Oh To Be Black & Jew

January 5, 2023January 18, 2023 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Al Jolson giving possible birth to the notion that Jazz has its roots in Klezmer.

Al Jolson Singing Mammy!

Though someone’s perception of you is no damn business of yours, it does though matter when it is a whole people’s deliberate intention to demonise, vilify and portray a people as goddamn fools.

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At the time of Henry and Meghan’s royal wedding, there was a dearth of Jews commenting on social media about their union. There were no Jewish celebrities opining about how they thought that it was great that an American, an American actress was marrying into the royal family. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. There is more to discern in people’s silence than in exactly when they are silent.

The Woman Is Fucking Nuts. Who Can Possibly Find This Remotely Appealing.

Mic Drop President Barack H. Obama

Sorry Sweetheart, you are an inarticulate, embarrassment. STFU and STFD, Basta!

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge/Princess of Wales by Paul Emsley National Portrait Gallery London 2012

Now that the Sussexes, Henry & Meghan, have massively succeeded in articulating their truth in the Netflix and Archewell Productions co-production, which to date has had 241 million viewing hours, the dynamic has shifted. The war campaign has now entered a new phase. To date, it has been the toxic Royal Rota hacks and their plants/sympathisers in America who have been flapping their dirty yaps at Meghan’s expense. All the lies that they have hammered away at the low-browed, knuckle-dragging cultist of the island kingdom have been exposed to Americans and the rest of the world.

Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge/Princess of Wales Wearing Jenny Packham in Jamaica, March 2022.

Just look at this 9 energy-bodied, self-toxic boor; she is vile. Most of all, she is the most inarticulate, mumbling, sarcastic, bitchy socially displaced moron imaginable. Let me make it perfectly clear, you think it nothing to abuse Meghan to the nth degree because she, after all, is just a mere goddamn nigger – let’s get real. Well guess what idiots, ever will I be most fuck-all indefatigable in defending Meghan’s honour. All of this for the simple fact that she is a Black woman. There is no greater symbol of structural racism than the British institution of monarchy.

The Crypt Dweller Giving Her First Speech As A Royal & Desperately Trying To Sound A Right Toff

The United Kingdom’s recent half millennium was caught up in the savage pillage of empire from the Orient, across Africa to the Caribbean and North America at the heart of that vast imperial expansion was slavery, cheap dehumanised labour, to get sugar, cotton, spices and all manner of commodities back to the heart of the empire, London. Catherine, to be fair, dresses up nicely but beyond that, she is a hollow, burnt out, inarticulate, mumbling, blasted embarrassment.

Here is the mumbling inarticulate self-toxic, 9 energy body boor, trying to look professional and upping her game in 2021 after Meghan had breezed through and showed this bit of sodden cardboard, who seemed to think that she was being cast for the role of Sleeping Beauty, how it’s done.

Windsor, Diana, Princess of Wales July 1/1961<O>August 31/1997.

Michael: The fragment who was Diana Frances is a second level mature artisan and was in the passion mode with a goal of acceptance, a pragmatist in the moving part of emotional centre.

She had a Lunar/Mercury body type.

Diana’s primary chief feature was stubbornness with a secondary, not of self-destruction but of self-deprecation.

Diana Frances was first-cast in her cadence and her cadence is fifth in the greater cadence. She is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 48, pod/node 380.

This fragment’s essence twin is a discarnate artisan and her task companion is a discarnate sage, both of whom are staying near her, waiting for her to become oriented to her situation.

Here we had an artisan with drama in her casting but also with a very deep need to serve both the common and the higher good, which she did with grace, charm and a good deal of conviction.

*One of the reasons why Diana, Princess of Wales felt so out of her depth amongst the royal family, is because she is from pod 380, most of the senior royals are all from the 400 series pods. She would have felt just as isolated as Meghan for being Black in a milieu where structural racism is deeply entrenched.

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The fact is, the roles of these persons are deftly validated by their behaviour and the choices that they have made to date. Diana, Princess of Wales was shy and guarded at the start of her reign as the most loved woman on the planet; however, when she found her feet, she was unsurpassed. Diana was an early mature soul artisan. Artisan souls bring a certain magical je ne sais quoi to whatever they are focussed, especially most alluringly so when female. Prime examples of artisan souls with this glamour effect and also persons who can magically articulate the message are: Marilyn Monroe, Martha Graham, Evelyn Hart, Whitney Houston, Ella Fitzgerald, Naomi Campbell, Judith Jamieson, Annette Bening, Billie Holiday and Natalie Cole. All these female performers add great death, delicacy, eloquence and beauty to their art, regardless the medium. The reason why Catherine does not have the charm and charisma that was Diana, Princess of Wales’s is because she is a warrior soul; besides her overleaves do not lend themselves to being soft and alluringly charismatic.

Windsor, Meghan HRH Duchess of Sussex 4/8/1981

Michael: This fragment is a mid-cycle mature artisan in the tradition of the deceased mother fragment who was Diana, Princess of Wales — third life thereat. Meghan is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. An idealist, Meghan is in the moving part of emotional centre.

Meghan’s primary chief feature is self-deprecation and the secondary of mild impatience.

Meghan’s body type is Venus/Solar.

The fragment Meghan is fourth-cast in the fifth cadence. Meghan is a member of greater cadence four. Meghan is a member of entity one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 — she is an entity mate of both her spouse, HRH Prince Henry Duke of Sussex with whom she shares 20 past lives and also an obvious entity mate of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II.

Meghan’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion a warrior.

Meghan’s three primary needs are: expression, acceptance and expansion.

There are 4 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin.

Incidentally, this artisan has been a member of the British royal family twice before. Firstly, as Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, she was the cousin of King Henry VI and mother of King Henry VII. As such she was the matriarch of the House of Tudor. Her grandson was Henry VIII and her great-granddaughter, Elizabeth I.

This artisan in that lifetime was involved in the sacraments of the church, being included in the newly established college system. She founded Christ College, Cambridge and was instrumental with the founding of St. John’s College as well.

Secondly, she was HRH Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany and younger brother to George III, whose father the Prince of Wales, HRH Prince Frederick died before ascending the throne after George II. In that lifetime, the artisan (now Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex) was interested in military structure. He, of course, died young of a then unknown illness but which had to do with dysentery.

Incidentally, in the current incarnation, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has suffered from gastroenteritis, which is related to the last-life health issues – this is the immediate past life and not that in 18^th century when the artisan died aged 28.

*Two artisans, Diana and Meghan possessed of inordinate eloquence, star power and charisma. Both Diana and Meghan had/have a goal of acceptance; this is the great goal and all such persons have great appeal and are much loved. For less spiritually evolved souls, these persons with goal of acceptance can provoke suspicion and fear; they can even experience the opposite of their goal which is rejection and certainly, thanks to race and her unique role within the monarchy’s history, Meghan has proven a source of great fear and phenomenal rejection. She has mightily threatened the fair story and the White tribe’s sense of its superior blood’s purity and Meghan has caused many to feel truly displaced as their Caucasian blood/genetics is being threatened by the African/Black blood/genetics, which means no longer guaranteed blonde and blue-eyed offspring.

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Meghan, Duchess of Sussex Opening Remarks at One Young World Summit, 2022

Most of all, like Diana, Princess of Wales, Meghan, Duchess of Sussex is an artisan soul and also an early mature soul artisan. Regardless of what one projects onto Meghan, she possesses magical qualities, like Diana did, when she takes to a mic. For Catherine, a mic is Kryptonite. Full stop.

This Is The First and Only Royal Foundation Meeting/Interview with Meghan Participating

Meghan performed handsomely as one can expect of an artisan soul with a goal of acceptance and an actor to boot. However, as is obvious from Prince William’s posture and his having had the last word in the interview, he was hawkish and Meghan performed too well. She, as far as William is concerned, upstaged not just his mumbling idiot wife but he himself. How dare she upstage him when he has been groomed from birth to be the star? She was a damn Yank and a show-off, trying to act as though this were the Meghan show. What kind of institution is that which would misogynistically want a woman to merely be an appendage. In the modern age, one has to be on and represent. Charles as with Diana and William as with Catherine have to realise that there are times when it is important based on the chosen charities that the wife has to go off and engage and make speeches to drive both attention and funding to chosen charities. If you have a blithering idiot for a wife who merely goes out and shakes hands but cameras are not allowed inside to see what an embarrassing zombie the damn woman is, then what is the point? There is no value for money there. And you can bet that William would have overbearingly been giving critiques and directives to Meghan as to what she can and cannot say or do. I cannot state enough how difficult persons with 9 mindset are to deal with. They do not listen and they never take anyone’s counsel. They know and no one is good enough to tell them anything. Just imagine that degree of conceit being exalted in someone with tunnelled vision for having a stellium in their birth chart and groomed from the word go to be sovereign.

No matter how persons here and now arse-kiss the current heir to the throne, history, the final arbiter, will dismiss William as one of the most woefully inept sovereigns, who was out of touch and a difficult prick and a half. This photograph perfectly encapsulates who these two 9-energied persons are. He is from another age and time, full of self-import and entitlement and she just another fake, gurning White female who wants the world at her feet whilst not giving a living damn. No other couple on the world stage embodies the myopia of 9 energy than these two. He will not be acceding the throne in the age of HM King Edward VII or for that matter that of HM George V when good old HM Queen Mary maintained the social rigidity of the Victorian Age to the hilt.

The Queen has died and had no assurances that the realm over which she ruled, is going to be in capably fantastic hands of a regal couple who will be able to steward the dynasty through the remainder of the century. Having been to St. Andrews and acquired an art history degree by the time of her fifth wedding anniversary, Catherine should have proven herself an asset to the Crown. All she did was an introduction to an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery about early photography, in early 2018, seven years into her marriage. At her disposal that archly lazy and socially discriminating boor has done positively nothing to uplift, inspire and proven herself a loved figure. Who gives a rat’s arse how insecure and rigid William is. Putting to good use her academic credentials, she could, by The Queen’s passing, have done three arts related televised shows per year. As arts patron of the Royal Ballet, she could have been ably assisted in hosting a television production, which would then be shown on one the BBC networks. Cameras would follow her around as she films a day at ballet rehearsals then at opening night she is attendant for a ballet like the Nutcracker so that children across the social strata are introduced to a world which could prove both inspirational and possibly lifechanging. That is a show that could then be sold internationally and those funds go to engage working class kids to become and be supported in pursuing careers in the arts. Similarly, another telecast could be mounted for the production of say the Royal Opera’s Marriage of Figaro.

Portrait of HM Queen Victoria With Her Family, Exhibition At Queen’s Gallery November 2018 Royal Collection Trust

Still another production could feature the young and capable academically accredited Catherine, giving a behind the scenes tour of some aspect of the Royal Collection Trust, which would in due course form part of the rotating exhibitions that move from the Queen’s Gallery, to Holyrood House and Windsor Castle. All that exposure garners more revenue as persons would come from across the globe to take in these exhibitions presented by the future Queen Consort, Catherine. Instead, she has supposedly been playing femme au foyer with a large staff of nannies and servants as though anyone is being fooled by the fact that their invisibility could be for no other reason than the couple being heavily engaged in their extramarital affairs.

This has never transpired because Catherine is too damn lazy and more importantly, William is far too snobbish to want to afford the little people access because such initiatives by Catherine would afford the social lepers, as his 9 mindset would see the little people, access to art to which they are not entitled. This same snobbery and bigotry is precisely why Meghan did not stand a chance. Working in tandem, of course, Meghan could have hosted similar telecasts which featured actors in rehearsal before the premier of a theatrical production. All this would usher in a time of great artistic activity, which would have its full manifestation during William’s reign and prove a hallmark of that era. That snobbery is why after the Grenfell Tower fire in June 2017, not far from where I was staying in Chelsea when visiting London that Summer, Meghan for 9 months worked with the ‘little people’ and produced the Together cookbook, for which she would have been resented by William and Catherine as it would be deemed to be showing them up.

Windsor, HM Camilla, Queen Consort 17/7/1947.

Michael: Yes, this scholar is at the mid-level of the mature soul cycle — third life thereat. Camilla is in caution mode with a goal of growth. A pragmatist, Camilla is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Lunar/Venus.

Camilla‘s primary chief feature is impatience and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment Camilla is third-cast in sixth cadence; Camilla is a fragment of greater cadence seven. Camilla‘s entity is five, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 129.

Camilla’s essence twin is a scholar and the task companion is a warrior.

Camilla’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and power.

There are 10 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin . (July, 2017)

*Camilla is an early mature soul, much as Diana and Meghan were/are. The mature soul cycle is where one makes/incurs a great deal of karma for fucking with others’ lives. This is what Camilla, the Courtesan Queen did in spades and what she has resumed doing with Meghan as she had with Diana, Princess of Wales. There is no greater conceitedly stubborn and interfering soul than a scholar soul. Camilla had a direct hand in Diana’s emotional distress and her eventual divorce which led in time to her being murdered. This has left the Courtesan Queen a very nasty piece of work and this you have seen acted out in her openly rude behaviour towards Blacks and taking lunch with known racists and attackers of Meghan at Mayfair’s Murano.

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Never mind Catherine, the real dynamic in all of this has been, all along both William and the Courtesan Queen. Both Camilla and William are mature Scholar souls. Scholar souls are the only souls which do not pair with another soul on a particular axis as for example: Slaves/Priests on the inspiration axis, Artisans/Sages on the expression axis and lastly Warriors/Kings on the action axis. For this reason, Scholars are very insular and do suffer from delusions and folie de grandeur; more often than not, they are archly prejudiced and like to put everyone and everything in its little box. Everything is anal retentively categorised into their rigid little boxes and they do not waiver on this purely arbitrary prejudicial perspective of theirs – each and every one of them. Also, as a rule, Scholar souls do not favour being Black and do not like Blacks – on the surface they prefer being in milieu and in societies where rather than the arts and creativity, knowledge is favoured.

Windsor, HRH Prince William Prince of Wales 21/6/1982 London, England

Michael: This fragment is sixth-level mature scholar – third life thereat. William is in the observation mode with a goal of acceptance. A pragmatist, he is in the intellectual part of moving centre.

Body type is Lunar/Mars/Saturn.

William’s primary chief feature is stubbornness – death of his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, was the triggering event and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment William is third-cast in sixth cadence; he is a member of greater cadence seven. William’s entity is four, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 208.

William’s essence twin is a scholar and he has a warrior task companion to whom he is married, Catherine, HRH Princess of Wales.

William’s primary needs are: exchange, freedom and security.

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 3 with Merlin.

*Like Diana, Princess of Wales, his mother, and Meghan, William a scholar soul also has a goal of acceptance. However, unlike both women, he is moving centred; this means that he shoots his mouth off before thinking through things. He takes action without realising that he has not got a truly objective, clear overview of the issues in hand. Moreover, William was born with a stellium in his astrological chart which means that he can never clearly see the forest for the trees. His scholarly conceit means that he will act as though for being destined to be sovereign, he has a right to openly discriminate without a care in the world; this is what he engaged in at his brother’s wedding. William has become so corrupted that he is almost exclusively focussed in his opposite goal of rejection, which is what his campaign of opposing Meghan’s very existence is all about.

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HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales & HM Queen Camilla, Queen Consort

As is obvious, Prince William is a sixth mature scholar soul. This is the most difficult level of any cycle, be it young, mature or old soul cycle. There is no peace for such persons and they can and often do create more karma than had been part of the life plan. In the case of William for being a scholar soul, he just had to be a shit-disturbing, conceited bigot and interfere in both his brother’s and his brother’s wife’s lives without a care in the world. I cannot express enough how very dangerous William is. More hired hands, more assassins and bullies are scholar souls than any other soul. There is positively no way that life within the institution was going to be smooth sailing for Meghan. She was too good to be true and most White scholar souls when they are prejudice will favour Whites, of course, and then Jews and Asians but almost never or very rarely Blacks – if the job requires they will go through the motion but they truly do consider Blacks not to be fully equal, fully human. Full stop.

William & With HM King Juan Carlos of Spain – That Bourbon Nose Though

There are two other very important parts of the puzzle to factor here. Not only are William and the Courtesan Queen on their third life at their respective soul ages; however, both scholar souls have the exact casting in cadence, cadence and greater cadence. They are both in the third (warrior/combative/interfering) position in the sixth (priest/megalomaniacal/Napoleonic/god-complex delusionality) cadence. As if all that were not enough, both though not pod mates (Camilla 129 and William 208) are also in greater cadence seven (king/dictatorial/bossy/abusive/vindictive). Of course, this would have left the Courtesan readily obsessed with fucking with Diana, Princess of Wales just as much as it has left William obsessed with fucking with Meghan, using his obediently pegged and bothered sex slave, Jason Knauf. Camilla and William are as though one and the same personality as they are singularly focussed on fucking with a more popular royal. Scholars are readily threatened by sages and artisans because both soul types are on the expression axis and have a ready wit, appeal and theatricality that scholars almost always find threatening as it highlights their own sense of dullness and lack of mass appeal and sexiness. Obviously, there are exceptions to all such basic personality types with regards to the roles; however, when you look at both Diana, Princess of Wales (Lunar/Mercury) and Meghan (Venus/Solar) body types both Camilla and William would respectively be threatened by each hugely more popular royal. Venus/Solar body type means that no matter how the collective consciousness tries to invalidate and demonise Meghan, more than all the current senior royals, she will transcend time and be the most powerful and popular royal from this age. People well into the future will be astonished that anyone had to endure so much bullshit merely for being Black and marrying into the royal family.

William and Catherine socialising whilst on duty. As a rule, Scholars souls are not touchy-feely types; this is why at times, Catherine has to be the one to initiate tenderness between them. Of course, this is totally opposite to the Sussexes who are warrior (Henry) and artisan (Meghan) souls which are very simpatico and when it works is a very dynamic, sizzling relationship with lots of touching and empathetic communion of souls. Whilst Catherine and William are task companions, unbreakable bond, Henry and Meghan are entity mates and would be deeply bonded and simpatico.

HM Queen Camilla, Queen Consort & HRH Prince William, Prince of Wales

The second oldest soul of the senior royals, William is at the difficult six level of the mature cycle. What makes William singularly problematic for the Windsor dynasty, is his chief feature of Stubbornness. The chief feature is the fatal flaw which causes one not to achieve one’s goal and leaves the life in disarray; it is also the most difficult chief feature to overcome. William’s stubbornness means that though he can be as charming as are all persons with a goal of acceptance, he does though almost exclusively come from a place of rejection the opposite of his goal. People in stubbornness are difficult, bullying and under no circumstances do they tolerate change or anything that is different – this cannot be emphatically stated enough! Under no circumstances did Meghan stand a chance with this difficult individual. There is never a single instance where William is photographed being warm and inclusive of Meghan, not whilst on the balcony at trooping the colour or at any other time. There is the infamous Christmas at Sandringham where when Meghan looked back to speak to William, he stopped turned away and began fidgeting with his scarf. It was a snub and was deliberate. Of course, for the White tribe the most powerful word when dealing with Blacks, to whom one owes enormous karma, is NO! Scholar souls are devoid emotionality and as they do not pair with any other soul type, they are loners and innately reticent snobs.

Simply Beautiful Jennifer Hudson Kennedy Center Honors Al Green 2014

Yes, you are Diana! Yes, you are Meghan! Simply beautiful, you are Diana and Meghan, and those who know nothing of beauty, fear you most!

Just as the Courtesan Queen scholar, Camilla made Diana’s life miserable and triggered her emotional and mental abuse, so too has the Pegged Bourbon lovechild caused Meghan emotional and mental anguish by having the Fleet Street abattoirs and the palace leakers, especially that nez brun queer, Jason Knauf, REJECT, demonise and racially lynch Meghan, leaving her the most hated Black woman in history. This notion that Catherine and William have played no role in the Sussexes’ departure is sheer bullshit. They are guilty as sin. Catherine would have hated and been rude and dismissive of Chelsy Davy and Cressida Bonas, especially like Meghan, Chelsy and Cressida are better looking than Catherine. Catherine is ridiculously insecure and her 9 energy body would have her bullying and treating any wife of Henry’s like a dog. Catherine is a displaced commoner, which is all the more reason why she would be power mad; she does too have a primary need for Power which is a mark of megalomania.

You Bring Me Joy, Yolanda Adams Tribute to Anita Baker, BET Awards 2018

Let’s send some love for both Diana, Princess of Wales’s beloved son, Henry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex for the abuse they have endured at the hands of grudging, interfering, racist scholars. Sing it Yolanda Adams!

Windsor, HRH Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex 15/9/1984 London, England

Michael: This feisty fragment is a fifth-level mature warrior -– fourth life thereat – to his sixth-level mature brother, William. Henry is in the power mode with a goal of growth. A sceptic, he is in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Body type is Mars/Saturn.

Henry’s primary chief feature is arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.

The fragment Henry is first-cast in second cadence; he is a fragment of greater cadence three. Henry’s entity is one, cadre six, greater cadre 7, pod 418 – Henry is an entity mate of his paternal grandmother, HM Queen Elizabeth II.

Henry’s essence twin is a warrior and he has a scholar task companion.

Henry’s primary needs are: freedom, adventure and exchange.

There are 9 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin.

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Where Camilla saw Diana as too ‘showy’ and a threat that had to be eliminated – remember, more guns for hire, assassins and saboteurs are scholar souls than not, William also saw his mother and her emotionality as a bit of an embarrassment. Had Diana survived, he would have been just as cool towards her on becoming a parent as he was towards his father, HM King Charles III. Though HM King Charles III is the oldest soul senior royal, seventh mature warrior soul, like all such souls, yours truly included, they do not do drama and have no patience for confusion. Where it all gets interesting, is the other warrior soul in this mix, Prince Henry, Duke of Sussex who as a fifth mature warrior is going to be drama on an operatic scale which is precisely what is unfolding. Do not for a nanosecond think of Henry as a mental case, he is a source of deep fear for the senior royals as he has the shrewdest most Machiavellian overleaves; no matter what, Henry will triumph… know that. As he was Black in his immediate past life, Henry will fight to the last man standing in defence of his wife and children, persons of Black African heritage. Henry’s having been Black in his immediate past life is validated by his connection to Africa, Black Africa and his work with Prince Seeiso of Lesotho, his AIDS charity, Sentebale and deep connection to Botswana and the ease with which he has always been in his skin when in the company of Blacks, unlike William and Catherine who clearly cannot or choose never to mask their racial animus towards Blacks.

Fifth mature lives are all about being expansive and such persons do accomplish a great deal; coupled with that, Henry has a goal of growth. Such people do not stand still, they will be born of humble means and end up living on New York City’s billionaires row in a penthouse. They will be the first to sign up to go into space, the Moon or Mars; they are daring and will always take that leap of faith that others would think horrifying. Furthermore, Henry has an attitude of sceptic, this is the most complex and most powerful manner in which to be focussed intellectually. It is the attitude of the master strategist and as rigorously shrewd as a chest master. Regardless of how Henry is portrayed by the media, he is the most intelligent royal and infinitely more complex and smarter than both his father and brother; HLM Queen Elizabeth II knew this as hers was a goal of dominance and a realist, she saw everything and everyone as they truly were. This is why during the Netflix documentary Henry’s description of what happened at the Sandringham Summit, is precisely what would have happened, William would have been a yelling bully, Charles dithering and lying all over the map and the Queen relishing watching Henry come into his own in a most tense power struggle. Topping it all off, Henry is in power mode, these people are operatic in the scope of the lives they lead and they do accomplish much. They are able to attract into their lives only that which they desire. There is no way that Henry could remain a part of a dynasty, wherein his brother he knows to be both stupid and clueless. Most of all, William is an anti-Black racist and there is no way Henry would be able to either tolerate or support any such Sovereign. This was never about stepping away and abandoning The Queen, it was about telling his brother to go fuck himself – for a sceptic, Henry knows that his brother is an idiot and neither holding his tongue nor kowtowing proved an acceptable proposition to Henry. Also, Catherine and William are in the 200s pod series whilst HLM The Queen, Henry, Meghan, Prince George and Prince Archie are all cadre mates in the 400s pod series. The current Waleses do not get it and Henry was not prepared to stick around and tolerate the abuse or participate in his brother and his wife’s clown show: pegging, love children, philandering, perpetually rowing night and day. Thus far, the Waleses have been adulterous which has likely resulted in a lovechild between them, Damian with Ben Ainslie and a daughter with Rose, Countess Rocksavage. Mature souls prefer mating for life and running stable households, unless of course that mature soul couple are miserable with their partner as is abundantly clear with William and Catherine.

A House Is Not A Home Luther Vandross 19th NAACP Image Awards 1987

And above all else, we own the music, we bring the music. My eldest sister who now permanently lives in Nevis came to town in recent months, for having been in lockdown for way too long; she just wanted to get away. I was last in Nevis in 2000 to introduce my wife to the place who thought it was the most far out trip imaginable; personally, it is way too bright in the Tropics. I who have collected art since my teen years, have preferred working at night time and living with windows heavily draped at all times. With a collection that is more than 90 percent works on paper, I can ill afford to have my art being subjected to sunlight. All windows boarded up, affording me more space to hang art; besides, Sol is too damn bright and furthermore, it belongs the fuck outside. In any event, my sister began talking about family and who had gotten married, died and had babies; she is the encyclopaedic font of the family’s history. So then she began sharing all the chatter about Covid lockdown funeral etiquette, when she mentioned that she attended the funeral at which scary spice, Mel B. (Brown) of the Spice Girl gave the eulogy. That was news because I knew that only few persons were allowed to attend funerals. So Mel B. gave the eulogy for her beloved grandmother who happened to have been a cousin of my mum’s; my sister was invited to represent our family. So who aren’t you related to, my wife asked and off my sister went.

Meghan is Black so naturally out of the woodwork comes all this hate and animus from persons who have no business being in this lane.

Like seriously. Look METHenny what the fuck has this got to do with you and why are you being so goddamn ape batshit crazy? When were Black people jumping up and down and acting like the sky was falling when Al Gore announced his running mate, Joe Lieberman? Go educate your 20 million zombie followers all about the Falasha genocide in Israel. No, you don’t know about that? Why don’t you go back and stay the fuck in your lane, shut the fuck up and stay fucking lost? Honest to fucking g_d!

Then along comes this racist freak, Joanna Weiss. Hey Donkey, what gives? Hate Meghan all you want, it will never change the fact that Catherine is a blasted inarticulate dud. She is lazy and the only thing she is capable of doing, is working with toddlers because she is not expected to make speeches to persons sucking on pacifiers and wearing diapers. This need to make inroads into America, pushing this negative narrative about the Sussexes is transparent. Most of the persons engaging in this hate campaign are disproportionately Jewish. This woman’s article made positively no sense whatsoever; however, it is a known fact that once ‘one’ is being shrill about Blacks, one must be right. If no one can so much as look sideways in your direction why must you persist with always demonising, vilifying, racially preying on Blacks?

Jon Sopel BBC Presenter

Reporter throws back to Sopel in BBC studio on the day that the Sussexes’ firstborn was named; he smugly stated, I’ve a friend whose dog’s name is Archie. Smug born and bred little bigoted boor. Of course, there were no consequences for his vile remarks. What gives?

Constantly yammering away with the shrill hatred, inciting anti-Black racism and does so in the smug conceit that they will never be challenged for being Jewish. Yeah Tom, why don’t you, since you do not exclusively write royal biographies, turn your unbiased eye and tell the story of the Falasha genocide in Israel. That’s right, the forced sterilisation of Black Israeli Jews from Ethiopia who had their numbers reduced by 50% because they were Black and for no other reason. As for Angela Levin, she has seriously insulted the Sussexes in print time and again, whilst claiming to respect the House of Windsor. She has repeatedly referred to Henry & Meghan’s daughter Lilibet Diana as Lilibut. You fucking crass anti-Black racist Jew. Having grown up in the Caribbean with three maids with a very proud mother who fiercely instilled pride and inner fortitude in her six children; looking and sounding every bit my mum when displeased, I have been known to flatly shoot someone a look and brutally demand, Since when the fuck does being Jewish not make you White?

Adrien Brody Winning Best Acting Oscar 2003 Academy Awards

In 2002 Halle Berry became the first Black actress to win the Oscar for best actress. Chances are had 9/11 not occurred six months prior, she likely would not have won. Certainly, she had not been favoured to win. She grudgingly won and broke a Hollywood taboo; Black women are not good enough, beautiful enough, too beautiful to be threatening White actresses by winning a best actress award. To date more than a fifth of the best actress awards have been won by White British actresses; that’s right, an American award being afforded Britons instead of Black American women, or for that matter Latina American actresses to say nothing of other non-White actresses, Asian and Native American among them.

There she was dumbstruck with disbelief, gave a great speech but though that night the doors had been opened, up onto the stage walked Adrien Brody, grabbed her, stuck his tongue down her throat and sexually assaulted a Black woman before a global audience and thereby putting her back in her place and slamming the door, which ought never to have been opened, shut again. Adrien is, of course, Jewish and had any Black actor gone to the stage and done what he did to a White actress, to say nothing of a Jewish actress, their career would have been summarily lynched. Black men were lynched, murdered for looking at White women, accused of sexually assaulting White women, at times when in a different state at the time of the alleged assault, yet the ultimate double standard was being demonstrated. Adrien for being Jewish could do no wrong. At the time, as I watched the show live in Montréal where I then lived, the Jewish men at the party I attended were wildly celebratory and thought that it was a stroke of genius when Adrien did what he did. It was code, Adrien was telling Halle that all she is a damn cheap cinematic whore and should not have risen above her station. The clapping of the three Jewish males at that viewing party was hostile, degrading and lethally racist. There is positively no way that Adrien Brody would have taken to that stage, grabbed and shoved his tongue down Nicole Kidman’s throat thereby sexually assaulting her. That’s what you get for deferring to, fearing and never challenging persons who do not think your humanity of any worth.

Swing Low Sweet Chariot, Judy Garland Everybody Sing, 1938

Never let it be forgotten that this is how, you, perceive Blacks. End of discussion. How many biopics of Blacks displaying their creative genius in Jazz has Hollywood bankrolled? Precisely.

Tree I Planted At Age Seven In Back Garden in St. Kitts

When I was about six years old, at a time when I had multiple boy and girl friends in the neighbourhood, I had a rather rude awakening whose lessons have ever impacted on me. My then boyfriend was months older with the most beautiful smiling eyes and dimpled. We would always kiss when playing hide and seek and engage in intercrural sex, making passionate noises and kissing on the lips whist I’d breathlessly declare, “I love you, I love you, I love you, my darling.” One day, my childhood lover who passed last March, came by with a friend whom I had ever dismissed as an absolute oaf. He was dull, shy and frankly stupid. Could never be part of my little racy theatrical events and sexual romps. Then, my darlings, my dimpled lover had the shy oaf unsheathe the goods. In that moment my baptism as size queen was thorough. At once I fell to my knees and as though calling on past-life memories, the poilued and über thick beast was in my mouth. I was ravenous like a sexually ravaged nun. Before, I knew what next, life’s elixir shot warmly into my mouth. I got up, trembling and wanted this to not end. Oaf that he was, he quickly tidied himself. Imperiously, I dismissed my dimpled lover and callously told him that it was over between us; I had after all found love! I simply refused to speak to the dimpled scorned lover. He courted me, giving me a toy plane which I took but still demanded that he return with my throbbing bit of ecstasy. Days later, the little dimpled charlatan showed up at my house accompanied by his aunt with her embarrassing my mother when she demanded that her damn thieving son, return the toy plane that she had gifted her nephew. I was aghast. Naturally, I could not have blurted out that he was jealous because I had dropped her nephew for newfound, real, big loving.

View Northwest to Sandy Point from Brimstone Hill

Days later, as I made my way across the bridge to the grocers, I had been tormented with vile looks by my abandoned lover’s grandmother who sat on the stoop, smoking her pipe as West Indian women enjoying their senectitude are wont. Fearful of her, I managed to call out as one is expected to of elders, ‘Good afternoon…’ Faster than a bat at sundown, she shot back, “What? Fire your wayward lil arse. You blasted catamite!” I was so stunned and ashamed that I hurried to the grocers which by the time I arrived, I was crying my eyes out. The matriarch, whose granddaughter was a classmate and in time would become high commissioner in London, sternly told me that I was not to fear anyone. “Listen to me, you go back and let her know if she ever talks to you that way again, you’ll tell your mother!” Indeed. On my return instead of walking on the opposite side of the street, I paused and hissed at her, “You ever talk to me like that again, and I will tell me muddah!” She trembled and fell silent and that was that. I never thereafter lost sense of who I am and whose son I was. Fear no one could best describe my mum than anything else. Most of all, I learnt that day that shame merely gets in the way and is an utter waste of time.

And now, we eagerly await voraciously devouring its 400 plus pages and in the next blog, I shall give a most thrilling review of SPARE, Prince Henry’s ennobled defence of his and family’s honour. Go on Henry, justly tell them to fire their wayward arses, you are Diana’s son and wife of the very indomitable Meghan who previously was Margaret Beaufort.

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

Dizzy Gillespie Quintet, Massey Hall May 1953, Toronto Seminal Live Jazz Recording

Dizzy Gillespie – Trumpet

Charles Mingus – Bass

Bud Powell – Piano

Max Roach – Drums

Charlie Parker – Saxophone

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Fuck you, Jazz is Black culture, the hell with you!

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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Ensouled Proboscis Simian Humans

October 25, 2022October 28, 2022 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

These utterly stunning dream experiences occurred on Thursday, February 16, 1989, whilst the Moon transited both Cancer and my second house.

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I was on a street and just beyond the other side of the street was the edge of a cliff; it looked down into a distant valley. It was very sunny out. I was seated in front of a house. On my right was a man who had come home from work in a car. He looked very Italian except that he seemed to be very hirsute – as though he had quite dark skin. However, on closer inspection, he turned out to be rather hirsute. A little later on, he came outside again. His neighbours were looking at him, kind of strangely, like they weren’t already accustomed to looking or reacting to him in a strange manner.

He sat down next to me outside, on the neighbouring bench to my right, both of us with backs to the neighbours. He turned and looked at me and his face was rather ape-like. It was the colour black and his hair was quite different. This man had a long widow’s peak and his face was literally the colour black. It was quite ape-like. He said nothing. More than that, he seemed rather friendly and nice. Along that street, there were kids when a car had pulled up. They were very teenage kids – all boys. A boy came out further along and returned to join one of his companions.

Then it turned out that his companion was in a car that was black and seemed to move, as it were, on air-cushioned rubber wheels. This black car of his was rather aerodynamic. After his friend took off, he then – this is the little blond timid guy – went over towards the cliff. Directly in front of the hirsute ape-like man, who was seated to my right, the blond guy went into the bushes. The young guy turned out to have been his brother – that guy who looked like a twin of his or resembled a brother. They hung out together and then he went moving on.

As he passed me, going from right to left, a friend of his was coming down the road. The road had a curve in it and went steeply up a hill. The hill, in fact, looked like the hill at Toronto’s Prospect Cemetery on the south side of Kitchener Street. His friend came down and he was wearing a helmet because he had been on some sort of vehicle. He removed the helmet, carrying it in his right hand, as they greeted each other. Strangely, they greeted by grabbing each other around the hips and rubbed their crotches together, joked and laughed. In essence, they engaged in clothed frottage.

I thought it interesting that two males would engage in open sexual play, however, this seemed the natural standard way of greeting in this culture. Clearly, this was a sign that this was not exactly Kansas. I had the distinct impression that the twin blonds had gone into the gorge to do drugs. As they were blissing out, only the crown of their golden mops was visible. They were using the very intense lushness of the rolling hills, in the valley way below, as a stimulant. Everything here was so pronouncedly healthy, even the star that shined seemed more intense and pure than Sol. I carefully looked at some of the trees and realised that they were bonsai, furry, mossy centuries-old plants that seemed to hum at a frequency higher than their arboreal counterparts on Earth.

I was able to zoom into the plants in the valley way below and experience them in intimate close-up. Of course, this I accomplished whilst remaining seated on the bench where to my right on another sat the über-poilu, intensely warm, handsome ape-like man. The helmet was the same black, light, metal-plastic alloy material as the car. It seemed to have the ability to absorb the intense sunlight, which was not scorching, and cool the interior. The blond who greeted his Italian-looking helmeted friend – they were all, incidentally, the same hirsute ape-like stock as the jet-black man seated to my right – had patted the car as he moved around its rear into the road to meet his dark-haired friend. He had patted the car much like one would a trusted horse. At that, the car had hissed and lurched to the road from its hovering stationary position a foot off the ground.

Later on, in the second dream, I was still on the same street. There were all these little kids. They were on skateboards. They came down about four, five, six, of them – little guys. One of them was Black. He was quite light-skinned. They were from a high social class. They were very friendly and nice and I warmly interacted with them. However, they were quite reserved and it wasn’t as though they weren’t friendly. As I was a stranger, for that reason, they kept me at bay. On the lower part of the street, where I was with them, it was clearly a cemetery. As far as cemeteries go, it was quite different an arrangement. It had quite large tombstones in it – monuments.

There was one woman there in black who was seemingly Italian. She was carrying on; she was grieving by this one monument. It had on it a very interesting design and some of the graves were fresh. I explained to them, the little boys, that this was where one went. However, then one came back from there and was able to live a life again like they were now living. I explained to them in those terms, however, I did not force them to look at funerals. People’s focus on funerals as the end and fear of death was the trap, I explained to them.

In this the third dream, I was under these hugely tall trees and was working at the time. Clearly, I had been working for someone like Pete Wilkens or someone like him. I had left a shovel around. The shovel had been left about and from a long, long time ago. This was on the grounds of a park-like setting where there were lots of skeletons about. The skeletons were covered with a whole bunch of ants. It was strange because it seemed as though the bones were the remnants of lunch and had just been eaten. They seemed like the skeletons for fish except that the head bone of the fish – skull – was quite flat.

The head had three sides to it and the skeleton was again a narrow filament that had two identical spines that trailed the unusual-looking skull. The skeletons were quite white and were flexible like the white cartilage of a chicken breast. There was a bunch of ants all over them. I might also add that these flexible, double-spined, fish-like skeletons were covered with ants that were quite feathery and lumpy. These ants were almost like miniature tarantulas because they were so bulky, dark, rich and, in a way, nice to look at.

There was a shovel sitting about and I realised that I had left it there, when I worked last time which was some time ago, last season. However, nobody had actually moved it because it meant that it was my responsibility to have moved it. So I ended up moving a couple of rakes – they were, in fact, more like pole saws. When trying to clear the space, I took them from one area to the next. I must say that I was quite struck by the face of that particular man that I did see, whilst he sat on the neighbouring bench to my right, in the initial dream. Even here in another dream entirely, I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye.

The fourth dream found me going back to an apartment where Merlin and I were living together. There were ants all about the apartment. I told him, “You have to get out and go away for a while so I can clean away the ants.” I then went about disinfecting the place and got rid of the ants. I was even disinfecting beneath the floorboards… everywhere. Owing to his being full-blown with AIDS, I did not want Merlin being exposed to the harmful chemicals in the disinfectants. That, certainly, could have resulted in horrific consequences on his vastly compromised immune system.

With the fifth dream, I was in a large department store. There, I saw Isis da Braga who was there to buy a scarf. At the time, I was with two males; it was a Gay situation. Owen Hawksmoor was talking to someone who had a very large nose. The man to whom Owen spoke was Black. He seemed like we vaguely knew each other. He seemed, in fact, like Don Baxter. However, the face on this man was black and had hues of red in it. Not the colour black but as Black people look. More than that, such that it looked like the nose of an animal’s would like an aardvark or some such, the nose on this man was more like a snout. He wore white; both he and Owen did. There was some function, that one had to go to, for which Owen had complimentary tickets.

These two people, whom Owen and I had encountered, were saying that they did not know where their complimentary tickets were. I said that I knew I had mine. Anyway, Owen left them and went back up a flight of steps. It was quite light out, up the staircase, as though there was a skylight hung high overhead. Owen moved on and I went in search of Isis who had passed by. She was quite embarrassed, in fact, at seeing me with my arm about a Gay person. She went in and picked up a scarf and the scarf was worth 52$, I think, because she was putting down the balance of the money – the other half – 26$. She was there shopping. It was a black scarf and it had beautiful… the borders were red and green designs. It really was quite nice. I came and leaned on the counter and said hello to my sister.

She was reserved, cool and detached. She turned to me and was beautifully made up and looked very young with beautiful, flawless, flawless skin. She spoke about the fact that she did not go shopping with me anymore. She insisted that my accusation that she did not go shopping with me anymore because I was with men was not true. She was wearing a beautiful mustard-coloured jacket and a scarf about her neck. Indeed, she was quite well-off.

*The thing about these unusually droopy noses is that they looked as though this was a race of extra-humans (extra-terrestrials) which had evolved from simian mammals who were descended from proboscis monkey stock rather than not. It is a race of primates native to Borneo and the faces of those simians are rather human. This is how this man and others in this dream would appear. However, it was more than that look. END.

In the sixth dream, I was in an office that was like an indoor greenhouse. If you like, it was a mausoleum rather than greenhouse. It was sky-lit and there were a lot of caskets about. Some of them had flowers and some of them did not. When you came in, you went down some stairs and into a more open area. There you saw a burial crypt. It was an indoor burial crypt. There was a man about as well as a grand piano. Whenever the employees of the place came in, there was a woman standing about and she would excitedly say, “We have to go out, we have to go out.” I was with those little children, from the earlier dream, who were skateboarding and whom I had instructed earlier about the whole idea of reincarnation. These children were mostly White. We were also being hustled out of the place.

The woman then said, “What is he doing? There is not another service. Why is he trying to start up that piano?” The man at the piano was large and bent over and he looked somewhat out of place being there. Before we could be ushered out of the place, I managed to run up and put some flowers – some yellow flowers, on one of the brown caskets that was there.

*He was inordinately tall and hence drooped over a lot. Whilst seated at the grand piano, his towering height made it look as though an adult seated at a dollhouse piano. Too, he was inordinately pale… END.

As we were going out, the procession was coming in and people were being hustled in. It was quite a fast procession. I stuck around and tried to see the place and see why there was so much hustling. There and then, it turned out that I saw the casket. It was very flat and plain and I thought, ‘Well why is it being hustled out? If it’s a funeral why would the relations be so ecstatic?’ However, it turned out that because the burial box was so flat I thought it was going to be cremated. It turned out, however, that it was for the office. There was going to be a surprise party.

It was actually a cake. It was covered up in wonderful, colourful wrapping paper. There was going to be a celebration and those were all the workers from the company. The atmosphere was quite nice and friendly.

In this the seventh dream, I was in a very, very large and busy restaurant where I ordered myself a bowl of soup. I was going to go upstairs to the bathroom but I had my bowl of soup in my hand. It was very Gothic-styled. It seemed, in fact, like the inside of a château. It was in the Gothic style except that the walls were rose granite – rose-coloured granite. It was, however, rather smooth-surfaced. I then accidentally spilled my bowl of soup. The waitress who had come to my aid was dark-haired – short, dark hair. She looked like a dancer who danced with the Winnipeg Contemporary Dancers when I was living in Winnipeg – the one who was Lebanese and had had a back injury.

Anyway, this waitress went off and I was waiting there being quite embarrassed. I was trying to rush to the toilet. I asked someone where the toilet was and they said, “No, no, not upstairs.” It turned out that the washrooms were, in fact, to the rear. So off I went to the bathroom and I was quite embarrassed. I tidied up myself and I came back out and my white cotton pants – nice, beautiful trousers; they were baggy but they came in tight and folded in a pleat at the end at the hem – were quite stained by the soup. It was a dark sort of pea soup. A dark brownish fare, like a lentil soup, it was. However, it was not like a lentil soup because it was red.

I was trying to ask this man to move, in order to get by him, en route to the washrooms. There was a couple behind a man and they were very lovey-dovey. The man had to ask them to get up to let me get to the bathroom. He did not want to get up or anything like that but he finally realised he had to get up. So he basically moved and he was quite unusually blond. Everybody in this place was very unusual-looking. They had extraordinary features about them. They were excessively good-looking but they had an outstanding feature that made them seem Thothesque. Again, noses here were very long, droopy and bent over. Their noses were almost beaklike in that sense. That was the extraordinary thing about that jet-black skinned man, in the initial dream, as well as this blond man who had the same feature.

**Humanoid with exact nose as this Proboscis Simian**

These persons were all exceptionally tall. They were each on the other side of seven-plus feet. Also, they were so über-poilu, it made it look like they were either jet-black when Black or yellow-white for being blond. Finally, he did move and when I was leaving, I looked at him. He was looking down at me because I was out of sorts, out of place, being there. Standing before him, he really did tower over me. Clearly, these persons were EHs – extra-humans or ETs. Another person had come by and tidied me up. He busily got me back to where I was seated. Then he had mumbled something like, “Why don’t you get out of here real fast?”

So I went out into the vestibule and I was waiting and waiting for the waitress to come by because I wanted to pay her for my bowl of soup. I think it was going to be $3 or something like that. Isis just said, “Why don’t we just get out of here?” We were waiting out front and it was busy so I finally got out. However, I was arguing and said, “That’s not the point of it.” I strongly felt that I should be paying my way. So I thought to just go back and put down my money on a table somewhere – I would feel better. However, I did finally leave, after having been more or less harassed by Isis without having paid. She was asking, “If you can save the money, why not save it?” that was her attitude.

When we were leaving there was a tall, enormously tall, man. He was White. Again, he had the same beaklike nose and there was something about his face that I found immediately sexual. His face was intensely sexualised. I was going to indulge and not leave because I so wanted to explore this man. However, Isis hustled me out of there.

Dream eight found me in the streets. I was walking with a baby – a little Black baby who was light-skinned. I carried the baby on my shoulders. It was rather nice. This time, out on the street, it was dark out and it was night time. This place we went to, that was quite busy, was bustling with lots of wonderful, wonderful people. It was very cosmopolitan here. A brief dream it was too.

I next found myself in a ninth dream experience that had a great deal of uproar and tumult to it. There were figures in black who were part of some sort of religious sect. These persons were just alarmingly fanatical. They were terrorists and they wore black. They had some sort of insignia on their bodies. As a matter of fact, they were looking for me; there was no mistaking that fact. I was in what would be Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s yard. I was trying to hide out there. There were, somehow, attempts to get me out. Then there was this truck which the people who were like security guards used. I was told where to find them and where they weren’t.

So I went into this yard and it seemed like part of Catherine Angelica Montpelier’s property and the neighbourhood in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. However, it was differently set up here. There was an Indian-looking girl – Amerindian-looking and not Dravidian. She, too, had a beaklike nose and I tried to explain to her, “Well look, you know I’m being pursued…”

“Oh yes!” further, she made reference to the fact, “Oh yes, you’re the one who killed Bob… or somebody.” Up on the roof was like Bob’s brother, whoever Bob was, but it wasn’t a name that I recognised. His name was Bob, however; it was Patrice Wellesley, of all people, who was keeping a lookout. He was supposed to notify the guard-like people. I intuitively knew that on the far side of the wall, of the place where I was hiding out, was a guy and a girl. She had very long black hair and was quite militant. They were looking out for me and talking.

I was telling the Amerindian-looking girl with the Thothesque nose, who was talking to me and dropping pieces of information, to just shut up and calm down, “You don’t need to say everything and carry on and on.” However, she still kept on blabbing away. I then managed to go around the side of the house. She was with her sister and they were playing some sort of game. So I thought to actually go around, to the front of the house, to ask her who her sister was. I then went around to the front of the house and there was her sister who seemed like Diana Nottingham – with whom I modelled at OCAD and did that pose with her at OCAD that Olaf Nordstrom had painted.

Anyway, she was quite wonderfully made up in whiteface. As though she were a Kabuki actor/actress, she wore white pancake makeup. She was, in fact, an actress. She was waiting to go on and perform a role of hers. It was quite interesting because she was, in fact, filling me in on what was going on, “In point of fact Arvin, you know, basically someone died because in self-defence in a rumble with them… it was just a lazy man about town, an idler and a drifter.” He apparently ended up dying because, during some sort of attack on me, as I was defending myself he was accidentally killed. As a result, I was on the run and there was a plot – the militant group was out to get me.

**Immanuel Methodist Church, Sandy Point, St. Kitts**

She told me that what I could do was go behind the Methodist Church in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. The place, however, was set out as if a mélange of Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts and elsewhere. So she told me to go across the railroad tracks. On coming around, I would be able to come home free to my home in Crab Hill. However, she pointed out that all along the route there were the same guards – militant fanatics. However, I just had to play it safe. She confidently assured me that they could be headed off. I was grateful for her advice and took her directives to heart. Well, low and behold, the girl – the militant sibling – came around the yard and caught me. When she caught me, I fled in escape. I went and hid behind the wall. I am not referring to Diana or one of the two sisters who had been around the backyard but there were two other sisters. These other two sisters were part of the militant group that was on the hunt for me.

The girl pulled out a weapon and it had a little blade on it. It was quite deadly and I kept hiding myself trying to extricate myself out of the place. I did so by holding up one of the sisters, in front of me, as a hostage. Someone got spliced in the left hand. I don’t recall that it was me or if it was me, I simply did not feel any pain when attacked. The vicious-looking wound had self-healed right away. I had focussed my light energies on the wound and caused it to instantaneously self-heal. Anyway, I was able to push the sister onto them. I then made my way around to the back of the house. By this time, the brother was coming around the house from the other direction.

When I say I went around to the back of the house, it was where I had originally encountered the two militant sisters. By that point, she had already called for help from the guardsman. He was somewhat ecstatic as he came around. However, this was my chance to flee. So I climbed over the fence and immediately there was a lot of plastic on and all over everything. When I climbed over the wall it was, clearly, what in the waking state would be the very back end of the Methodist Church estate. It was covered with a heavy plastic and there was a lot of wood. There was scaffolding everywhere. I climbed along the wood and the sister – the white-faced, actor of the two sisters – had told me that I could get immunity by saying that I was coming to work on the grounds or some such.

Next, I crawled along the scaffolding and looked to my left. However, this being a dream, it had semblances to being Sandy Point but it wasn’t really Sandy Point either. I realised that there were apartments, tiny apartments, which were glass-enclosed. They were all quite in disarray. People lived there but nobody seemed to be home. Here I was trying to make my escape and if anybody had seen me, of course, I would be squealed on. Then I finally jumped down, out of the ceiling-like area, because there were crates and boxes and a straw-stuffed bed under me directly below the window. I came down to an open area and there I saw a much darker version of Artemis da Braga, my niece. She was sitting wrapped with a telephone cord about her as she played with the phone. I greeted her but I did not want to get her excited because I wanted to flee the area.

Next, in dream ten, I came out of this beautiful house and came out into a wonderful backyard. Immediately, whilst there, I saw another of those vans. There had also been a van in the earlier dream that showed how these people, the militant people, worked. They had a van and it had another little van on the inside when it opened up claw-like. It appeared that the top and the bottom, the back rather, could open up. Inside it revealed another vehicle that was covered in a brownish greasy goop. The most interesting feature of this entire affair was that, although they looked human enough, the militiamen were not human. They were extra-human. So too was the machine which, from its goopy fluids, was sentient. It was an EH species which they were using to capture and feed one to. It seemed that the machine-like EHs were, in fact, in control of the militia-type EHs rather than the reverse.

It seemed more creature than a vehicle and, somehow, this was what I was supposed to be put in when captured. These two Black men, who were guarding the house and who let me know that they were guarding the house, were saying, “Aha! Now we’ve caught you.” You know, I thought about it and there was just no way that I was going to let them capture me. ‘I’ve got to get away,’ I thought. At the time, one of them was taking a pee – both these men were Black. They were quite casual about having caught me. They apparently were going to get their supervisor who would take care of me.

The supervisor came and he looked like the guy from Trinidad who had worked as a chef at the Underground Railroad Restaurant when, long ago, I worked there. He did, at least, seem like that man. This man, who was their supervisor, was also Black. He had the semblance, the air about him, of that chef but he did not so much look a great deal like him. He was rotund and fairly light-complected. He lived in the house. Rather, he did not live in the house but he was staying in the house as a caretaker. I thought, ‘I’m not going to be captured. I’m not going to be caught. I can disguise myself.’

**Rendering Self Invisible by Increasing Light Vibration**

I immediately started accelerating my energies and, as a result, I was able to transform myself. As I upped my frequency, I heard an increase in the universal hum. I looked down at the backs of both my outstretched hands, keenly observing the intense sunlight react to my skin in a glowing sizzling manner, until my aura intensified and became visible about my body. My aura’s light grew brighter as my skin actually glowed with increasing intensity. It continued until the skin, throughout my entire body, was indistinguishable from the rest of the intense morning sunlight. When they went down the hill and came back with the guy, I was standing there right in front of the house. It was this particular, large wooden house.

It wasn’t large, for being a bungalow, but the door was large. This house was definitely not part of the landscape in Sandy Point, St. Kitts. As I looked on, the guards came bearing the portly gentleman. I was aware from the way he – the supervisor, Zen sage – was talking that he was aware that I was there. Perhaps, he could see me but the other two – the militant guardsmen – couldn’t see me. I realised what I had done: I had made myself light so that I blended in with the landscape and couldn’t be seen. I had rendered myself invisible!

I then decided that I could further transform myself. Next, I made myself into this little white piece of what seemed like string. However, it was more like nylon. It was like shiny waxed dental floss. Such that half way there was a loop in it, it was tied in a knot. It was doubled on itself so that it was, I would guess, three to five inches long at the most. I obviously was astrally projected to another world where, rather lucidly, I was dreaming and interacting with extra-humans. The dental floss-like string was the cord of light which keeps one’s astral body connected, to the waking state body, when astral-projected during sleep.

**The Light Umbilical Cord Connected to Astral Body**

Immediately, the caretaker guy took the cord – the wax-like cord – which was my transformed-dreamer self in his hand. It was my astral body’s cord which was left rendered visible whilst I remained invisible. He began giving the two guardsmen a walk-through of the house in which only he should have been. It was a house that was no longer lived in. It was wooden all about and very organic. It was a house that allowed for natural light to pour in. There was a skylight. The house was low in the sense that it was dug in. The house was built such that it was somewhat half-buried below the surface. In that way, it was kept cool because it was partly below-ground. All about, on either side, as you walked in every part of this beautiful, sprawling bungalow were every manner of cactus.

These were cacti that were shaped like trees that had leaves. Absolutely stunning and incredible, they enlivened the house throughout. He gave me a tour of the place with the two guardsmen, who could not see me, in tow. As he walked them back to the front door he said, “So you see, he really couldn’t be here. You go off and look for him.” He tossed me or what was my representation – the wax-looking string or my astral body’s umbilical-like cord of light – from his right hand sending it through a doorway of the house. He then went about his business and showed them to the door and got rid of them. At this point, I rematerialised back to my regular dreamer self in this dream and I was able to let on to him that I knew that he knew of my being invisible. So I called him, on another phone in the house, and I remained absolutely silent. I then telepathically shared my thoughts with him. I inferred that I knew that he was aware that I was present in the house though invisible to most. Of course, he knew that I was there but he was just not going to acknowledge my being friendly with him. The fact is that he knew that I was in trouble. He was just trying, out of the goodness of his heart, to help me out. However, he wasn’t going to befriend me or anything like that.

**Sprawling Partially Submerged Bungalow**

So anyway, on my own I began exploring this beautiful, beautiful labyrinth-like bungalow. The walls of it were wooden. It was a reddish wood like redwoods normally look. It had a shiny hue to it because it was polished. I was talking about it to someone, later on in the dream, and it was in fact the same guy – the caretaker – who had accompanied me at one point. I said it seemed like it was built by Frank Lloyd Wright and he said, “No. Not really…” It seemed like it but it was a different style altogether; however, it was more or less like Frank Lloyd Wright. Seriously though, it was a totally different style. So I went about exploring the place. I went in this one room that was clearly a bedroom. I opened the door and went in – it was a glass door. I went in and on the left were shelves.

There were tiny, tiny, little cacti in pots and some of them were large and some of them were blooming. They were heliotropically craning over to one side. This place had been abandoned for quite some time. However, all the cacti in the place had managed to grow quite large. They were big, bulbous, beautiful and wonderfully lifelike. The spread to the bed was turned down and discarded. It had been left just as when last used by the owner. There was a bulldog; it was not a live one but a statue of a bulldog. This person had a great deal of style and was quite successful. I realised that the owner, the former occupant, was Black. I saw the face and I can’t say that I can recall the face but, somehow, I got the impression that the face was a face of mine if you like.

It was interesting because when I saw the face that is basically the information that I got from looking at the face in the photo. There was a tiny time-faded photograph of a face. It was of a Black man. This was the sense that I got from it, that it was me, in fact. There were beautiful trousers about. As well, there was a large armoire with tons and tons of beautiful, silk robes that I had worn in that life. They were worn around the house by the former occupant. There were, on the bed, some clothes. Too, there was a table beside the bed. Everything in this bungalow was very organic: the bed was very organic, the desk was and even the fixtures were very organic. As well, the cloth was very organic – by organic, I mean that it wasn’t inanimate.

It was organic because it was lifelike. More than that, it was organic because it was breathing. That’s why it had lived so long because it was quite some time since last occupied by the owner. However, it was very much so still alive. The sheet and bedding, on the bed, were woollen and greyish-coloured. The only reason why I had entered the room, in the first place, was I wanted to roam – to see if there were any signs of underwear… there was. There was tons of underwear on the shelves behind me. I wanted to check and sniff his underwear, to see if he had masturbated.

Anyway, when I got into the room, that little adventure had totally evaporated. For having seen the photograph, if you like I was quite interested in exploring the place and getting to refamiliarise myself with the place. The bedroom was just absolutely beautiful. Off to the left, rather behind the shelves and straight ahead, was the closet and the bed was to the right of the door.

Down this long hallway that was sky-lit were the tables and tables of clothing. There was a door past the shelves, on the left, and it looked into more and more clothes. I then came out of there and I went about exploring all over. This time, I went to explore all the cacti in the place. There were tons and tons of them. Shortly thereafter, I was joined by Carl Leroiderien, Merlin and someone else who seemed like Mario of Paris – Mario D’Agostino, however, it wasn’t him. I had a sense of Maxime Gascoigne-de Montigny being about and Carl Leroiderien had seemed like a custodian of the place. Carl was a caretaker or curator of the sprawling bungalow which now seemed like an historic site. When he was excitedly walking everyone through the place, to show them the place, he was referring to the owner. I was there but, again, none of these people had any awareness that I was there – not even Merlin.

He was sort of filling them in on who the owner was. From what I could see, Carl was doing a good job of it. There were cacti that were tall. There were also red ones. There was one cactus that was tall and it had needles on it. It had large, large leaves and two or three leaves like those of a royal palm’s. Most of it was like a palm tree but it was like a breadfruit leaf or some sort of leaf like a maple leaf – albeit an extra large maple leaf. It was, however, cactus. Everywhere there were plants on either side of the skylight hallways. The bungalow was a series of long halls that were all connected and veered off in different directions.

However, it was a house that had basically become a living garden such that it was organic. The cacti truly were the lungs of the house. The air was really nice and it was cool. The humans were able to live with the cacti because it was a totally self-sustainable dwelling. As the light came in heliotropically sustaining the various cacti species, it added breath, depth and dimension to the space thereby making it equally organic. Too, because it was partially submerged belowground, there was a lot of moisture from underground that kept these plants alive. The cacti were quite happy and they had grown so beautifully. It was as if they were bonsai cacti. It was quite incredible how they were all over the place throughout the house.

Then I went down some steps to another open area of the bungalow. Again, there were more cacti. We moved off and came to an area where Carl said, “Oh let’s go downstairs, I can show you the basement. You can see all these wonderful things.” When you looked out the skylight area, it was of the street, the pathway into what would seem Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. So I immediately was afraid to be seen yet I was assured by Carl as he stilled my nerves telepathically saying, ‘Oh, it’s okay… it’s okay.’ I was concerned about the people, who lived across the street, reporting me to the militia-types. There was bamboo, organic bamboo if you like, that was made into a fence. It seemed like the backyard of what was the neighbour’s house and they weren’t there. I was told it was quite safe that it was okay. The neighbours weren’t there to squeal on me.

Before you went down the steps, into this other area, there were all these beautiful, beautiful organic works that are quite common in the Orient. For example there were many objets d’art. These were objets d’art which were beautiful temples and totems. They were all made from the ivory of elephants’ tusks. It was all beautifully detailed and in miniature – all the miniature designs were made of ivory. That was the sort of stuff. This particular objet d’art was large. It was square-shaped so that it wasn’t like an elephant’s tusk. More like an obelisk, if you like, it was. They were more so little temples. They were shrines and Greek temples if you like. What was truly fascinating was how incredibly detailed they were though scaled down versions of the real architectural gems.

We moved on and now we came to an area that had nothing but wares. There were lots of baskets everywhere because this was where the ornaments were kept. They were all stored therein. Carl was the caretaker of these things. He was quite familiar with every item and, again, there were bamboo basket-like wares and objets d’art. I was told that this was, in fact, like a wine cooler. It was so delicately and intricately made. Also, the item was collapsible. It could open. The objet d’art was like a valise and it could open up. Merlin went and opened it and was prying into it. It had two African skulls or heads on it and it was quite beautifully detailed as a matter of fact.

We then moved on and came into the downstairs area. This place was like a cellar. Somehow, copious rays of sunlight made it to this part of the sprawling, multi-levelled bungalow. Even though we were further underground yet, somehow, the sunlight came in. However, I soon realised that it wasn’t sunlight. It was just this light that was white and somewhat diffuse. It was quite soft and nice to the touch. Among the many stored wares, there was something that had a white bamboo-like coil. This thing had a piece of string attached to it with two yellow sticks or shoots like chopsticks.

You could insert it and it was, in fact, quite sexual. The Mario D’Agostino character immediately grabbed it up. Whilst simulating sexual play, he was playing around with it. He was making noises filled with sexual innuendo and then said, “Umm, get undressed and put it on your cock because that’s what it’s made for.” Oh he was so happy to perform and went off to try on the item.

*Here now, some further comments set in the dream in the beautiful house. Here, the atmosphere in this house was one of serenity and it was a reflection of that particular life that one had led whence the proprietor was Black. Tall and very erudite, he seemed a man of the world. He was well-travelled. He loved beautiful music and he had a collection of things in his bedroom that were totems from his travels. He was obviously tall because there were lots of khaki and white summer pants which all gave a sense of his height. When I had first entered into the room, there was also a rack that I had bumped into. I hadn’t noticed it because it was suspended from the ceiling. It was racked with leather suspenders and an enormous collection of belts: broad belts, narrow belts, as well, skinny belts.

There were all kinds of beautiful belts. They were very expensive and they were also very organic and ancient. They weren’t brand new any of them. It was all a reflection of the person’s spirit. You never met the person but you knew the person through the house. It was beautiful and wonderfully planned out. The sprawling, organic bungalow was so multidimensional; it went off in all these directions and avenues because that was who this person was in that lifetime. In a box to call home, he was not contained or restrained. The organic house constantly veered off. It had many apartments and veered off and had many cul de sacs. There were areas where he could go and be removed from all the other areas yet be surrounded by plants.

At all times, he was surrounded by life itself and it was healthy… quite nice. Whilst at the restaurant having the lentil-looking soup, the reason for the extra-tall, obvious extra-human being impatient with me was more subtle than one may assume. With their sophisticated proboscis, it is safe to assume that smell was the most developed of this extra-human race’s senses rather than sight as is the case for we humans. Likely, there was something very off-putting to my pheromone makeup which left the seated extra-human uncomfortable. I don’t think that it was a matter of my race, Black, but my species, Earthly human, which made the über-poilu, blond extra-human uncomfortable.

As I was in his home world, he naturally felt put upon for having the unfavourable aspects of my pheromones anywhere near him. At the end of the day, he was an incarnate ensouled fragment who is one of seven soul types and with the same selection of overleaves as any Earthly human. Any Earthly human would have similarly responded to having someone of outré pheromone and species in their midst.

A very serene dream it remarkably was. END.

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Groovin’ High, Dizzy Gillespie 1955

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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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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: #Orient

Oh To Be Black & Jew

Ensouled Proboscis Simian Humans