Tea Time!

HM The Queen. 21.4.1926 Tiger 3.7.7 = 8

All sevens can see beyond the veil and they are always without exception very refined, reserved and do not do uncouth nor drama. Why is that you ask? At the core of their being, such persons are callously amoral – they do not care… they do not empathise. So then let’s peer beyond the gullible small-islanders’ inability to look beyond the rigorously maintained façade of the major players of the BRF and, in particular, relative to the Duke & Duchess of Sussex.

Diana, Princess of Wales 1961 <O> 1997

Why would HM The Queen take so long to present after Diana’s death? She did not give a damn, the woman was an inconvenience and she was not going to honour her by appearing before the little people, who clearly loved Diana above all others in the kingdom. She detested Diana. She also had to come to terms with the fact that Diana was eliminated and clearly a lot of atoning had to be done to eventually face the public. Her appearance with the windows of Buckingham Palace open was a cold, ugly affair. Don’t ever forget, PM Tony Blair had to beg HM The Queen to come forward and address the very pained public.

HM The Queen’s Tribute to Diana, Princess of Wales

Apart from this utterly saccharine speech, there were moments captured of HM The Queen outside Buckingham Palace on the family’s return from Balmoral. Whilst Charles, William and Harry attended The Queen and HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen’s reaction to the grieving subjects was a cold nasty affair. There was one point where someone reached out to her in their moment of grief and despair at Diana’s death and she simply shuddered and moved on with a smile that was the fakest most mechanical movement of facial muscles imaginable. Regardless what she said in that speech, this is the same woman who did absolutely nothing as Diana emotionally and mentally fell apart whilst the rest of the BRF and staffers abused Diana. Of course, it goes without saying, Diana was struggling with the fact that she was not loved and they all knew that Charles and Camilla were true lovers – especially if that child sequestered in Australia is the adulterers’. Nonetheless, they could, none of them: HM Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother, Charles, Philip, Anne and the entire ghoulish cast, have given two fucks how mightily Diana suffered. Tough!

Diana, Princess of Wales & Dodi Al-Fayed

Regardless what one may think of Mohamed Al-Fayed; there is very little to suggest that the man was just a grieving father. He had the means to have had the truth of the matter rigorously investigated. The classist, racist British establishment and the BRF did not want the disgrace, as they perceived it, of the mother of a future king of the realm being wedded to an Arabic, moneyed Moslem whom they thought of as being too brash and having bought his way in, when in fact he was not especially wanted. There was a price to pay.

Dodi Al-Fayed 17.4.1955 Goat 8.3.5 = 7

Dodi and Diana had two numbers in common, 8 & 7. For both of them, theirs was a 7 in the fourth position; this placement of 7 is more often than not the sign of public assassination – and not just merely assassination. Numbers do not lie; Mohamed knows the truth. Besides, as a father, he would have had countless dreams after Dodi’s passing in which he would have been enlightened as to what really took place and who the source of the assassination order would have been. The Duke of Lancaster would not have been unaware.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex, St. Paul’s Cathedral June 03, 2022.

Just remember, what is past, is present, is future. Everything that the Sussexes are being put through, is precisely what Mohamed Al-Fayed experienced from the British Establishment, aristocracy and BRF. Of course Mohamed Al-Fayed certainly had no qualms about telling them all to go to hell and did, as well he should have. They crucified his son for having the temerity to seek to join the BRF by proxy.

Mohamed Al Fayed 27.1.1929 Dragon 9.1.4 = 5

They would have been spied on by Mi5 and CIA and obviously, the very day that Dodi went out and purchased a 700$k engagement ring for a known expectant, Diana, Princess of Wales, they incredulously perished in a car crash. Of course, Diana survived; however, she was not meant to have survived so she was then put down. It takes a copious dosage of morphine or whatever else they did, to have Diana finally stop being a goddamn pain in the arse. Never forget that she had provoked their ire by producing a firstborn with decidedly Bourbon markers. In all of this, of course, was Mohamed Al-Fayed whose numerology coupled with his wealth, assured that he did not give a damn and called it as he saw it, which is to say that he was and remains spot on about what went down.

Diana, Princess of Wales

Diana’s appalling treatment by the senior royals, of which HM The Queen was keenly aware, was savage in the extreme. One should not be in the least surprised that Meghan, a Black American self-made woman with more charisma, intellect and eloquence than the slovenly broodmare who gave birth to the blasted freak, Prince Damien, was racially preyed on and driven out of the kingdom. Good fucking god, how in high hell do you explain that hideous woman, Princess Michael of Kent being at Meghan’s wedding after she had worn the blackamoor brooch to The Queen’s Christmas lunch, 2017. She then was sat closer to the Prince & Princess of Wales (Camilla rightfully should be called the Princess of Wales because she literally cannibalised Diana, Princess of Wales; calling her Duchess of Cornwall is too good – she should be labelled as what she is) and the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge at The Queen’s platinum jubilee service of thanksgiving at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022 than even the Wessexes, whilst the Sussexes were sat across the aisle and behind the Wessexes and next to the disgraced Duke of York’s two daughters and their admirable spouses. All this would have been with the tacit approval of HM The Queen, yet I certainly hope that the Sussexes do not see the monarch as being in any way an ally of theirs; she is not.

Lord Snowdon, Princess Michael of Kent & Mark-Francis Vandelli

Per the ubiquity of a fly on shit, there has been Princess Michael of Kent aka Princess Blackamoor, partout. She was forever holding holier-than-thou court in the royal box at Wimbledon 2022 as if the point needed to be stressed further, beyond the seating at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022. But lapping it up in spades, she most certainly was. Less than a month prior, there was Lord Snowdon, who sat like the Kents, close to the Cambridges and next to that aesthetically challenged buffoon with the mannish spouse, and on leaving St. Paul’s Cathedral, made a point of completely ignoring the Sussexes as they waited at the top of the stairs for their ride. Snowdon, at the time, snickered and went to chat up the clown, who had been seen embraced and his loyalty assured by William recently photographed for effect, hugging him, as they smugly telegraphed to the world their collective snub of the Sussexes. Of course, there sat Snowdon in the royal box at Wimbledon, who had been found being intimately same-sexed, which male royal never does, sat next to that blasted classist boor, minor TV thespian and snob, legs crossed and his mangina’s anal verge likely just-so softly plush for being filler-saturated. Of course, it goes without saying, his plush bussy was also likely waxed and bleached. Charmant. Sooner or later, Princess Blackamoor will crawl the frig into her casket and when she does, she most definitely will rot the fuck in hell with Idi Amin sat on her god-fugly face – the vile racist swine. Rule number 1, you don’t like Black people… fuck you. As Merlin once remarked, “What good is Black rage if it’s kept in a Ming vase on the mantel?”

Martina Hingis & Duchess of Cambridge at Wimbledon

As if it were not enough to drive home the fact that the Cambridges are really hyper-obsessed with putting that BBD – no, not big Black dick, Black Bitch/Diva, Meghan, in her place, Catherine just had to invite Martina Hingis to the royal box. Not as if she had won multiple grand slams at Wimbledon or something, like the Williams sisters.

Prince William day after the Sussexes’ interview with Oprah Winfrey aired.

Of course, Hingis was notorious back in the day to have alleged that there was no racism in tennis and she had no clue what the Williams sisters and their father were going on about. Always, the racists give themselves away by readily opining about the non-existence of racism.

Lady Gabriella Windsor-Kingston

Princess Blackamoor’s daughter who always looks like the sporty buffoon’s very mannish wife’s twin brother whose recently fully transitioned. Surprise, surprise, though Princess Blackamoor feigned approval, in the end her ambiguous-gendered spawn came to her senses and married a perfectly sensible WASP, rather than the Dravidian, who though not Black, is not White.

Olivia Bentley

Of course, the only one who was both elegant and the epitome of class, was the very stylish, acerbic Olivia Bentley of Made in Chelsea, who obviously does not hang around with grifters whose baby daddy has of late been dropping soap and being somebody’s bitch. This was at the recent service of thanksgiving for a loved royal confidante.

Michael Fagan

So strange this tale and, of course, whatever you want to believe of what was said to have actually occurred, you are free to so choose. Asking for cigarettes is certainly telling.

Philip, Anne & Elizabeth.

Here’s a little insight into HM The Queen’s amoral 7thness; she returned to London from Malta, gave birth to HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal then returned to Malta sans new-born mere days later. Naturally, it was the nannies’ duty to care for the new-born. Why should any Queen have to be a mere mother, indeed. Back to Malta she returned to her favoured stallion.

Of course, 8 years later after some obvious froideur, along comes what would in her tenth decade prove her own nightmare and Jeffrey Epstein’s prized blackmail, sex-crazed royal addict, whose second offspring bears an uncanny resemblance to the much favoured steed, Porchy.

As with Mohamed Al-Fayed, the Windsors and their organisation have got all the power to act like a unchallenged crime syndicate. Just as Mohamed was dismissed by the media as being a cuckoo, grieving old man for asking pertinent questions at the death of his son, Dodi Al-Fayed and his new love, Diana Princess of Wales, so too they have managed to have Meghan, Duchess of Sussex eviscerated in the media. Too bad for them though that they do not control American media and Meghan is an American and has power players in her corner who will always matter. Just look at the power of the Windsors. Lady Colin Campbell has never been able to write a biography about the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Obviously, this is because Prince William, a tempestuous stubborn customer, has made it perfectly clear to all the royal rota hacks and more importantly all the heads of the book publishing houses that there is to be no permission or approval of biographies of either him or his dull-as-dishwater wife with an equally violent temper.

Eleven years into their marriage and the only biography to have been written about either the Duke or Duchess of Cambridge has beenWilliam at 40″ by Robert Jobson. Lady Colin Campbell writing her scathing tomes on the Sussexes is all about income stream for her. In the long term, she is hoping that this puts her in favour with the Cambridges, who see her for the gutter-sniping fraud that she is. Just think about it, the Poundland Countess, with her very own castle, has never written a book about Camilla, Charles or William and Catherine. How free is the press in the kingdom, if one cannot write about some members of the BRF? As such, it is a land of flagrant propaganda and little else as the pantomime rolls from one generation to the next as it has from one millennium to the next.

Moreover, when it pleases the Windsors and the firm to be oversaturated in the media, there is always a sacrificial lamb proffered. Diana was never liked by her husband, even less so by his mother, who knew all along that she was a convenient cover for Charles’s dalliances and Australian-disposed baggage, all of which would be conveniently covered up with Diana being skewered in the media. There are two things that the modern BRF do with predicable élan: royal weddings, which sell the fairy story and then the scandals follow thereafter. Charles and Diana, the wedding of the century, followed soon thereafter by Sarah, Duchess of York being fed to the Fleet Street abattoirs. Of course, as we have now come to see, “Fergie” was the initially proffered lamb, as it turns out, it was so much smoke and mirrors to cover the Wales’ toxic sham of a marriage, which was coming fast undone.

Lady Colin Campbell

There is a part of me that secretly likes this woman because at the end of the day, she is Jamaican and there is only one word which does not exist in Jamaican patois… shy! Guaranteed, you will laugh loudest when with Jamaicans!

Lady Colin Campbell Books:

Publication Order of Standalone Novels

Empress Bianca(2008)It’s been pulped and I’ve a copy

Publication Order of Non-Fiction Books

Lady Colin Campbell’s Guide to Being a Modern Lady(1986)
Diana in Private(1992)
The Royal Marriages(1993)
A Life Worth Living(1997)
The Real Diana(2005)
Daughter of Narcissus(2009)
The Untold Life of Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother(2012)
The Queen’s Marriage(2018)
People of Colour and the Royals(2019)
Meghan and Harry(2020)

Voilà! Not a single biography of adulterers Charles & Camilla. So too none of Prince Philip, HM The Queen, HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal and, of course, none of either William and Catherine, together or alone. How in high hell can the most deliciously scathing biographer of the realm not once have put pen to paper and written from Porchy to Rose Hanbury and all the juicy tea.

Penelope Knatchbull, Countess Mountbatten of Burma

Furthermore, where is that biography of Prince Philip and Penelope, star-crossed lovers? Indeed, Penelope Knatchbull, Countess Mountbatten of Burma was not only well-sat at the Westminster Abbey service of thanksgiving for HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh but also, she was the only non-Windsor family member in attendance at HRH Prince Philip’s funeral in April 2021, ‘trusted confidante’ of the late prince as she was… take a sip dears. God only knows, it is not as if, Lady Colin Campbell has another 50 years of living and writing to go; certainly, the recent passing of the elegant Lily Safra should have given her pause. Stop inciting hatred for dollars on YouTube and get to writing! Just look at the wealth of material: Porchy, Penelope, Camilla, Tampon-Prince, their Australian-sequestered love child… and obvious others.

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex & Henry, Duke of Sussex

Speaking of biographies… I will not include herein a picture of his fucking ugly face; however, suffice it to say, no other group are possessed of need to incite anti-Black racism as are some Jews, in particular Ashkenazi. Of course, such persons are always, as is the cultural norm, readily believed and their word seen as divine law. As I am Afro-Sephardic, I could not give a goddamn whom so fuck-all takes offence. This man has written a scathing biography, which is lauded in all quarters because god only knows, not only does he clearly walk on water but he obviously farts Skittles.

15/9/1984 Rat Henry, Duke of Sussex 6.6.1 = 4

4/8/1981  Rooster Meghan, Duchess of Sussex 4.3.4  = 11

6/5/2019 Pig Archie Harrison 6.2.5 = 4

4/6/2021 Ox Lilibet Diana 4.1.6 = 11

In numerology there are no lies… as in dreams. There is perfect synergy between Harry’s and Archie’s numbers, just as the same is true between Meghan’s and Lilibet Diana’s numbers. According to one of many lies being peddled by this charlatan biographer, who is just loving inciting more hatred for Meghan for having stepped out of her pre-ordained line – some people – Meghan could not have been born in 1981 and clearly is possibly as old as 46. Well, I have run the numbers and each child will numerology have at least 2 numbers as the parent with whom they have a parenting bond. Obviously, as with Archie & Harry, Lilibet Diana would have to have been born with master number 11 like Meghan for there to be that harmony. Also, Lilibet Diana would be born with master numbers when it is so closely bonded a family; it is literally them against the Windsor’s world, which is considerable.

Meghan, Lilibet Diana & Mrs. Misan Harriman and Kids

4/8/1981 Rooster Meghan Markle 4.3.4 = 11

4/8/1975 Rabbit Meghan Markle 4.3.7 = 5

4/8/1976 Dragon Meghan Markle 4.3.8 = 6

4/8/1977 Snake Meghan Markle 4.3.9 = 7

4/8/1978 Horse Meghan Markle 4.3.1 = 8

4/8/1979 Goat Meghan Markle 4.3.2 = 9

4/8/1980 Monkey Meghan Markle 4.3.3 = 1

Archie, Harry, Meghan & Lilibet Diana

The only numbers which makes sense vis-à-vis Lilibet Diana’s and Harry’s, for that matter, are those of August 4, 1981, year of the Rooster. That leaves Meghan with master numbers of 11, which always denotes a life of destiny and such people are incredibly astute, come fully prepared for the journey ahead. If Archie and Harry are so simpatico, then clearly Lilibet Diana would have to be equally simpatico with her mum, Meghan and that she is to a mum born, August 4, 1981. End of discussion. Of course, like Orly Taitz herr Schmuckface just knows that for having his head so far up god’s ass, he speaks/writes the truth. Well, of course, the children do not exist; they are invisible, Meghan was never pregnant, it was a pillow. And on and on and fuck-all, on and on.

Boris Johnson Bigoted Warts And All…

Of course, he it was who had some rather bigoted choice observations, unsolicited, of President Barack Obama. But enough about vile buffoons, biting off infinitely more than they can chew – the Skittles-farting clown. This is the thing about some Jews, they are always being given a pass when they are racially predatory towards Blacks. And this is where BRF-sanctioned, character assassination biographer du jour, who has already been called out for having appropriated persons quotes and used as sources and warped their quotes in his vendetta against the schwarze shiksa, proves himself just another anti-Black racist. As though, only Jews are supposed to have ever experienced persecution, just as with Tina Brown (not Jewish), Mr. Schmuckface writes a 300-page plus book and never once mentions Princess Michael of Kent’s blackamoor brooch, which has been the biggest exposé of the racism to which Meghan, Duchess of Sussex was subjected. Since then as if to drive home the point, that blasted flat-arsed, hideous Rhino-legged racist swine, Princess Blackamoor, has been upfront and prominently placed at every opportunity.

Just Who Made Who Cry, Definitively Answered

Honest to frigging god, do you think that herr Schmuckface would have written a biography about a Jewish fiancée of Harry’s, who had been subjected to anti-Semitism when a minor royal showed up at HM The Queen’s Christmas lunch, wearing a swastika brooch and claiming not to have known that it was offensive and in this hyperbole, claiming that it was a Hindu cross brooch. Though it is true and even an Ethiopian and Navajo cross, we all, the world over, know that a damn swastika is a symbol of hideous anti-Semitism. Herr Schmuckface is a vicious coward; he knows that all he has to do, is go out there and say that Meghan made Catherine cry and that settles it. He is after all a Jew – it must be so. He is a damn bigot and a liar. The proof that Catherine made Meghan cry is validated by her behaviour at the March 2020 Commonwealth Service of Thanksgiving at Westminster Abbey. Catherine had been rude to Meghan in the lead up to the royal wedding about the bridesmaids’ tights. Catherine is an insecure woman, who was threatened by Meghan’s greater charisma, intellect and eloquence. The proof that Catherine made Meghan cry, is validated when she came up to take her seat at Westminster Abbey and though Meghan waved her right wrist that was placed on a her lap as she pointedly smiled at Catherine, Catherine refused to look at or acknowledge Meghan. At that point, the world was convinced that Meghan had made Catherine cry, which is all the more reason, Catherine deliberately ignored Meghan to perpetuate the lie, thanks to Camilla Tominey’s exclusive warped version, in the Daily Telegraph in November 2018, of what occurred after the Sussexes’ successful first tour in the South Pacific.

Catherine Meeting Jews at Buckingham Palace Garden Party

Most of all, Catherine is a White female who happens to be prejudiced towards Blacks – energy body of 9 – and she does not give a damn that it came to this. She will be Queen Consort and has given birth to the future sovereign… she does not have to give a damn what anyone thinks. To hell with the yank imposter and a Black one at that. Catherine, William for that matter, favour Jews and she has time and again demonstrated unease around Blacks, though, at this point, she has been made aware that optics are more important than personal bias. End of discussion.

Prince Damien holds court with his racially predatory kin

Just like that yenta, Angela Whiny-whatshername, and Tina Brown, there must never be any discussion of anti-Black racism with regards the BRF’s senior and minor titled royals. They have gleefully torn their flat arses in the negro from Compton’s face since that day in December 2017 and as recently as the thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022, yet there is no connection to racism neither are the BRF racist. Just like Tina and the two Jews in question, the time is long past to stop cutting HM The Queen slack. She has been aware of this hideous racism all along and done nothing; indeed, it has gone on like a bad joke month after month, after month. The best way to condone repugnant behaviour is to ignore it and do nothing about it. Herr Schmuckface has lied about who made whom cry and he has a serious credibility issue when he runs his ugly head off in excess of 300 pages and never once mentions the blackamoor brooch; talk about a clear-cut case of bias. To hell with the lot of these BRF-bought or purely sycophantic biographers.

Listen to Catherine in the background; in the original version – long scrapped from YouTube – she accuses the amateur photographer of having stalked them and seen recently doing so. All this triggers William who is her task companion as well as the ordinal partner in their pairing. The poor man doesn’t stand a chance, she said that he was there and that is that. Of course, it behoves William to at all times have security tracking with them… anywhere… at all times. There are no excuses. William sounds so vulnerable and pained; it is also an image of the Cambridges that must not be seen. When you are going to go to such great lengths to demonise your own brother and his Black wife; you cannot have it both ways. At the risk of stating the obvious, it takes two hands to clap.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, 2011

Now we come to the modern age, and time to throw another fairy story wedding. William was finally presented to the realm and as stupid can only be expected to do stupid, there was he got into the carriage and sat with his back to the horses and then remained sat whilst his new bride entered the carriage. Neither his brother nor father sat their arse down until their new wife was sat in the carriage – no uncouth, unaware dolts, Charles & Harry. Of course, from day one, the Cambridges openly rowed in full view of everyone on the ride back to Buckingham Palace and again on the balcony, they hissed at each other. Far be it from the blind to have taken notice of anything so obvious as truth. Of course, this wedding occurred long after the inconvenience of Diana was dealt with once and for all and she was put down… truly off to the abattoir she was sent and conveniently so in a tunnel where none of the many street level surveillance cameras could have caught anything.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex, 2018

Now the fairy story needed to be updated and the Windsors prove themselves progressive and inclusive; the Commonwealth after all is not exclusively Caucasian. It is one thing to talk the talk but you have got to be able to walk the walk. As HRH Prince Charles and Doria Ragland returned to the quire after having signed the registry, there was HRH Prince William openly ridiculing Meghan and her culture before her mother, Doria. This he also did before his embarrassed father, the Hollywood players across the quire aisle, HM The Queen and the entire world. When the Sussexes proved too popular and eclipsed the Cambridges, the bigoted Cambridges had to sabotage the Sussexes. As in the past, after a fairy story wedding, time for scandal. Without a sacrificial lamb delivered to the Fleet Street abattoirs, the pantomime and the Windsors lose their lustre… their very appeal. What better way to annul the very existence of the Duchess of Sussex and her marriage into the BRF, start a campaign to vilify and demonise her. Of course, though not dissimilar to North Korea in its jaundiced coverage of the Windsors, the Fleet Street abattoirs keep offering too much grizzle and shank. All this, as was the case with Sarah, Duchess of York and her fall from grace, is to cover the scandals within the thorny marriage of the Cambridges.

Interesting isn’t; then again, there are no coincidences. The official portrait of the Cambridges has Catherine wearing a green dress. The night that actor, Will Smith slapped comedian Chris Rock, his wife, Jada Pinkett Smith was wearing a green dress with yards of train. Green is the negative colour of 9/toxic energy; Jada has four 9s in her numerology. Catherine was not comfortable, sat next to Meghan in the royal box at Wimbledon and thus wore green and had her sister-in-law sat between her and her sister. Persons with 9 are more toxic, bitchy and vile for wearing green. Catherine studied art history and she knows the vibration that clothes and jewellery effect; she is subtle, vicious but does not go unnoticed by those with eyes to see. Green of course represents nature, life, moss arboreal splendour and its negative aspect is reflected in all things that are venomous, acidic, toxic.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex & Oprah Winfrey
Margot Robbie Accepts for Brad Pitt 2020 BAFTA Awards

What these sorry saps did not factor into the equation, was Meghan collecting her rock, Harry, and saying, “life is not a dress rehearsal and I don’t do Prissy. Let’s get the hell outta here!” Like Sarah, Duchess of York, Meghan was supposed to have stuck around and been walked all over by the BRF and Fleet Street. And this is why the Sussexes have won, from HM The Queen on down to that blasted buffoon, to say nothing of the many dalliances exposed and whispered about.

Just as William did not attend Wimbledon on the same day that Lord Snowdon was sat his Athenian arse next to the minor thespian put-through, so too he is very careful to never have James Middleton show up at Wimbledon and definitely not sat in the royal box whilst he is there. Naturally, one would not want to have persons start entertaining the thought that James has been ridden like a prized polo pony for many moons now. There is a reason why, James is kept safely out of reach, if only to pop up time and again, doing his best Saint Francis of Assisi… a right sissy that one… to be sure. So as much as they would like to have wanted the Sussexes about being shat on by Fleet Street and the rest of the realm, to serve as foil for the Cambridges’ fractured, messy marriage – exhibit Prince Damien for one – they have got no end of thinly veiled scandals percolating just below the surface.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex Enter St. Paul’s Cathedral, June 03, 2022

What the whole debacle in St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022 revealed at HM The Queen’s platinum jubilee service of thanksgiving, is how weak the Windsors are next to the Sussexes. The Queen deliberately did not attend because she wanted to have the Sussexes embarrassed before the world without her being present and looking as though complicit. What… no shit, pigs don’t fly! She has spent the better part of ten, eight in an official capacity, decades pulling the wool over the eyes of the somnambulant clowns of her island realm but few else are duped by her and her clan’s antics. Why even go so low as to have the Sussexes sat where they were but then to top it off, just as her being at the Sussexes’ wedding, Princess Blackamoor was sat within fart-sniffing distance of the Prince & Princess of Wales as well as the Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. They have no power; when the Sussexes exited the island sanitorium, the Windsors lost their power to thoroughly fuck with and manipulate them. They have upped their attacks by having a spate of biographies printed; however, everyone of them fail to mention the blackamoor brooch incident because, clearly, all these biographers are sanctioned and directed on how to focus the narrative of the runaway slave, Meghan. To not mention the blackamoor brooch incident and Princess Blackamoor’s subsequent prominence, does one thing and one thing only; it exposes the fact that the Windsors are die-hard racists. All the nonsense of Commonwealth unity is a damn farce.

Reptilian Spawn, Prince Damien Born to Toxic 9 Energy Body Mother

Don’t you worry your sweet little head, you’ve got scandal aplenty with Prince Damien chomping at the bit to get on with life and cause you no end of dread and embarrassment. As for Prince Damien, two other royals had a fourth number of 7 and they were both assassinated: Diana, Princess of Wales (1/7/1961 Ox 1.8.7 = 7) and Lord Louis Mountbatten, Earl of Burma 25/6/1900 Rat 7.4.5 = 7). It is very possible that either of his parents will choose to have Prince Damien put down for being a royal pain in the arse; it is what they do and have always done.

HM The Queen at 96

HM The Queen’s reign has been possessed of her amoral nature; it has had a cycle of abuses that show utter disregard for human decency, compassion, as well as, both emotional and mental wellbeing. During her reign there has been one consistency, no care for senior royals wellbeing if they are not in line to be future sovereign. From HRH Princess Margaret, her sister – whose emotional and mental health she ruined by her ruthless inconsiderateness. Not just her having abandoned the new-born HRH Princess Anne to return to HRH Prince Philip in Malta, in later years, she would turn a blind eye and allow the utter abuse of Diana, Princess of Wales who had been simply used for approved heirs, to say nothing how Sarah, Duchess of York has been abused and kept around like a despised corgi just so that one can kick it at every opportunity.

Do Drink Up… Backstory Time.

Lady Diana Spencer & Camilla Parker Bowles, 1980

Diana was not a stranger to them. As the preceding photograph attests, seven years into her marriage to Andrew Parker-Bowles, (who incidentally was also a lover of HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal), there was Camilla, clearly having an affair with HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, whilst grooming Lady Diana Spencer to be Charles’ approved concubine; how not unlike Ghislaine Maxwell was the very married Mrs. Camilla Parker-Bowles. All of this, HM The Queen would have been intimately aware of and clearly approved of. So a barely legal, Lady Diana Spencer was being squired, groomed and proffered by Camilla who by that point had sequestered her lovechild with HRH Prince Charles to the colonies in Australia. Obviously, HM The Queen had a direct hand in the lovechild being removed from the scene; there are simply some scandals that cannot be tolerated. The scandals that spring from the Fleet Street abattoirs do so with the royal seal of approval by none other than HM The Queen.

Diana, Princess of Wales & King Juan-Carlos de Bourbon

Diana, for being a mature soul artisan, was no pushover. She was a quick study, when she saw that she was merely a convenient, acceptable womb and that Camilla, her handler, would never stop meddling in her marriage to Camilla’s true lover, like any artisan-soul worth their adventurous, dramatic salt, Diana went off and engaged in revenge lust with the continent’s biggest royal lothario. That dalliance is precisely why HM King Juan-Carlos of Spain, father of Diana’s lovechild, was disinvited at the last minute to the royal wedding of HRH Prince Charles of Wales and Lady Diana Spencer. What was HM The Queen to do at that point, Charles & Diana were already set to be wedded and she, after all, had long abandoned Philip and been besotted and sired by Lord Porchester – and you can bet that she did not give a goddamn what anyone thought. As Charles ignored and carried on with Camila immediately after his wedding, Diana simply resumed relations with King Juan-Carlos and a pregnancy was expected so who would be any the wiser. Meanwhile, she knew damn well that as Queen, she could rip off Porchy’s clothes and mount him on the Buckingham Palace balcony at trooping the colour and not a single damn fool on the island realm would have seen any such thing. Period.

Royal Wedding, Duke & Duchess of York, 1986

Well, of course, Porchy’s boy, HM The Queen’s favoured lovechild was going to have a full 5-star wedding at Westminster Abbey. Another royal wedding, means more tourists after all and more merch income. Pretty soon, though, the fairy story started turning into an abundant flock of lambs for the Fleet Street abattoirs. Toe-sucking and pretty soon, Fergie was cast into the wilderness; not in direct line for the throne anyway, which afforded her to be diversionary scandal. Then faster than a sneeze, there was Diana making perfectly frigging goddamn clear that she was done playing along or playing nice. Never mind that before Penelope Knatchbull, there was HRH Princess Alexandra of Kent, yet HRH Prince Philip made it perfectly clear that he did not ever want to see Sarah, Duchess of York in the same room as him after her divorce. To that end, she was not invited to William and Catherine’s wedding and Meghan and Harry insisted that she be at their wedding; however, she was sat across the quire aisle from the rest of the royals. Incidentally, the Sussexes should not have been surprised at their placement at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022 as this was what HM The Queen decreed. Nonetheless, HM The Queen also made sure that Princess Blackamoor was placed close to the Waleses and Cambridges at St. Paul’s Cathedral on June 03, 2022.

James Hewitt & Diana, Princess of Wales

Diana started taking lovers. Naturally, to toss off Diana and begin her character assassination at the Fleet Street abattoirs, HM The Queen in a move to protect and avenge her honour, has the notion of HRH Prince Harry being Diana’s lovechild with James Hewitt floated. What a very convenient arsenal to draw on, as she was so intimate with this development two decades early with the lovechild with Porchy; simultaneously, it goes a long way to make the notion of Charles & Camilla more feasible in future, which like a turtle she has managed to live to see that PR rebranding of the adulterous Camilla the Ghislaine Maxwell-like groomer and Charles the Tampon prince. Naturally, James Hewitt was just another lamb proffered by HM The Queen and her syndicate, to protect Prince William’s true parentage and thereby get back at Diana for having fucked with not just Charles & Camilla but herself, HM The Queen, by fucking HM King Juan-Carlos of Spain. Of course, in due course as Charles was off loving Camilla and many male lovers, Diana, Princess of Wales wasted little time, taking lovers married or not as has always been the royal way.

After HM The Queen went out and had her lovechild with Lord Porchester, who turned into a real karmic tsunami, Philip for near five decades openly lived a life of passion and companionship with the very married Countess of Burma, Penelope Knatchbull. Just like Porchy’s lovechild, they do as they please and do not give a damn what the little islanders think. Of course, Philip lived to see the day that he was avenged for having been humiliated by a lovechild being in line to the throne ahead of his daughter, HRH Princess Anne, Princess Royal.

Of course, well before there was the very married Penelope Knatchbull, Countess of Burma, there was HRH Princess Alexandra of Kent, HM King George V’s granddaughter and daughter of HRH Prince George, Duke of Kent. Princess Alexandra’s numerology: 25/12/1936 Rat! 7.1.2 = 1. Philip’s affair with Princess Alexandra is what caused the rift in the sovereign’s marriage which resulted in HM The Queen’s affair with the Porchmeister and eventually their passion produced the rather barrel-hipped porchfest, Prince Andrew who exposed the lust and passion that produced him in the debauched affair that saw Jeffrey Epstein, Ghislaine Maxwell and Virginia Roberts-Giuffre being more than tangential bit players and infamous persons known the world over, one to whom they had to pay hush money. This is where it now gets interesting, after Andrew’s birth there was no going back and soon it was Penelope Knatchbull, the very married Countess of Burma with whom Prince Philip was passionately consumed. Penelope’s numerology is most interesting: 16.4.1953 Snake. 7.2.2 = 11. Both women are 7 energy bodied, you can’t get more amoral than that – they can also see dead people, auras et al. The more excitingly fascinating of the two royal mistresses of Prince Philip’s would hands down be Penelope; she has master number 11. These persons are inordinately charming and incredibly powerful and exceptionally gifted in the sexual arts. Moreover, Penelope is born in the year of the Snake; they can be monstrous, which is why Chinese traditionally avoided having babies in the year of the snake for fear that they would give birth to a female. For Princess Alexandra, a Rat, she was just in it for the adventure and with amoral 7 energy body, it was damn great sex and she was not going to not get her fix. Again, it is what the royals have always done.

Harry & Meghan Engagement Interview BBC

One of the most important things that HRH Prince Harry said in his engagement interview, occurred when he corrected BBC host, Mishal Husain by stating, “Or they think they know!” If HM The Queen wants the realm to know, it will be filtered via the abattoirs on Fleet Street. Everything else will be smoke and mirrors and the standard, “Never explain. Never complain” rules the day. Indeed, when you’ve much to hide, so say you.

Royals and their lovers indeed. HRH Princess Margaret, Countess Snowdon 21/8/1930 Horse 3.2.6 = 11

Margaret was possessed of master number 11; she did not give a living shit and said and did as she pleased. She was also innately talented and exceedingly charismatic. She had three lovers of note and only one of them did she share 2 numbers in common. This would have been her one true love, Peter Townsend (22/11/1914 Tiger 4.6.3 = 4). Peter, however, was divorced and his wife was still alive, which means that as the Governor of the Church of England, HM The Queen could not have sanctioned Margaret’s marriage to her true love and divorced spouse. With two numbers in common, it is very likely that there was a high degree of past-life connection between Margaret and Peter Townsend. He was shipped off to Belgium so that she could not have her star-crossed lover on the side. As karma would have it within ten years of Margaret being bitterly separated from Peter Townsend by his relocation to Belgium, Prince Philip was ploughing Princess Alexandra and before the decade was out, HM The Queen had her lovechild with Lord Prochester, HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York and we know damn well how all that karma turned out, Epstein, Maxwell, Roberts-Giuffre. All the more reason why it was callous in the extreme to have dispatched Peter Townsend to Belgium. Margaret could have wedded whomever and kept Peter as lover, open or otherwise; this after all, is what both HM The Queen and Prince Philip did… it is what the royals have always done.

Margaret having been told to suck it up and get on with living, then settled for Antony Armstrong-Jones, 1st Earl Snowdon. It is hard to see what had these two walking down the aisle, unless Antony Armstrong-Jones (7/3/1930 Horse 7.1.5 = 4) was hung like a prized steed. Margaret and Antony did not a single number in common share; she had to have kids and if he loved being pegged by strap-on or cock, he would not have been the first royal male with same-sex proclivities. Finally, having had enough of playing at happily married, Margaret dispensed with her pegged hubby and cut to the chase. She took Roddy Llewellyn (9/10/1947 Pig 9.1.4 = 5) as her lover. She needed to be well-ploughed and often and when that is the order, no one fills the role better than a Pig. Pigs are loud, lusty, sexually obsessive souls who will happily fulfil themselves and partners as often as possible. Soused on drink and nicotine all Princess Margaret wanted was damn good sex and that is just what Roddy would have provided. Like the Earl Snowdon, Margaret and Roddy had no numbers in common. At 17 years Margaret’s junior, Roddy was merely a throbbing sex toy and knew his role.

Please, Switch to Elderflower; It Is Most Soothing…

Catherine Bullies William at James Bond Premier

Catherine has mastered the art of cussing behind clenched teeth whilst smiling that ever-present smile of hers. Her 9 energy body here is toxic in the extreme and that is why for most of the time, William’s face is warped into a pursed-lipped silence. William is a submissive; he is a bottom who loves being bullied by his wife and it is part of their psychosexual dynamic. Catherine is a dominatrix. Who again made whom cry?

Look at the Froideur Between Cambridges at No Time to Die Premier

Catherine peppered William with abuse common to dominatrixes whilst smiling and looking his way; just look at her exasperation at the 40 second mark. On arriving at the top of the stairs, Catherine looked across to William who had still not made it up. She cuts the eye at him and does not give a damn who the world over noticed.

Bottoms Up! Now we learn where best fake-toothed, bald, submissive Billy likes to wear his crown jewels! If that is not rich…. of course, it has always been there. You can even see it in the way Catherine triggers William in the clip of them out bike-riding and encountering an amateur photographer. Of course, William’s mum, Diana, Princess of Wales was 1 energy-bodied and that is the sign of the dominatrix/bully. I have also known four women along life’s journey and everyone of them had men whom they utterly controlled, emasculated and pussy-whipped their every breath. Heck, two of those women, with energy body of 9, loved using a strap-on on their lovers/partners.

#PrinceofPegging

Perhaps, indeed, he loves being pegged by James Middleton, Earl of Insolvency. Again, William’s fourth number is 5, it signifies male sexual fluidity, submissive behaviour, sexual excess, sexual scandal; furthermore, William is moving centred and all such persons are highly sex-focussed individuals. 5 represents excess – excessive submission. All this has happened throughout the history of the royal family; now, we live in an age where very little goes unnoticed.

Just look at William in both photographs on separate occasions; his lips are pursed and he is self-contained, emasculated and submissive. William is also jealous as hell but there isn’t a damn thing that he can do about it. A woman loves whom she loves and that’s that! Meanwhile, Catherine (9/1/1982 Rooster 9.1.3 = 4) does not waste time in telegraphing her heightened sexuality when focussed on Ben; she is all over and into Sir Ben Ainslie (5/2/1977 Dragon 5.7.4 = 7). This has been going on at least since 2014 and always, no one ever makes mention. In light of what we know about Prince Philip and HM The Queen, in this generation, we also do have a parallel dynamic. Catherine has made it perfectly clear, time and again, that William is a goddamn irritant. Not to be overlooked, is the fact that Dragons and Dogs do NOT get along; there is no way that William would ever feel comfortable around Ben and will be consumed with jealousy rather than not with regards Ben; Catherine intuitively knows this and plays it up even more. Make no mistake about it, there is more than flirting at play here. What’s poor Willy to do but go self-peg or cocksuck a couple of fags (British version or is that a pun?).

Catherine openly flirts with Ben and what does it say about their relationship when he adjusts her helmet; it is the most bold display of their intimacy. Of course, on the day of this Commonwealth invitational sailing event between Britain and New Zealand – Britain won – Catherine could not have bothered nor would she have dropped the sailing event, to attend Wembley Stadium with her husband, William, whilst the ladies England team squared off against Germany in the Ladies Euros 2022 finals, which they won. There was William alone and unattended by his wife, Catherine, who was in Plymouth openly flirting with her very intimate friend, Ben Ainslie.

Sir Ben Ainslie and Wife, Royal Box Wimbledon 2022

More important for Catherine was spending sportive quality time with Sir Ben. Well, of course, Sir Ben is married but so too is Penelope Knatchbull and Princess Alexandra wedded when they were the open lovers of Prince Philip’s, HM The Queen or no queen, to say nothing of the rest of humanity. But did anyone ever notice or write biographies and harp on as though the sky were imminently about to collapse?

Honestly, though they only have one match numerologically, there may be a strong past-life history between both Ben & Catherine or they may well be entity/cadre mates; either way, she is a warrior and all warrior souls whether male or female are very highly sexed persons, for whom there is never any shame in their game when they want to be sexually satisfied. Catherine is no different and she has the perfect partner. More sex workers and street walkers are warrior souls than any other role… so you know.

You definitely do not see Catherine ever looking this downright maudlin when in the company of Sir Ben Ainslie. “Lady sings the blues. She’s got it bad…” Sing it Billie Holiday. You wait, Billy, she’s gonna peg you good. Take a sip and breathe dears… exhale; isn’t Elderflower superb?

William is an insipid, foul-tempered man-child, who does find ready support in the court buffoon, whose wife is as equally dominant as is Catherine. He, too, likely does love being pegged. This could have been such smooth sailing; however, you just had to go tempting karma by being nasty little upfront racists towards Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Now that she is gone, you’ve blown your cover… from Prince Damien to personal preference on how to wear the crown jewels, are truly unmasking.

It’s Okay, Take A Minute…
The Camera Never Lies!
Marquess & Marchioness of Cholmondeley, Earl & Countess of Rocksavage, Houghton Hall

If you going to reincarnate and work as a team on a life devoted to stewardship, this remarkably august pair would be as fine a blueprint as you could hope for. I don’t know if they are task companions or essence twins but what I do know, is that they are without doubt august mature souls with a strong past-life history. They do a remarkable job of not just maintaining an estate, Houghton Hall, they have handsomely adapted it to survive and thrive in modern times.

David 27/6/60 Rat 9.6.4 = 1 Marquess & Rose 15/3/84 Rat 6.9.4 = 1 Marchioness of Cholmondeley

All four of their numbers match; this is a bucolic reward incarnation for both and it has to do with a lifetime, which was chosen at the level of soul because they had richly earned/deserved it. As the 7th Marquess of Cholmondeley his 9 energy body is vastly different to Catherine’s. For one, he was born into the aristocracy and for another a woman with 9 energy body is vastly more acerbic, predatory than a male with 9 energy body; Catherine was also not of aristocratic birth, which only steeled her 9 energy body’s exoskeleton. Rose’s 6 energy body means that as also of aristocratic birth, she is all about being grounded, family-focussed and eschewing drama. This couple so get each other that it would not be surprising if they regularly finished each other’s sentences, experienced a strong degree of telepathy, most definitely communicate rather actively in dreams and when they are together can effect magical stillness when in a room. They are quite remarkable. Life is a business; they get it and run a business they do. As any good rat knows, life is about balance and duality. They indulge and when they play, they lose themselves.

Cambridges & Rocksavages

Much has been whispered at tea about this pairing of couples. Honey, I don’t read tea leaves. I am inclined to believe that Catherine wanted Rose frozen out, simply because Catherine is a warrior soul and all warrior souls are quick to do battle, anywhere, anytime, with whomsoever with enemies real or imagined, many of whom prove the latter. Catherine, as with Meghan, is easily threatened. In this case, Rose’s aristocratic birth would be reason enough to look to freeze her out.

The Rocksavages are mature souls and as Rats, they could give two frigs about trifling drama; they are far too sophisticated to get caught up in that. They are aristocratic; one does as one has always done. It is the spouse’s duty to accept and live with it or suffer the consequences. William’s fourth number of 5 means that as there has been smoke, and copious amounts, I might add, I say there most definitely is a raging fire… hey, blame it on climate change.

Fortnum & Mason Elderflower Tea

Wasn’t that sublime? It’s remarkably elegant and sensual. I find it also induces the most languorously lucid dreams. Always good to take the time for tea. Cheers. Speaking of dreams, I think the link to this dream almost 30 years ago, is a fitting metaphor for how the BRF, Fleet Street and the island realm dwellers relate to the Sussexes. Don’t, like the dog in this dream, be like the aforementioned: BRF, Fleet Street and island dwellers of the realm.

Go on, let them yap… soar higher still.
Buster at My Birthday Dinner

Saturday past, as it is a holiday weekend here, my spouse and I crated Buster and took him to my sister Pandora’s. There we had too much Moet, can you possibly ever have too much champagne, and had an early birthday dinner with luscious raspberry-covered cake ahead of my 62nd on Tuesday. 2/8/1960 Rat 2.1.8 = 11. Buster sat on the desk, looking out the window because since Pandora and hubby moved back to town from Ottawa, her two cats – mother and daughter – can’t seem to make heads or tail of him. Buster scurries about and now it’s gotten to the point of a hiss there, a hiss here. Either way, he calms himself by taking to the window and gazing up at the Aura condominium, which towers higher still than those across Bay Street.

Miles Davis Quintet, 1964 Live in Milan

Miles Davis – Trumpet

Wayne Shorter – Saxophone

Herbie Hancock – Piano

Ron Carter – Bass

Tony Williams – Drums

Ron Carter 4/5/1937 Ox 4.9.2 = 5

As this is the 65 anniversary of Ron Carter’s career as Jazz bassist extraordinaire, I thought this concert a fitting tribute. Jazz is the magical language of black love and spirituality. From Emmett Till to George Floyd, honestly, how can you possibly expect us to suffer the repugnant affront of you, seeking to cancel Jazz, cancel Black culture by your grudging ubiquity? You will never do.

One of these days, Buster’s gonna catch a pigeon.

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

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

The Pro(fessional)s & The Con(artist)s.

The Con(artist)s Exposed

Thank goodness for the wonderfully charming Archie Manners, he waved a wand of truth and exposed the industry of charlatans, who parasitically income stream from the lives of the royals.

Archie Manners 19.5.1993 Rooster 1.6.1 = 8

Aristocratic magician Archie and his business partner are responsible for outing the archly pretentious con artists, masquerading as experts. With a couple of 1s in his numerological makeup and that empathetic 6, Archie being a true aristocrat doesn’t give a living crap what these persons think; they are frauds.

Con(artist)s

Ingrid Seward, Editor-in-Chief Majesty Magazine

Ingrid having been caught in a boldfaced lie would later turn to being mindful not to cause offense. I do know several blacks who after subscribing to Majesty magazine, promptly cancelled, owing to Ms. Seward’s appearance. For many Black Americans, the royals were a new phenomenon and many of the upper middle class African-Americans were wowed by the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex in 2018. I can assure you, though, after the Oprah interview, the royals have fallen out of favour with many. The blackamoor brooch also came to light during the time of the Oprah interview and that was a definite deal breaker.

Angela Levin

After having sucked up to Prince Harry for the biography that she wrote, this vile woman has just been keen at every opportunity, to raise her rear right leg and piss all over all things associated with the Sussexes. She is what my darling Merlin would seethed and dismiss as ‘that Semite’. Himself, a Jew of Polish heritage was ever embarrassed by Ashkenazi persons whom he always found alarmingly racist towards Blacks; this they, somehow, felt was perfectly justifiable because for merely being Jewish, they were above reproach. For this reason, such persons were ever dismissed as ‘Semite’ as they were not fit to be identified as Jewish. Merlin would actually toss something at the television or leave the room when such glaring bigotry occurred on television. This woman is alarmingly mealy-mouthed and ever ready to vilify both Sussexes.

Victoria Arbiter 5.4.1974 Tiger 5.9.3 = 8

Poseuse extraordinaire, with a second/mindset number of 9, she goes where the prevailing winds do and the American negro does not belong in the royal family. Of course, her diaper-wearing father outed himself as an absolute turncoat fraud in Archie Manners’ brilliant exposé.

Richard Fitzwilliams 14.10.1949 Ox 5.6.2 = 4

The pompous, South African born jackass is outed. Who cares what these persons think or say; they simply project onto the monarchy whatever their miniscule bigoted agendum happens to be.

Dan Wootton 2.3.1983 Pig 2.5.8 = 6

Just look at him, über nez brun figurative and otherwise. He is a nasty little White male bigot, who not surprisingly hails from another shitty little isle, this one at further reaches of a time and place when empire mattered. Naturally, his fiendish racial animus towards the Sussexes is so intense that he will haul out that porcine turncoat in Mexico, who masquerades as a caring grandfather, whenever he and the other fifs of Fleet Street decide to fabricate and gloat at another salvo at the Sussexes; I can just imagine the perished kiwi fruit, drawing hard on a bottle of poppers whilst getting off.

Thomas Markle, Duke of Mexico @ Trooping the Colour balcony 2022

Just imagine the gales of laughter as Dan Wootton and his sizeable troop of cum-farting, lisping bigots on the isle of racist boors get their clueless-as-fuck mascot, somehow, past Buckingham Palace security to stand on the balcony. There, the gargantuan Duke of Mexico can be favoured over the Sussexes and stood between HM The Queen and HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. At some point, in true Jerry Springer style, Thomas can then confront the Duke and Duchess of Sussex whilst on the balcony and demand to hold his favourite grandchild, Archie. Like true colonial bigots, the likes of Dan Wootton et al would think it priceless to have that uppity negro upstaged and put in her rightful place.

“…”They owe me,” Markle said in the documentary. “The royals owe me, Harry owes me, Meghan owes me. What I’ve been through, I should be rewarded for. My daughter told me when I reach my senior years, she’ll take care of me. I’m in my senior years now. I’m 75 years old, so it’s time to look after daddy.”…”. Thomas Markle.

Just imagine the infinite broadsheet coverage with this priceless click bait fodder, earning each article in excess of 15k comments. I can just imagine them plotting to have the Duke of Mexico join the procession back up the mall to Buckingham Palace in a convertible golf cart. Can you just imagine that clueless despicable man, a veritable albino Idi Amin and no less hateful, looking smug as fuck as his Poundland medals noisily dangle off his left moob. Old age security is more than enough to keep that vile turncoat, living baronially in Mexico.

Dickie Arbiter

And to think that this man was actually in the employ of HM The Queen. It is a complete disservice to HM The Queen to have persons with such obvious racial animus and bigotry in the royal households. When HM The Queen took those oaths, wherein she devoted her life and reign to being one of service, she meant it. She is also head of the Church of England, which would not exist were it not for the Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort, who is now incarnate and none other than, Meghan Markle, Duchess of Sussex herself – there are no coincidences. Were it not for her, the Tudor matriarch, the Queen would be governed by the Pope. Indeed, were HM The Queen like the racist boors who vilify Meghan, formerly Margaret Beaufort (Tudor matriarch), all the Governors-General would be royals. In such a paradigm, one would have, for example, India Hicks, Governor-General of the Bahamas and say, James Ogilvy, the Governor-General of St. Kitts & Nevis rather than two members of my extended family having thusly served HM The Queen. In my entire 7 decades, one was not brought up to think of, nor seen HM The Queen as ‘White.’ She has always just been, The Queen and she has never for a fleeting moment reeked of either bigotry or racial animus. Trust me, being able to spot White bigotry, is an almost built-in matter of extra-sensory perception for Blacks the world over.

Lady Colin Campbell 17.8.1949 Ox 8.7.3 = 9

Not surprisingly, this woman/gender ambiguous’ numerological make-up contains a 9. This placement of 9 is that of the over-the-top, archly bigoted, pretentious, snob. It is all about who is good enough and being the ultimate defender of the flame and an aggressive gatekeeper. For the record, what tacky cereal gives away junk like that crap on her head? I will say this, hers/theirs are eyes usually resident at sanitoria. Vraiment étrange…

Episode 3 of Keeping Up with the Aristocrats. From the 11:30 to 19:19 is Princess *cough, cough* Olga’s birthday party at her country dump. Present were all the usual royal sycophants and pretentious parvenus about whom the truly aristocratic do not give two fucks, which most definitely includes nez bruns real and figurative and the vile racist attacker of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, the Poundland aristo, lui-même. She/they hangs on to that bargain basement nothing title of lady as though it were Princess Royal. Sweetheart, nobody gives a living fuck and by pompously clawing on to the shitty nowhere title, risibly illustrates how desperately parvenu, which is to say readily dismissible, this one is in Britain’s rigid classist society. During minutes 40:10 to 45.53 of the same episode, Olga attends an evening gathering hosted by the Chatelaine of Renishaw Hall where also present were Ivar Mountbatten and his handsome husband. Naturally, the ‘lady’ *cough, cough* did not make it beyond the stately home’s entry gates. No matter how much she/they affect(s) the grand airs, those who matter would never suffer this crass, put-on in their midst as was made readily evident during the gathering at Renishaw Hall. Olga, an ancien/passé princess will be welcome among aristocrats and orbital royals like Ivar Mountbatten but not in your life would Ivar Mountbatten and his husband be around snobbish boors like Lady Kissy Kissy Boosh Boosh and the sycophantic opera fags, who readily gravitate to such extra-orbital netherworld spheres like famished flies on shit.

April 14, 2022

On the Poundland aristo’s YouTube channel on April 14, 2022, the very day that the Duke & Duchess of Sussex visited HM The Queen at Windsor Castle. Not once did this woman/gender ambiguous make passing reference to the fact that, through her/their impeccable royal source(s), there would be imminent activity by the Sussexes that would have everyone talking but to protect her/their royal source(s), she/they could not say further; however, by the end of the week, she/they and her/their royal source(s) will have been proven correct. Thursday, April 14, 2022 was the very day that the Sussexes made worldwide news and what do you know, thereafter was the Poundland aristo, fuming and flaring her/their ferret-like nostrils with indignation at the vile Sussexes, visiting HM The Queen, a visit which she/they never once could claim that she/they had alluded to in her/their vlog on April 14, 2022 or the vlog prior. From 21:00 to 23:20, it is perfectly clear that the uncouth Poundland aristo has no inside royal source(s) and that as she/they was/were sat engaging in decidedly libellous palaver, the Duke & Duchess of Sussex were in Windsor, visiting with HM The Queen. Nonetheless, there is the Lady of dubious gender, declaring at 21:40 ‘My understanding, is that The Queen would not be that thrilled to receive them.’ She/they, then dripping with racist innuendo, like her/their zero-nacred Poundland jewellery, until 23:20 blithers on, dismissing Meghan, and by inference Blacks, as inelegant country folk set loose in a costumier’s.

April 16, 2022

In this video, after the Duke & Duchess of Sussex had been to visit HM The Queen in Windsor, the uncouth gossip is left to scratch and claw and throw more defamatory grenades in a bid to cover the fact that the vlog of two days prior, April 14, 2022, there was no mention of the Sussexes’ visit to see The Queen, because she/they hasn’t/haven’t got a fucking clue and is an absolute racist and fraud – neither she/they nor her/their alleged royal source(s) know sweet fuck-all of what is truly going on. As for her/their royal source(s), there are more royals in England than any country on the planet; when this racist woman/gender ambiguous says royal, she/they never does/do say British royal family. Truth be told, as there are royals from every royal family on the planet in England, this means that the ratio of royals to chavs in England is 1:1. As she/they continue(s) her/their defamatory campaign of courting Meghan’s litigious wrath, she/they at 16:00 to 16:40 implies that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex has a cocaine habit; this she did whilst impersonating Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and excessively sniffing and snorting back and forth from one nostril to the next. All the while, this woman/gender ambiguous racist creates a petition to invite Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex to ask HM The Queen to place his Dukedom in abeyance; so intense is this woman/gender ambiguous’ racist obsession with Duke of Sussex’s wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Sooner or later, the Sussexes are going to take legal action against this fraud and they have all the video evidence and more that they need. Keep digging with the use of the little people having been whipped into hateful frenzy – the same little people about whom she/they does/do not give sweet fuck-all on any given rainy Friday afternoon. Always, it is readily convenient and credible to pin Blacks with the label of being drug addicts in one’s racially predatory obsession.

Back in summer 1986, I took over a friend of Merlin’s gig as dresser on Cats at Toronto’s Elgin Theatre. At the time, the person was experiencing burnout as many friends and theatre associates of theirs were dying of AIDS. What was supposed to have been 3 to 6 weeks maximum, turned into almost a year. Friends made during that time, still work in the showbiz world here in town and matured into TV/film careers. Not one of these persons ever said a damn thing negative about Meghan Markle when she worked here in Toronto, filming Suits. She smokes as does Prince Harry was the extent of what different sources related. If there was a drinking or drug problem, it would most definitely not have been overlooked. Also, if you have a drug problem, it is either rehab or simply being written out of the show, neither of which occurred. Also, if Meghan, Duchess of Sussex were the bully as alleged by royal household staffers and the tabloid medium, it would have been an issue on Suits for which she would have been dismissed. An actor working on the set of a long-running TV series, is not dissimilar to being a royal in a royal household; Meghan was not suddenly going to be difficult when she was accustomed to being deferred to on the set of a hit TV show. Meanwhile, the Poundland aristo seriously engages in defamation of character for being inordinately racially predatory of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Like her/them sitting there on the day that the Sussexes were visiting with HM The Queen in Windsor, April 14, 2022, about which she/they knew sweet fuck-all, she/they also does/do not know anything about Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s life, when she resided here in Toronto. Stop fucking goddamn inciting gullible bigots to racially hate Meghan, Duchess of Sussex and Prince Harry; this is precisely why the doyenne of Renishaw Hall would never think of having that vile, gossiping charlatan in her home.

Lady Frederick Windsor & Prince Harry Duke of Sussex

Let me make it abundantly clear, this woman/gender ambiguous and all Meghan’s detractors would know to keep their rabid tail between their syphilitic legs if Prince Harry had married either a Jew or a Moslem. One simply does not giver offense to either demographic. For one, fear of retaliation, economic or otherwise of being accused of either anti-Semitism or Islamophobia would have this Trench town racist, keeping her/their foul and defamatory thoughts to herself/themself. As one does not give offense to either demographic and in the case of the latter, as fatwahs and their consequences are very real, she/they would think twice of putting either Castle Booring at risk or ending up like Nick Berg did.

HRH Princess Michael of Kent in blackamoor brooch, Christmas 2017

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex never played the race card, that was quite nicely played for her by HRH Princess Michael of Kent and then she had the fuck-all temerity to show her flat-arsed, no-calved pretentious face at a Black woman’s wedding, having sported the blackamoor brooch six months earlier, which is no less offensive to Blacks, especially so African-Americans, than a swastika would have been had Prince Harry like Lord Frederick Windsor, princess flat-arse’s son, married a Jew. So thank you for sitting there, looking all smug as fuck, sporting your blackamoor brooch because never could it be convincingly argued that Meghan was making specious allegations of racism, pulling the race card when even before walking down the aisle with Harry, there was the dumbass, advertising what gleeful fun one was having being racially predatory boors towards that Compton hustler. Blasted flat-arsed, pretentious sow.

At the heart of Britons’ arch racist animus towards Blacks is the sticky business of karma. They owe massive karma to Blacks for the empire building wealth that they amassed for the enslavement of Blacks and in its aftermath, the absurd injustice of slavery profiting Britons being compensated for their supposed lost income stream whilst the discarded enslaved got nothing. And so they hate and deny and will never ever admit to having been racist or being racist. Yet, somehow, they and indeed all non-Blacks seem to think that despite their unbridled racist animus towards us, we sent out an SOS, asking them to come relieve/rape us of Black culture, which is inherently musical, and thus they grudgingly squat the fuck all over Jazz as though, somehow, invited. Let’s, however, digress no more…

The soul which, formerly when incarnate, was Margaret Beaufort, Tudor matriarch, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII and great-grandmother of HM Queen Elizabeth I, has been reborn, Black and on re-entering that dynastic family for being Black has affected the karmic chickens of slavery, Black exploitation and rape of Africa and its people, coming home to roost. By her very presence, she has lanced a bilious flood of racial dread, which White Britons bear Blacks for the karma they damn well know that they owe Blacks. No matter how you protest, just remember that within your midst are persons who will never assimilate and who are singularly focussed on subjecting you and your society as you subjected Blacks. Keep hating Blacks and being singularly focussed on Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, serving as a vessel for your uneclipsed racism, of which your sleeper enemy is keenly observant and quietly figuring out how to deal with and successfully subject the threat of your existence; all the while, you prove yourselves blissfully unaware of the bigger picture karmically.

Eamonn Holmes 3.12.1959 Pig 3.6.3 = 3

Remind me again that England is merely an island and its residents frightfully small-minded, alarmingly racist and violent in the extreme.

“Why wouldn’t they just throw him over the balcony and her with him.” — @EamonnHolmes

So blinded by hate is this porcine, homo-repressed boor that he thinks nothing of threatening a senior heir and successor of the Sovereign’s, Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex with death along with his wife, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. A threat issued of physical attack on Harry, is an attack on the Crown, HM The Queen. This man is beyond absurd. This whole tempest in a teapot has been completely taken out of context on that side of the pond.

NBC’s Hoda Kobt & Prince Harry

Firstly, in his interview with NBC Today’s Hoda Kotb, Harry when making the remark, did so in reference to the fact that his beloved ‘granny’ had been recently side-lined by Covid. Obviously, if greater care had been exercised to protect The Queen from being potentially exposed to Covid, she would not have fallen ill with Covid and Harry would not have had to make the statement. Secondly, by his remark, Prince Harry was making a none-too-veiled reference to disgraced Prince Andrew, escorting HM The Queen to the thanksgiving service for The Prince Philip at Westminster Abbey. Thirdly, Prince Harry was specifically referring to HM The Queen’s private secretary, Edward Young and her dresser, Angela Kelly. But far be it from the blind little bigots, always looking to ferret diabolical meaning where none was intended.

Prince Andrew Escorts HM The Queen at Westminster Abbey

Why pray tell was the little embedded-dicked, closet case, not preying on Prince Andrew. Obviously, it must have been a case of predators’ honour that the pussy-whipped fucker issued no threats against Prince Andrew when he had the gall to escort HM The Queen at The Prince Philip’s thanksgiving service at Westminster Abbey in March, 2022. Lord only knows, Prince Harry has not had to cough up millions to make the embarrassment of minor prey go away. But here comes little racial predator 70 million and two from the isle of sycophants, storming the palace gates and looking to lynch the racial traitor and his runaway slave… mais oui. Vas chier… fif de madame grosse fesse.

Tom Bower 28.9.1946 Dog 1.1. 3 = 5

First number of 1 is that of the bully; they are conceited in the extreme and, of course, no Black woman should be marrying into the royal family for the likes of this man. End of discussion.

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex whilst attending the Invictus Games in the Hague, April 2022, took time to join in an arts and crafts session. Straight away, the little negative twits were only too happy to gloat and ridicule because look at her, she has painted the flag upside down. Truth be told, when a nation is invaded/under attack, it is customary rather than raising a white flag of surrender, to instead raise the nation’s flag upside down as this is a call for military intervention from neighbouring nations/allies. Meghan painting PEACE on an upside down Ukrainian flag, was in fact correct.

Tina Brown 21.11.1953 Snake 3.5.5 = 4

Back in April 2011 at the beautiful royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, Tina Brown as guest commentator for ABC’s coverage of the wedding, as a Briton, she was featured. However, when the Beckhams were spotted in the line to enter Westminster Abbey, Tina Brown in a bit of classist shade dismissed Victoria Beckham with the ludicrous observation that the elegantly soignée Ms. Beckham regularly went jogging in Hollywood thusly attired. This sort of loose-lipped put-down does little for her credibility especially after the fiasco that was Talk magazine, which for being bankrolled by that sleazy creep, Harvey Weinstein, naturally never featured a Black American on its cover. Not surprisingly, there were Britons on the cover of the pretentious, to say nothing of otiose, rag. There was Tina Brown, trying to make Liz Hurley happen… and decades later, it still hasn’t happened. Who else but a racially smug Briton would be editor-in-chief of an American magazine and never feature a Black American on the cover of an American magazine, Talk.

Nothing is more dangerous than sophisticated racists because they are so indignant when called on their racism; it is almost as though you would be mad for having to question something that is patently untrue to such persons. There is no racism; there is no damn need to change anything. Alas, there was Tina Brown, having been dispensed with by ABC, decamped to CBS where at the royal wedding of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex where Oprah was a guest, the very same displaced Briton was having to offer her tired-arsed, third-tier opinions to Oprah’s best friend Gayle King – as if her opinions matter to the people who were never good enough to have featured on her shitty little, loser magazine’s cover. Some people.

There is positively sweet fuck-all that Tina Brown can say that is credible… she and her opinions are of negligible worth. I might also add that 3 and double 5s just spells over-the-top fabulist. But damned if that is going to stop her from cashing in on the racial lynching of Prince Harry for having married a goddamn American… a Black American. It was not acceptable when King Edward VIII brought Wallis Simpson to the court of St. James and it definitely is not acceptable for Prince Harry to have brought a goddamn Black woman into the very heart of the British royal family. Indeed, the Sussexes are the bitcoin of new income streams for bigoted hacks in the age of social media.

Her book will be biased and inclined to attack the Black Duchess and bow and scrape to the Cambridges. She will not touch the racism in either the royal households or royal family. What Meghan is experiencing, is what all Black women experience. Where Black men are gunned down with alarming frequency by police relative to White males, and their respective percentages of the American population, is horrific. Black women are deliberately denied, feared, hated, overlooked and bypassed because one can – only one Black woman has won a best actress Oscar in its 94 years – Halle Berry. Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson’s senate confirmation hearings were appallingly vicious; there is positively no way that a Jewish woman would have been so abused during the same process – think back on Judge Kagan’s confirmation hearings. Justice Elena Kagan’s intelligence was never questioned nor was she subjected to the ridiculously petty lines of questioning Justice Brown Jackson was. Will Tina Brown highlight HM The Queen’s dresser’s, Angela Kelly being outright rude and dismissive behaviour towards Meghan or that of HM The Queen’s private secretary, Edward Young also was towards Meghan?

Again, let me make it abundantly clear, if Meghan Markle were White, Moslem, Jewish, Chinese or East Indian, absolutely none of this Salem revisited would be upon us. They, the media, have created a car crash and simply wanted Meghan and Harry to buckle up and take a ride like Diana, Princess of Wales did. One simply does not give offense to the aforementioned demographics; however, it is always perfectly justifiable to be irrationally exuberant in one’s racially predatory animus towards Blacks. The way to get around being labelled racists or to take ownership thereof, one simply attacks the accuser with new-fangled derogatory terms like ‘cancel culture’ and ‘woke.’ Indeed, the racist justifies their right to be racially predatory by protesting against Blacks (Black Lives Matter) calling them on their racism.

Piers Morgan 30.3.1965 Sheep 3.6.9 = 9

The 60s to 90s were a time of raid and neo-colonisation on the part of Britons on American media and culture, including this odious, little White male bigot, seizing power at CNN and acting as though by virtue of his Britishness, he was somehow welcome or entitled to squat all over American TV/culture. Honestly, when can any of these ungrateful people look at their sojourn in American and claim that Americans were rude, xenophobic boors towards them. Nonetheless, these charlatans have had it way too good, crossing the pond and becoming latter-day buccaneers as they have raped American culture and grew more fantastically rich than they ever could for staying relatively obscure on their shitty little isle of vile xenophobes. Of course, bigots like this pretentious snob – he has two 9s in his numerological make-up – think that Americans aren’t civilised enough to enter the ranks of their archly classist society, though smelling loud of that cheap eau de toilette called the American buck. Incidentally, for having two 9s, he was so infuriated at being called on his bigotry by meteorologist, Alex Beresford that he got up and stormed off the TV set and lost his job. This was his meltdown response to Meghan & Harry’s appearance on the Oprah interview. That vile unethical boor ought never to have been afforded a green card, let lone been on American TV, after his complicit, reprehensible actions when at the now defunct, News of the World tabloid rag.

What these bigots have never been able to accept, is that Meghan is as intelligent, eloquent and articulate as she is, especially as this completely shatters their perception of Blacks/Black Americans. Meghan, of course, by comparison showed up Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge for the sodden cardboard that she is for lacking in charisma, gravitas and eloquence but she gurns and dresses superbly. Speaking of dressing, it was mighty queer that Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge wore an off-white dress to Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s wedding. If that is not a display of her first number of 9 and the fact that she felt so threatened by Meghan’s force-of-nature magnetism that she would be the only woman exclusively wearing off-white (white) to the royal wedding of the woman whom it turns out she made cry, rather than how it was speciously reported by Camilla Tominey in the launch of the campaign to banish the negro from the kingdom isle of racist boors.

I will say this, it is my observation that most – though by no means all – Whites with 9 in their numerological make-up are usually prejudiced towards Blacks and most such-focussed persons, are intensely racially predatory towards Blacks rather than not.

Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Royal Ascot, 2018

The one constant in all the media frenzy and predatory obsession with the Duke & Duchess of Sussex is that no one ever discusses the latent, blatant racism to which the Sussexes have been subjected. They will write volumes and cash in; however, had Prince Harry married a White American actress named Cressida Bonas with the same pedigree as the real British-born Cressida Bonas, positively none of this nightmare would have unfolded. Indeed, the print medium would long have turned on Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge in favour of the blonde, favoured wife of everyone’s favourite, Prince Harry. As Diana, Princess of Wales so eloquently stated during her BBC Panorama Martin Bashir interview, “the best way to dismantle a personality, is to isolate it.” Naturally, each of these opinionated White income streaming royal experts will never cast light on the racism to which the Sussexes have been subjected; instead, it has been rendered non-existent and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex is never referred to as Black. To focus on race would be empowering, humanising Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, which serves no purpose when on a campaign to totally annihilate a Black woman.

Pro(fessional)s

Hilary Mantel 6.731952 Dragon 6.4.4 = 5

Now for the Pro(fessional)s. Hilary Mantel, whose exquisite Tudor trilogy I have enjoyed, has been a staunch supporter of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. She has wasted no time in calling the British print medium on its unbridled racism towards the Duke & Duchess of Sussex for their interracial marriage. She speaks truth and calls out the ugly racism for precisely what it is.

https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-51703856

https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/meghan-markle-was-too-good-to-be-true-says-dame-hilary-mantel_uk_5e5e3f2dc5b63aaf8f5d0bf7

https://www.thesun.co.uk/fabulous/11094609/meghan-markle-prince-harry-royal-family-uk/

https://www.pajiba.com/celebrities_are_better_than_you/hilary-mantel-sees-racial-element-in-criticism-of-meghan-markle.php

Roya Nikkhah

Times of London royal editor, Roya Nikkhah is as classy as it gets. Consummate professional, she does not engage in either sophistry or gossip. Sophisticated. Professional. Elegant. Precisely as any respectable journalist should comport themselves on or off the page.

Katie Nicholl

Royal biographer, writer and editor at Vanity Fair, Katie is professional and strictly factual. Never gossips and keeps her mostly American audience educated on all things royal.

Emily Nash

Hello Magazine UK’s royal editor has always been pitch perfect and warmly professional in her coverage of the royal family. She speaks with the same care and tact of each royal family member, regardless their public persona and the whims of public opinion, which can be biased in the extreme.

Kate Williams

Scholarly, professional, passionate, inordinately knowledgeable, she is a font of insights historical and current. Articulate, she has an engagingly warm voice. She has an actual career and unlike some, she doesn’t need to prey on the Sussexes in a bid for a new income stream.

Nicholas Witchell

Here we have BBC’s royal correspondent, Nicholas Witchell in a marvellously edited video, which was a none-too-veiled threat to HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge who expressed his displeasure with the BBC and even went so far as to not have the BBC host, Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s Christmas Carol Service in December, 2021. The BBC really do not care what William thinks and were not shy in telegraphing their refusal anytime soon to sycophantically bow and scrape in his direction. There is much that they can do within their medium, which would not much benefit TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Certainly, the BBC releasing the Cambridge’s rowing at the 2019 A Berry Royal Christmas special was a none-too-subtle salvo from the BBC to the arrogant future Sovereign.

Gyles Brandreth 8.3.1948 Rat 8.2.6 = 7

The éminence grise of royal biographers, he was also an actual friend of The Prince Philip. Look what’s not to love, we are both rats, have two numbers in common (8 & 2) and both of Jewish heritage. That 2 is responsible for his collection of smart, witty jumpers. That 2 and its placement would have left him singing louder than anyone else in the theatre, ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ at the end of Spamalot. 2, no matter where it is placed, means that one is always rooted in one’s joyous child-ego state and why damn not! More than anyone, he would be aware that regardless of the tabloid medium’s racially predatory animus towards the Duke & Duchess of Sussex, the Windsors are a family above all else.

Tom Bradby

Mr. Bradby knows the real score and empathises with the Duke & Duchess of Sussex and the politics of the royal households and royal principals behind the racially predatory campaign against the Sussexes. That PR war against the Sussexes was/is chiefly waged in the tabloid medium. The Cambridges are passive-aggressive boors; they do have their own secrets, which sooner or later will be outed by William’s fourth number of 5, catching up with him.

Tom allowed, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex – that soul formerly incarnate as Margaret Beaufort – to start flexing her chops and going to town on the cowards, who dared fucking with her. The Tudor matriarch did not return to play pushover.

Chris Ship

ITV royal correspondent, Chris Ship like Emily Nash has a keen awareness how Britain LLP looks before the rest of the world. He is adroit, professional and purely objective.

Duke & Duchess of Sussex at the Invictus Games in the Hague, 2022

Camilla Tominey

Though she launched the opening salvo in the campaign to banish the interloper negro from the isle of racist boors and royals, that Meghan made Catherine cry when it proved to have been the reverse, Camilla has clearly had a road to Damascus change of tune. Recently, she has uttered words like Black Lives Matter as it has begun to dawn on Britain LLP that theirs is not the most rosy of images beyond their isle of rabid bigots. Her opinions on the Sussexes have become more nuanced and professional and, I dare say, she is even beginning to approach the professionalism of Nash, Ship et al.

Robert Jobson 23.3.1964 Dragon 5.8.1 = 5

Always adroit, I was impressed by his indignation during a round table discussion immediately after the airing of the Oprah interview, featuring the Duke & Duchess of Sussex. Stridently, he argued that whoever had raised the racially insensitive matter of Archie’s skin tone, ought to be stripped of their royal privileges. This, though impressive, struck me as odd because what was even more offensive was HRH Princess of Michael of Kent wearing that blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s 2017 Christmas lunch at Buckingham Palace. Surely, by that maxim, she should at the very least have been evicted from her grace & favour apartment at Kensington Palace.

Russell Myers

First became aware of him on the same roundtable discussion after the Oprah interview, in which Robert Jobson participated. He is nuanced and keenly aware that optics are more important than being on the isle of bigoted boors’ bandwagon.

Beautiful Lovers: Duke & Duchess of Sussex

As HM The Queen made it perfectly clear at The Prince Philip’s thanksgiving service at Westminster Abbey in March, 2022, Prince Andrew is her son and she is along with being a grieving widow, Sovereign. The call is hers to make. She has remarkably honoured her promise to be of service, all well on the cusp of an eighth decade. You don’t like that she wants her favourite grandson, his articulate wife and their kids on the balcony at Buckingham Palace at Trooping the Colour during the Platinum Jubilee celebrations? Tough! The call is hers to make and if you truly do not like it, you can damn well crawl the fuck in your casket. It is no damn business of yours. Sooner or later, the government is going to have to put an end to the press, holding to ransom the British royal family. The royals of Sweden, Spain, Norway, Denmark and everywhere else in the world are not terrorised by the press, chiefly so the tabloid press. The British press have made a business of ruthlessly directing the royals in a generational pantomime that has caused, death (Diana, Princess of Wales), anguish and drug abuse (alcohol) re: (Princess Margaret), predatory racial harassment (Duke & Duchess of Sussex). All the while, they have turned a blind eye to Prince Andrew’s unsavoury proclivity for lamb, veal and other minor fare, to say nothing of the hissing toxicity that is TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge’s marriage.

Bitches Brew Miles Davis

Provided to YouTube by Columbia/Legacy Bitches Brew · Miles Davis · Wayne Shorter · Bennie Maupin · John McLaughlin · Chick Corea · Joe Zawinul · Dave Holland · Harvey Brooks The Complete Bitches Brew Sessions ℗ Originally released 1970. All rights reserved by Columbia Records, a division of Sony Music Entertainment Released on: 1970-03-31 Associated Performer: Miles Davis feat. Wayne Shorter, Bennie Maupin, John McLaughlin, Chick Corea, Joe Zawinul, Dave Holland, Harvey Brooks Associated Performer: Miles Davis feat. John McLaughlin, Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea & Joe Zawinul Drums: Lenny White Drums: Jack DeJohnette Congas: Don Alias Shaker: Jumma Santos Producer: Teo Macero Recording Engineer: Stan Tonkel.

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

_______________________________________________________________________________

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

The Bigot & The Gold-digger…

Thomas & Samantha Markle

Thomas Markle 18/7/1944 Monkey 9.7.7 = 5

Energy body 9. Self-toxic, combative, shit-disturbing and a bigot.

Mindset 7, reserved, inspirational, can see things – obviously, there are exceptions to everything.

Life path 7, he sees himself doing the honourable thing for the tribe at large and in this case, as his mind is compromised by bigotry; he is team white tribe all the way.

Soul/destiny 5, scandal is the hallmark of this placement of five, which is all about excess. He is the ham who will do and stoop to any level to stay onstage. 5 in the fourth position also always means sexual scandal of one kind or another. I suspect that his interracial marriage to Doria Ragland was seen by his family as a racial betrayal and his bringing shame to the family. Now in his waning years, he is agreeing with his family’s bigotry by attacking his daughter and all that she stands for. As a rule, it is inordinately rare that 7s of any kind, will ever speak ill of anyone or put a foot wrong with regards their public image. Case in point, HM The Queen – 21/4/1926 Tiger 3.7.7 = 8. Like The Queen, Thomas has two 7s and in the same position; however, all such persons are perceived as HM The Queen is. Thomas is the exception with such placement of 7s in his numerology.

Samantha Markle 24/11/1964 Dragon 6.8.1 = 6

Energy body 6, loyal, steadfast and puts family and health at the top of their priorities.

Mindset 8, the money number. All second number of 8 persons are motivated by money and making as much of it as possible. They will literally sell anyone, especially family, for monetary gain. During her second divorce, Samantha did do just that, she forfeited custody of her two biological children to their paternal grandparents for 10k$; Samantha sold each of her two children from that second marriage for five thousand dollars apiece.

Life path 1, Samantha is selfishly consumed with number 1 – self and her own selfish interest and that includes disposing of her two children for $10, 000.00 rather than being focussed on the most important task in life, being a mum – a loving nurturing parent to her two children that she carried and gave birth to.

Soul/destiny 6, not only is she a homewrecker, who abandoned her own kids and their older sibling from a previous relationship, Samantha will stop at nothing to interfere and wreck the lives of the Duke & Duchess of Sussex. I would not be surprised if during her lawsuit against Meghan her step-sister with whom she was never close, she does not seek to have custody of Archie & Lilibet. I wish she would be so blinded by her skewed numbers of 6, 8 and 1 because going after the children of a legitimate blood prince, whose father is the future Sovereign, would not turn out too well for her.

Nothing that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex said in her interview with Oprah Winfrey either mentioned Samantha Markle or misrepresented her upbringing as Samantha’s lawsuit alleges. Here you have two persons, Thomas and Samantha, who are blinded with jealousy and hatred of Meghan, for which they will stop at noting. So obsessed is Samantha with generating income for being orbitally connected to Meghan, she went all the way in her wheelchair to London, in hopes of preventing the royal wedding. The wonderful thing about her trip as she went to deliver papers to show just cause why Harry, Duke of Sussex, whom she has never met nor knows, should not marry Meghan, Samantha went to the entrance of Kensington Palace Gardens to deliver her documents. Of course, Kensington Palace Gardens is in no way connected to Kensington Palace.

Fame-hungry Thomas (5 & 9) and money-grubbing Samantha (8 & 1) have a symbiotic relationship; both know that for feeding on Meghan, they will readily garner support from the countless hundred millions of Whites and others who are violently opposed to Harry & Meghan having married. These same people will never, given the evidence of HRH Princess Michael of Kent’s blackamoor brooch, be convinced that Meghan and Harry were ever subjected to racism whilst senior royals living in London. For such persons, racism does not exist; Blacks are redundantly crying foul and playing victim and one is so done with that.

Of course, since 2017 when Thomas & Samantha have been keen on hijacking the limelight and thereby rendering the Sussexes as their opportune gravy train, not once has either gotten off their fat arse and gotten together. Samantha went all the way to England to intervene, in an attempt to stop the Sussexes’ marriage but cannot find the time or money to go see her fellow stalker and accomplice, Thomas Markle.

Just as it is obvious that Meghan’s parenting agreement is with Doria Ragland, so too is Samantha’s parenting agreement with Thomas Markle. They are both as despicable as the other and for positively no reason on Earth should be suffered in any litigation against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Harry certainly should turn around and sue both for stalking, harassment and defamation; he certainly could give ample testimony in a suit brought by Meghan against both Thomas and Samantha, the latter whom clearly she does not know and has no reason to know either person.

Samantha has all these rabid, bigoted Whites and others who so loathe Meghan, Duchess of Sussex that they support her in everything that she does and says; however, why pray tell did these same people not see to it that Samantha’s tell-all book, slandering Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, make it to the top of the New York Times bestseller list and stay there several weeks? Well, since that little venture failed, now Samantha has headed to the justice system with a frivolous litigation in hopes of making money off of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex whom she never hounded when she was an actress on Suits. The number of successful/famous actors, who have nothing to do with family when they make it, is more the norm than not.

Recently, that porcine fucker, Thomas, had the frig-all gall to refer to Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex as ‘her ginger husband.’ There is nothing remotely cool about that statement and it is just as racially charged as whichever senior royal wondered how Archie’s skin tone would turn out and being concerned how that would look within the royal family. Of course, along with that remark, there was HRH Princess Michael of Kent deliberately sporting the blackamoor brooch to HM The Queen’s Christmas lunch in 2017, at which Meghan, Duchess of Sussex was officially introduced to the wider circle of the royal family.

Thomas Markle’s ‘her ginger husband’ remark deftly illustrates how in synch with the Cambridges this man is. It is in the Cambridges’ best interest that this man denigrates his own daughter; it’s great entertainment for them and the isle of small-minded bigots. Thomas referring to Prince Harry as ‘her ginger husband’ is no different to royal householders and likely some senior royals referring to Meghan, Duchess of Sussex as ‘his nigger wife.’ It is the same reprehensible bigotry of which anyone possessed of 9 in their numerology is quite capable.

I have said it before and I will reiterate, the truest portrait of what the Cambridges are like, is to study the film, ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’ Like Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, Elizabeth Taylor had an energy body of 9. Born February 27, 1932; Elizabeth was a Monkey. 27/2/1932. 9.2.8 = 1. That’s not acting; it is Elizabeth channelling 9 energy with exquisite élan. That mindset of 2 is all about channelling; it is about losing yourself in the creative process and embodying that on which one is focussed whether actor, writer, dancer, painter. It would have been electrifying for anyone on set during filming of the Mike Nichols masterpiece. The reason for the comparison to Elizabeth is that like Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, Catherine and William and closely bonded souls. Whereas Richard and Elizabeth are essence twins -think Romeo and Juliet, William and Catherine are that other combustible pairing, task companions.

Essence twins are always the same soul type whereas task companions are never the same soul type. HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge is a scholar soul and Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge a warrior soul; he is an older soul than her – 6th mature scholar to her 5th mature warrior. One of Catherine’s primary needs is expression, which is in the tertiary position hence her creativity is not prominent; nonetheless, it is there and is explored in her photography. Task companions are always in the same entity and are like family members; however, essence twins are never in the same entity though in the same cadre. Task companions will encounter each other more than they will any other soul during the course of their soul’s reincarnational journey; as the nature of the essence twin bond is so all-consuming, they meet up more rarely than not.

As Catherine is a warrior soul, she is the more dominant partner in their bond; regardless their sex/gender when incarnate, Catherine will always be the more dominant of the two. Catherine is better equipped to be in the role that they have chosen than even William. Furthermore, the task companion bond is always push-pull. There will ever be lots of rowing, hissing but the sex is always next-level phenomenal. As William’s fourth number is 5, like his father, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and uncle, Prince Andrew, Duke of York and all persons with fourth number of 5, he not only has a roving eye but very conceitedly, thinks it is his damn right as future Sovereign to sex whomever he wants. This will understandably prove a great deal of stress for Catherine and it will most definitely cause her to resort to drink, not to excess but she could never be deemed a teetotaller.

Fresh Avocado Spread on Toasted Dark Rye.

More than that, numerology is the key to understand what makes incarnate souls mere mortals. Regardless, neither Samantha nor Thomas fool anyone; they are the most vulgar disfigurement of what their numerological portrait alludes to. Seriously, go ahead and sue Meghan, Duchess of Sussex whom litigant Samantha has referred to time and again as Duchass. Similarly, Samantha has been banned from Twitter for harassing Meghan, Duchess of Sussex. Go ahead, please think yourselves entitled to either know Meghan, Duchess of Sussex or meet her children. Hell, as you clearly know all about American chutzpah, go on and sue for custody of Arche and Lilibet, even though litigant Samantha gladly relinquished custody of your two biological children for 5$k apiece. To paraphrase, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, that is a mighty loaded piece of toast to serve a judge.

All Blues Miles Davis Kind of Blue 1959.

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.

Pluto in Capricorn and in Opposition – Pandemic and Retribution.

Last February as I made my way by subway to the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing arts, the season’s latest opera was on that night – of course, what I then did not know, was that the rest of the opera season would eventually be cancelled – the most jarring thing occurred. A young Amerindian male with the glossiest black mane, took two steps back on the TTC train platform and dropped his black gym bag. “Are you fucking talking to me? No bitch, I’m talking to you! Did I invite you into my country?” The rage and the booming power of his voice was arresting. The tall effete Caucasian male tried brushing him off as though he were so much raped and abandoned non-whitedom. Before I knew what next, The five-foot-nothing, proud Amerindian punched his adversary square in his girly man face. Crying out like a right candy-arsed sissy, the Caucasian weakly protested, all whilst rushing backwards. My proud Amerindian brother was just getting started. Of course, I, who have grown soft for making peace with being a black male in this racially suffocating society, cried out when the first punch landed. Bam, another punch to the face as the much shorter warrior defended his land, his people, pride and history. “Yeah you, did I fucking invite you to my country?” and another blow. Bloodied and cowering, the all-mouth, cowardly closet cocksucker was resoundingly handed his arse and put in his rightful place.

The opera, Hansel & Gretel, was beautifully staged – set in the stark isolation of Toronto condo living. I was, though, never fully engaged as I spent the next several days readjusting to having had that young warrior shaman heal my spirit by his very proud actions and the conviction of his words. The next several days, I kept returning to the incident with the proud Amerindian. My reaction at the time had stunned me and in hindsight, I kept revisiting why I chose to be so upset at the attack on the arrogant male, who was being pummelled. He had taunted and dismissed the Amerindian male – a socially aggressive behaviour from whites with which one was long familiar. I realised that so many times in situations as then, we as blacks are programmed to sublimate and ‘take it’ rather than defending oneself from the hideous ugliness of the spiritually stunted.

Then something quite remarkable happened, the murderous lynching of George Floyd in callously stark veracity that cell phone ubiquity has afforded in the modern age. The event was seismic; the raw brutality of the racial predator on the hunt was so glaring, so jarring that it set ablaze protests across the planet. Indeed, the cell phone, like the beating of Rodney King, has been able to capture the ugliness that is whiteness which prior to, meant that one could lie away and grin away with exquisite triumphant glee, fucking with the enemy – an enemy on whom one preys never having been preyed on by that enemy. Slowly, the exoskeleton with which one straitjackets oneself in order to make peace and to be a black man peacefully making it through one day to the next, began losing its grip.

Scenes like in the early days of lockdown 2020, I was in line at Pusateri’s at Yorkville Avenue and Bay Street to pick up a couple of bottles of VOSS water. Old, ugly as fuck, the woman in line ahead of me turned around and began screaming at the top of her hateful lungs in a scene that could easily have been played by her in South Africa. She demanded that I get the hell away from her because I was clearly not practising proper social distancing and remaining more than two metres apart. Of course, this had nothing to do with the coronavirus pandemic but everything to do with her seizing an opportunity to be a hate-filled racist boor. As much as I wanted to readily turn rapaciously vituperative and tell her to try 2 metres below ground; instead, I took two operatic steps back and coolly and eloquently boomed with scathing condescension, “Look at you! On your hind legs and everything! Seriously though…” With that, after having laughed a vulgar dismissive breath, I impatiently strode to the back of the line to be rid of the fugly parvenu boor. Everyone, staff and clients, froze. She, of course, squawked and grumbled as I focussed my discriminating attention to a conversation via Whatsapp video about dinner with my transitioning spouse at our art-filled home, who on the eve of Bob Marley’s birthday, two decades earlier, I wedded at Montréal’s Palais de Justice both decked in gold-threaded, crisp white linen Yoruba agbada with her a matching gele. As can be expected of cowardly fare, the anaemic-looking young couple now two metres in front of me, simply ignored the social dustup by hungrily face-fucking in their best escapist Bonobo turn. Naturally, the old harpy got from the line to kvetch to whomsofuckingever and when the cashier asked if I wanted a bag, I declined, telling her that I would rather be kind on the environment. Turning to leave the tightly spaced store, I paused and shot down her evil glare by raising both VOSS waters, one in each hand, and shouted, L’Chaim! That ought to have left her pissy knickers smelling louder on leaving the store.

Soon enough, the acts of racially predatory social aggression became more frequent and pronounced. There was the incident one cool morning where a hirsute covering of blond furred redhead stopped jogging in front of me, grabbed a hold of my bike’s handlebar and began screaming as though I were both blind and deaf as he demanded that I keep the hell off the sidewalk. It wasn’t enough that cell phones had exposed their murderous ugliness but as though to protest, whites have grown more emboldened with the affront of blacks and Black Lives Matter movement to demonstrate and demand change.

By early June last year, 2020, I had had enough, each morning on the ride to work through tony Rosedale, I was being accosted by various burghers of the beautifully tree-lined streets – then again, which Toronto residential neighbourhood street is not beautifully tree-lined. There was one Jew in particular, who caused me to go out and get the above bodycam. Each morning, as I am a creature of habit, he was in the habit of leaving the sidewalk to come into the middle of the street, approach as I bike-ride to pepper me with hideous racial slurs and demand that I keep the hell out of the neighbourhood. Good morning, Shithead! Good morning you black piece of shit. Get out of here! Finally, one morning, having quite had enough of him and his special brand of ugliness of spirit, I told him to go fuck himself to which he incredulously demanded at the top of his lungs, unlike his usually sotto voce delivered insults as he approached the bike, “Get back here! Get back here now! I’m talking to you. Come back here now!” The nerve of some people. That last incident occurred on a Friday and thank god for Jeff Bezos, by Monday, I had me a bodycam. So as my special kind of fugly, hairy back and arsed nuisance came bopping off the sidewalk, ready to be racial predatory white male asshole number 1 billion, 500 million and 99, he caught sight of my bodycam, lights on and all, and like the bipedal, über poilu Rottweiler-hybrid that he is, he readily retreated for the cover of the sidewalk. I have never seen him since and, of course, I had ignored everyone’s advice to take another route to work. What the fuck for? As I am born in the year of the Rat, I am no different to any other rat; we live firmly self-aware that rats fear no one.

A few months back in between spells of too much snow, I abandoned my bike and elected to take a ride. On the way home, as I go from job A to job B, I told the unibrowed, wild-eyed driver that I was in a bit of a hurry and would show him a shortcut to my place. He again said nothing, just as he hadn’t as I got into his ride and said hello. Though, I wore a colourful silk mask over the daily disposable N-95 mask, his shitty ride I swear, smelt like what no doubt just-fucked camel pussy does. Told to take a left off Yonge onto Roxborough, finally not surprised was I when he proved a short-tempered fuck whose pointy fingers on that wheel had me dismissing him as so much forgettable small-cocked fare. He barked rather than spoke that he followed the GPS, which had called out to make a left onto Crescent so many metres ahead south down Yonge Street. Thus, we ventured, clearly grudgingly for him, along Roxborough and as we approached, I announced that I wanted him to make a right turn onto Wrentham to Crescent. Immediately, the über-poilu beast, which made me think Ursa hybrid, stepped on the gas drove east past Wrentham, down the hill and pulled onto Mount Pleasant without so much as having looked left in the process. As it was rush hour, there would be no left turns south of Bloor along Jarvis which Mount Pleasant becomes before Gerrard Street East or possibly Shuter Street East. To be sure, I was more than a little bit pissed off when telling the inbred, short-fused jackass to turn off of Mount Pleasant, onto Elm and turn right at Sherbourne North as had been intended. “You fucking idiots, who the hell are you people to talk to anybody like you own something?” Then he violently broke the car, just north of South Drive and demanded that I get out of his car. Coolly, I got out and left the door open and when he swore at me and demanded I shut his fucking door now, I told him I thought I would do him a favour and air it out, seeing as how it stunk of camel… the camel-fucker did not, of course, get the insult. Readily, I pulled out my camera and told him, ‘yeah come out here and get some of this.’ He got out of his shitty little car, cut the beady eyes at me, slammed the door shut, told me and my people to go fuck ourselves to which I replied, “happy black history month to you, too…” By the time I got onto Sherbourne North, my Samsung S20 had died. Naturally, thanks to coronavirus, I had no cash and there was no way to call a cab or Uber. In this neck of the woods, a random taxi was a nonstarter.

Foreground Bloor & Parliament in St. James Town, to right distance, Yorkville, Centre distance, One Bloor East currently tallest condo at 76 storeys, at Yonge & Bloor, Centre mid-distance Sherbourne to Church (east to west) Upper Gay Village or more pretentiously south Yorkville (ha!).

Doggedly, I decided to simply walk it home, just as I got unto the Sherbourne Street bridge, I began experiencing an anxiety attack. Years earlier, I had witnessed someone leap from the Jacques Cartier bridge that spans the St. Lawrence in Montréal. Suddenly, out of nowhere as anxiety attacks tend to function, I was in the grips of crippling fear. I knew that there was no way that I could cross the bridge, even to try and make it back seemed a feat, there was a sudden desire to start running, which I knew that I could not do. A young Amerindian couple in the city, for the first time it turned out, crossed the bridged, going south on the west side – same as me. I explained my dilemma and asked if they would call me a cab. The proud warrior-looking man, barely into his 20s insisted that I simply conquer my fear by walking beside him and his beautiful girlfriend. I tried…. I wanted to. I could not, though, as I began shaking… just the sheer weight of why I was there in the first place simply for being black and asking the driver to take a preferred route – it all seemed so absurd, yet it is an indignity that one endures at every turn in a million ways every frigging day in this society. The warmest eyes winked at me as he smiled and the Beck taxi came up the bridge made a U-turn and the young warrior closed the door on me, wishing me well. Eventually, I got home late and when I was done job B where I fundraise in the arts and remain unrivalled, I wrote a detailed account of my ride with the bigot who kicked me from his car and was summarily refunded. As if Jazz the blasted motherfuck were invented by unibrowed, camel-fucking, hairy back-and-arsed dreck.

Days later, and still black history month, I was riding my bike through the wet streets of Rosedale where the snow melted fast after the latest snowfall. As I emerged onto Crescent Road from the footpath which Scrath becomes, to cross the bridge that spans Mount Pleasant Road, a white female in a black, skin-tight, jogging suit was way in back of a group of jogging white males whom I had seen with fair regularity. She was clearly not part of their group. Jogging in the street as she was, she moved to the side as I approached and then with the arrogance of the truly somnambulant, aggressively called after me in a tone that was both accusatory and possessive as I moved past, “Excuse me, where are you going?” That morning, I happened not to be wearing my bodycam as when I got downstairs, realised that the snow had sufficiently melted such that I could actually ride my bike rather than take a cab. Without so much as missing a beat, I broke hard and stood straddling my bike when reaching into the shallow depths of her sphinctered psyche, “I’m going to your house to fuck your man!” She stood there arrested, catatonic as my use of language was both vulgar, rapacious. “That’s right, I’m gonna hog-tie that fucking cocksucker of yours and fuck him good… Yeah, you wanna come watch? Come on!” Arrested in place, her eyes welled up as mine remained unflinchingly enraged, her lizard-thin upper lip actually trembling. With that, I resumed riding my bike to job A to which I was already running late. In this the age of Trump, some whites at every chance, turn racially predatory at the drop of a hat.

Then there are the casket fugitives; these blasted tiresome, overstayed boomers, who simply will not stop showing off and just crawl the fuck in their caskets. What other generation but boomers would find a new way to show-off in their smelly diapers and drug-wasted dotage? They, these lost souls forever hurrying about way off-piste, are ever bitching and at times raising their silly poles at me, demanding that I not ride on pathways but dismount and walk. Once confronted by a turkey-necked mannish boor, I leaned in and asked near-inaudibly, “Don’t you tire of breathing? Go on, go chill the fuck out in your casket”

And then November 3, 2020 turned into January 6, 2021 as that porcine pathological compulsive liar – America’s biggest loser and racist swine, finally left the stage with crooked tail between his fat thighs with the Eurotrash escort cum parvenu snob in tow. The cold-blooded murder of George Floyd, staged or simply instinctual racially predatory behaviour, like the big fat coward that he is, having miserably failed at leading and taking command of the pandemic, Trump latched on to the murder of George Floyd to win the vote. That’s right, it was all about not haemorrhaging the white vote; thus it became all about cops and law and order – all code language for white privilege and racist white supremacy. Well, it did not fucking work! Fuck you!

Not only did Trump fail to steal the vote by declaring Marshall law and leading an insurrection on the Capitol, he and his racist ilk’s poster boy for racially predatory murderous scum was convicted on all three counts. George Floyd’s murder occurred at the Pluto opposition in Capricorn and thus the past four hundred years of murderous racially predatory blood sport of blacks finally led to George being anointed as the One. That’s right, for the first time in 400 years, a cop has been found guilty of the murder of a black male. For blacks, America the past 400 years has been nothing but a giant game reserve where they are hunted with the arrogant impunity of police getting off time and again when murdering blacks. Let that sink in for a moment. America the land where whites can murder whilst dressed up in the hunting gear of the police uniform – all the while, other whites the world over perpetually on holiday having predatory sex with minors whilst everyone looks the other way. Thanks to his murder, and trophy-hunting racial predator Chauvin having been found guilty of murder, George Floyd became a martyr who has broken the long 400 year tradition of the justice system in America condoning the racially predatory murder of blacks at the hands of police. Pluto in Capricorn indeed. The hijacked American justice system where blacks are corralled to spike the profit margins for BlackRock shareholders… talk about genius, indeed.

Always… with every breath… it is quintessentially Jazz!

Recent ride through Rosedale because of whose venal classist/racist aggression, I have taken to wearing the bodycam. As ever, Jazz permeates my every breath; how could it not when my father’s first cousin, the recently deceased actor Cicely Tyson was wife of Jazz genius Miles Davis? A new friend with lots of past-life history, asked why I am always singing the same Jazz tune when cycling; it is a form of meditation, I shared, as I move from job A to job B. By vocalesing and singing a favourite Jazz tune, I am getting refocussed to the task next in hand – fundraising in the arts… at which I am damn good. In the above clip, at the 06:24 mark, one can clearly see the septuagenarian white female with bags in hand, walking north in the southbound bike lane. Likely she chose to do so to avoid being too close to persons on the kerb. Either way, her choice and no business of mine. Minutes as I got further down Sherbourne Street, at which point, I had stopped recording, as I was now going south in the northbound bike lane a total of 3 white female passing, violently yelled and called me every kind of asshole imaginable. White females are ten times more likely than white males to be verbally abusive in such situations; however, non-white, non-black males and females almost never engage in such predatory social aggression. The idea that I am going to time-waste by yelling at someone for simply going in the opposite direction of the usual flow of bike traffic in a given lane is beyond absurd. So fucking what? Last winter before getting the bodycam, there was a white male in early forties with about 4% body fat running north in the northbound bike lane along the Sherbourne Street bridge. As I approached at a leisurely pace, I could tell that he was wearing air buds and not wanting to surprise him simply rode pass saying and doing nothing. Shocked, though not surprised, was I when he upped his jogging pace and began running alongside on my right. Yelling as though a drill sergeant, he began calling me an asshole and demanded to know why I had not used my fucking bell when passing him. Not jogging on the kerb was he, nor was he jogging towards oncoming bike and vehicular traffic; yet, he and his perceptions had perceived me as being at fault for riding alongside and passing him without having given him warning of my approach. This world is overrun by truly blind assholes, very well-armed, truly blind assholes.

A few days ago as I hopped off my bike with time to kill between jobs A & B, I slipped into the reconstituted shrine to Canadian ice hockey which became the flagship store of Loblaws, another of the Weston family’s retail gems. On entering, there was a police officer just inside – a new pandemic feature. Tall, handsome and of South Pacific heritage, the male officer engagingly greeted me, willingly, I ambled over and he commended me on the bodycam. Said he, every person of colour ought to be wearing one; indeed, I agreed, it amazingly affords one peace of mind and a harassment free ride about town. He laughed when told of how hostile the burghers of Rosedale can be, adding that he was not surprised in the least at the account of in-your-face open bigotry.

With nimble vivacity me and my paniers whisked through the place, emerging minutes later with organic ginger, beautifully pungent organic turmeric, Ocean Spray’s Cran-Grape drink – this drink screams sugar is the drug y’all – and of course, the most exquisite cheddar cheese. Whether at tea, with pâté or dark chocolate, the President’s Choice (Loblaws house brand) aged 5 years crumbly cheddar cheese is as musky and satisfying as a full Moon night spent indulging rugged mansex in the moss-saturated bois of Vancouver’s Stanley Park. Slipping outside, as I loaded up my paniers on my trusty brown Schwinn Gateway, the four bottles of VOSS water made the paniers hard to close shut – larger than the VOSS available in Yorkville, who needs Pusateri’s and Yorkville’s parvenu pretentious bullshit anyway?

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

mini meghan2

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.

Yoko, Meghan & Cécile.

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One thing that the marriage of the TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex has revealed, is just how hideously racist Britons are. Naturally, as all bigots especially the most invidious racially predatory will have you know, ‘It has nothing to do with race!’ The DailyMail has made an industry of acting as a de facto wing of the EDL in its campaign of destroying the marriage of the Sussexes.

Every single day its gaggle of writers launch another volley of hate to feed their hate-filled multitude of devotees whom they simply abuse in their quest for more advertising revenue. Last week, their legions of bigots were gleeful when not only was the Duchess of Sussex not at Royal Ascot but neither was her husband. Naturally, the rumour was that Her Majesty The Queen had banned the Sussexes from attending Royal Ascot. Of course, last year when Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge was on maternity leave, she did not attend Royal Ascot. Furthermore, not once did her husband attend Royal Ascot. That is the tradition.

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Naturally, when these photographs of this year’s Royal Ascot emerged, the plethora of bigoted DailyMail trolls were celebratory of how happy and wholesome everyone looked. Of course, they were commenting on the homogeneity of the group; their was even talk that the RF looked so much happier without the American in their midst.

The following day, it was announced that the Royal Foundation was disbanding. This not only gave cause for wild celebration by the DailyMail trolls but in hindsight, it was speculated that the group looked as happy as they did at Royal Ascot because at that point, the dissolution of the Royal Foundation would have been known to all. This was seen as more proof that HM The Queen did not want Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex around Indeed, clearly, the Sussexes were headed for divorce and it was only a matter of time before there would be an announcement to that effect.

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By no means was tabloid culture then what it is today; however, there was no getting around the fact that there was unrelenting animus that was decidedly racist towards Yoko Ono because she was non-white. Of course, at the time as now and is always the case, there was strident denial that there was prejudice involved in the animus towards Yoko Ono. Heaven only knows that Linda Eastman was not a Briton, yet she was not reviled and hated for being an outsider as was Yoko Ono.

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So intense was the racial animus towards Yoko Ono that John Lennon had to relocate to New York City to seek peace away from being unrelentingly reviled by Britons, who were nothing more than unmasked Klansfolk; though there were three other wives, Yoko Ono was solely to blame for the demise of the Beatles. Indeed, Britons have John Lennon’s blood on their hands for having racially preyed on this man and his wife to the point where he had to flee and take refuge in a land where guns rule. Paul, Ringo nor George had to flee England because Britons did not approve of their choice of a wife.

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Neither Linda Eastman nor Montréalaise Autumn Kelly were subjected to the same animus as Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex for being outsiders marrying much-loved Britons. True, every woman marrying into the BRF experiences blow-back. Sarah Ferguson, Camilla Parker-Bowles, Catherine Middleton and on and on. Truth be told, neither Linda nor Autumn were subjected to similar animus as Yoko or Meghan simply for being Caucasian and therefore, deemed acceptable.

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Britons may well succeed with running TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex out of town as they did John Lennon and Yoko Ono but know this, Tungsten has got powerful players in her corner. For starters, if the Sussexes were exiled, Oprah et al have the power to have her appointed as honorary chairperson of the Academy Awards – some such title of an American-British film society – not the American wing of BAFTA – which would see Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex each year present the award for Best Film at the Academy Awards.

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More to the point, when are Americans going to stop kowtowing to Britons because of the latter’s archly over-compensatory inferiority complex, of all things, masquerading as posh, sophisticated, superior and aristocratic. Why should an American actor, after having graduated with distinction from Julliard sit by and watch yet another English actor waltz in and claim the American award for best actor in a film which was not even an American production; this has repeatedly happened in the past. And so like Britons it is; they are the only island dwellers in the English-speaking world who never lose their god-awful accent regardless how long they sojourn abroad. Whether five years or fifty, you can also count on the expat English to maintain their posher-than-though English accent. Some may be readily charmed/fooled by all that posh posturing but it is so much obvious BS.

Glenn Close did not win the Best Actress BAFTA in 2019 that honour went to Briton, Olivia Colman in The Favourite. Ever possessed of this obsequious need to suck up, the Academy and its members voted Olivia Colman Best Actress at an American Awards show when the production was not an American production and Glenn Close was not going to win the Best Actress BAFTA and did not. One thing is clear from her acceptance speech, Olivia Colman is a one-hit wonder and will never win an Oscar again, just as Matthew McConaughey never will; after all, his Best Actor award was by default – so great was the need to deny Chiwetel Ejiofor an Oscar for his masterful performance in 12 Years A Slave.

When Britons prove themselves such ugly racist boors as with Yoko Ono and now Meghan Markle, why indulge, suffer or tolerate these people overlong? Throwing Oscars at them because they talk as though they’ve got a horse’s hoof stuck up their arse, there is nothing much to celebrate when one’s claim to fame is having subjugated 2/3s the world way back when and having enslaved and or brutalised those persons.

Of course, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex chose not to move next-door to the Cambridges at Kensington Palace. For one, there is every reason to believe that the Cambridges’ marriage currently is nine parts façade and with a numerology attitude of 9, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, apart from not being the sharpest tool in the box, is also conceited, stubborn, bigoted and intolerant and also is in tight with those pompous-arsed minor royals the Michaels of Kent et famille who with their racist perspective were none-too-shy about showing their true colours, blackamoor and all with Meghan suddenly in their midst and to whom they would have to curtsy.

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A den of racial predators is no environment in which to bring up black children and that would also include those generational members of Kensington Palace staff, who would think nothing of being openly racist towards Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex and her children, For Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex the minor royal Micheals of Kent are no different to Samantha Grant and Thomas Markle Jr. She endured the racially predatory bullying in childhood, which is precisely why she has absolutely nothing to do with them and with damn good reason. Trust you me, there is not a single black person on this planet who would suffer any such environment. It is not human, not civilised and a goddamn waste of time.

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Carping on about how much better Cressida Bonas would have been as a wife to HRH Prince Henry of Wales, is a moot point. Who knows, perhaps, Harry was being forced into the relationship so that his older brother could have access to Cressida’s older sister, Isabella Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe. Is it any wonder why Sam Branson keeps his wife as far away from the isle of England as possible. Of course, had Harry married Cressida, this newfound media love for Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge would not have eventualised. She would be portrayed, even more so, by the DailyMail as workshy and they would even up the practise of only printing photographs of her when her face is at rest, which is a decidedly hard affair. For being blonde, blue-eyed and with an artisan’s fey beauty, Cressida, had Prince Harry married her in May 2018, would currently be eclipsing Catherine, who is now being seen as a fashion icon. No matter how DailyMail repackage and champion Catherine, she is a relative dud when publicly speaking as Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has time and again proven. The Duchess of Sussex’s commanding performance at the 2018 British Fashion Awards at Royal Albert Hall truly was a study is grace, poise, elegance and commanding stage presence. You’ve either got it or, as in Catherine’s case, you don’t. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex is quite confidently aware that a mic is Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge’s kryptonite.

The DailyMail and its gang of racist boors can vent and gloat all they want but if HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex were to have married a conservative Muslim and converted, for fear of ending up with their fetid skull on the small of their back, every one of their cowardly racist boors would know to keep their damn mouths shut. Of one thing they are certain, fucking with blacks will earn you no serious repercussions. The DailyMail‘s hacks have proven that England is the isle of the original hooded klansfolk; they are just a little bit more evolved to the point where their hoods have become invisible but no less ugly are they. In the end, who could give a fuck; the boors of the isle of England most certainly did not invent Jazz and speaking of which…

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After having pored through this year’s TD Toronto Jazz Festival lineup, I knew that there was only one show that I cared to attend. The Diana Ross show at the Sony Centre though tempting, however, the centre is just too cavernous a space. Jazz needs the warmth and intimacy of a smaller venue. Besides, I knew damn well that coming the day after the Pride parade, there would be queens aplenty in the audience. Most of them would be expecting the usual Diana Ross show; however, this was going to be a Jazz show.

As ever, I did not attend Pride parade, never have. Back in 1986, Merlin and I hauled arse to a dinner party in the Annex where an artistic director associate of his, held court. Frankly, neither men liked each other but for professional reasons one endured much. Among the group of 8 souls was a redhead interior decorator from New York City who was the most vile dirty-arsed bigot conceivable. Naturally, with yours truly present, he just had to wax overlong about what a scourge on human civilisation blacks the world over were.

Merlin stealthily reached across my plate and removed my steak knife from the plate and placed it to his left as I sat on his right. Finally, when we got home by cab as Merlin sought to shift my mood by playing some Miles Davis, I went and retrieved a pair of scissors and demonstrated to him on returning to the living room, “That’s it, I am cancelling my membership in Gay society. God only knows it is not as if these blasted, motherfucking lisping, bottom-feeding people invented Jazz.” For me what really settled it, was the redhead boor’s decree, “Sorry dear but there is no black in the rainbow.”

Of course, a couple of years back the Black Lives Matter delegation, which had been invited to march in the Gay Pride parade, were booed, heckled and pelted with unopened water bottles. That very day on my way home, I was also attached and it was much fuelled by the general anger at having had the Black Lives Matter contingent in the parade. To this day, the pride community are still mad at the Police and had banned them from participating in the parade, all because they allowed the Black Lives Matter group into the parade. Even though the group had been invited, they were treated by spectators as though they did something as irresponsible as simply showed up and high-jacked the parade.

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The above photograph was the look for the opening act, one of those regrettable experiences, which alas the Canada Council foists on one, god only knows why. Banal and as sexually intriguing as a live webcam set up on a couple of koala bears in repose, some things just have to be endured to get one through to the real deal. As my date, an ageing Jewish actor/writer with the most wicked sense of humour is always great company, we sat in the back row, all to ourselves, in fits of delicious giggles – we were poring through online photographs of Céline Dion parading in haute couture in Paris in the lead up to Paris Fashion Week; when asked what I thought of her whacky, over-the-top, beyond desperate behaviour, I flatly put in, “it ought damn well to be kept leashed and staked out back.”

Next, it was my turn to come undone when no sooner than having slipped in the breath mint that he whispered, “those are the new mint-flavoured super laxatives, I was telling you about.” How soul-gnawing is emulative institutional Jazz whose practitioners know nothing either of blacks or black culture? Hell, even after the bass solo, there was no applause from the house.

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Finally, like a lover with the most foul breath but whose girthsome jousting simply won’t be denied – then the malodorous rogue leaves and you shudder in disgust and return to breathing like a human rather than a goddamn humpback whale – the opening act vacated the stage and when the stagehands were done, only the grand piano was left. Out then walked Cécile McLorin Salvant with a puckish accompanist and it was readily obvious that there is an indelible soul connection between the two, which speaks to intimacy most rare and also more than a dozen past-life connections. Even Cécile’s body had changed, she looked more lived in, she was getting good loving and it showed.

Before proceeding, let me just state that this was the most phenomenal and best Jazz concert that I have ever attended. From Hoagy Carmichael, to Barbara Streisand, to Bessie Smith, every song was her own and every song was a master class in musicianship and phrasing. Then two things happened that blew me even further away; firstly, she sang, Midnight Sun. This is a song that for me as long as I live, will always evoke the most pleasurable memories of living at John Hirsch and Brian Trottier’s Moore Park Home at 187 Hudson Drive in the summer of 1990 after Merlin had passed and I reinvented self and took the time to travel. Until this concert, no one had ever done a better version of Midnight Sun than Sarah Vaughan, whose version daily played at that lovely Moore Park home.

Secondly, Cécile paused and asked if anyone in the audience was French, to which there was a boisterous response and then she asked to sing a song in French. By the time she was done, I was reduced to tears, even my usual jaded friend was blown away. At the conclusion the house went wild and I was reminded of those years living in Montréal and attending all those summer festivals across the province.

Let’s see Canadian, Diana Krall sing en Français in this supposed bilingual country and I am not talking any of that tawdry attempt at French musicianship as with the likes of Emilie-Claire Barlow et al. Unlike those frauds who suffocated the blackness out of Jazz in the 90s and beyond, Cécile is the real McCoy. The primary musical instrument in human civilisation is the voice and when it comes to Jazz, not only is it a language that is the extension of the griot tradition, nothing sounds like, feels like, moves you like the instrument that is the black voice; there simply aren’t any comparisons. This is the voice, the instrument, when on walking through your door can revivify and empower you like no other instrument can and most especially so after having experienced racial animus for the 14th millionth and fifty-seventh time in this lifetime.

During the course of the show, her accompanist did something that I had never before witnessed, Sullivan Fortner got from the piano stool to reach inside and pluck on the strings, making for all intents the most beautiful mbira imaginable. Sullivan proved himself the perfect accompanist to Cécile and it was clear by the end of the concert that these two lovely, magical and gifted souls have thankfully found each other and how we are better for them being in the world. The love and harmony they share, was as rich and smooth as the warmest honey satiating the palate. Even the encores were concerts onto themselves. If there is anything that can be said to be good, to have come from Roy Hargrove’s passing, is that it created the opportunity for both Sullivan and Cécile to form a most productive collaboration.

As we left Koerner Hall, both of us giddy with joy for having been richly inspired, there was a guy outside the theatre, hawking the program for Jazz FM. Brusquely, I declined taking one, I soon explained that I had no desire to be associated with the Jazz radio when they went and hired someone whom Merlin dismissed back in his early on-air days as VJ at MuchMusic as a smug bigoted asshole. Indeed, an ageing leopard does not his spots lose. Just for writing a few hit songs and having made a few million dollars changes nothing. As Merlin always said, “a man changes clothes and nothing else.”

Though last year, there were three good concerts during the Jazz Festival; this year, one only needed to have attended one concert and boy am I richly inspired for having done so. On parting, we both agreed that it really was an awesome concert; more than that, we admitted that it was high time that we saw Rocketman before it goes to video.

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For your ongoing support, I am ever grateful. Buy my glorious books, the incomparable series with Michael overleaves appendices; truly, they are human civilisation’s first dream memoirs.

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