won her seat, only to be replaced in Papineau riding by that blasted, racist tarbaby-arsed frog… but I digress. Two million persons cheering on black excellence when this is a country that actively eradicates any participation of blacks in its cultural fabric – hello JazzFM where you would be dismissed as stupid for thinking that Jazz is black culture. Sure, there are window-dressing blacks in the TV medium but they are not the norm. Not a single prominent Canadian protested and demanded that the vile racist politician resign when his blackface past emerged. Naturally, his people stridently argued in his defense. Would that these ungrateful fucks who hold the country to ransom would finally fuck off and leave. No one outside of Québec, who does not work in the government, is remotely bilingual. Seven years of living in Montréal made one thing perfectly clear: theirs, by its sheer ubiquity is nothing more than a northern confederate flag… and they certainly are possessed of unapologetic xenophobia. The only people deserving of having a party in the Canadian parliament, which not all Canadians can vote for, are the First Nations and Inuit peoples.

Back in late 1982 whilst Merlin and I held up in the Trockadero loft in Manhattan’s Chelsea on Sixth Avenue below 23rd Street, I got in one evening after looking at rehearsal of the Nanette Bearden Dance Company, to find Merlin having dinner and strategising with Jim Henson. As they shared the same agent, Joyce Ketay, they were prepping and throwing around ideas for how to thematically film the series, Fraggle Rock which would be shot in the coming new year in Toronto at CBC’s studios. Merlin had made his favourite dish a chicken paprikash which John Hirsch had taught him. Joining them, I dug in to what was my favourite of Merlin’s prepared meals. I will always remember Jim saying, “first you start with a compliment and then you hang back and listen, listen to what’s said but most of all, what is not said…” Sage advise that I have always followed. What I love about us artisan souls is that we always reveal our nature and the fact that we input on five channels whenever we speak. Listen to Naomi Campbell in her acceptance speech for the CFDA Icon Award. Straight out of left field in the tenth minute, she remarks, “God my lips are dry… sorry.” No other soul but an artisan soul would shift subjects so abruptly so seamlessly and carry on without so much as missing a beat. This quirk of ours, mine, Naomi, Meghan and every last artisan soul who has ever breathed, makes for a master tactician and someone not easily understood or shaken. With a destiny number that proves master numbers like Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex, she is a 11 – she is a diamond through and through and why HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales refers to her as Tungsten.

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

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