Hello, My Darling!

04.12.202412.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Triptych August 1972

Oil and sand on three canvases

My five-day trip to the most glorious jewel, London, was bittersweet. I got a call from Vanessa saying that Clive’s cancer had proven stage four with little time left him. There was but one choice, nothing to do but hurry off the phone, book a flight tout de suite to London. Back in late October 1982, after having met Merlin, my friend Clive, studying in the city, I set up on a blind date with Vanessa. She broke off the date at the last minute to rush home to Bermuda and attend her grandmother’s funeral. Undaunted, on her return, I insisted that they get together. By this time, Merlin was returned to New York and holding up at the actor, Patricia Neal’s UWS airy apartment. Merlin had met Clive and Vanessa separately and thought to have them to dinner; naturally, he cooked his favourite dish, chicken paprikash, which he had been taught by Stratford Festival Theatre’s artistic director, John Hirsch.

Manhattan rooftop water tanks

As we dined, with the shadows of water towers beyond the large living room windows, it was fairly obvious that my attempt at matchmaking had proven successful. From time to time, Merlin winked at me and squeezed my knee beneath the table as Clive and Vanessa on their first date had handsomely struck it off. As the blind date was going so well, Merlin suggested that they were welcome to stay and continue visiting whilst we headed off down to midtown Manhattan to take in the midnight showing of Gandhi at the Ziegfeld cinema. Merlin suggested that they could leave the apartment’s keys with the concierge and we would collect them on our return; it was obvious that they were getting along well and needed more time together, minus us as well. Clive and Vanessa laughed a lot and it was clear that they were smitten with each other.

Portrait of Isabel Rawsthorne

Oil on Canvas

Provenance: Tate Britain

Pushing five in the morning, we returned and thought it odd that the suite’s keys had not been turned in. We got off the elevator and on making our way down to the hall, there was the familiar shower of both persons laughing and giggling. Merlin knocked, not loudly, and we were greeted at the door by the smitten couple, each with cake frosting on their nose. They had been up talking and decided that, as it was well past midnight and therefore her birthday, they would bake a cake! Lots of laughter and warmth, whilst the cake set, Merlin decided to make a hearty breakfast of pancakes with Canadian maple syrup! Since that day, Vanessa and Clive have never been separated once; they even slipped into Toronto to visit me a couple of weeks after Merlin’s passing.

The bust of a man

Pen and Ink

c. 1545

Baccio Bandinelli

Hopped off the Piccadilly line, I crossed Green Park, on day one, to alight at The King’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace. The red-interiored salons were familiar, warm and grounding. I was bothered by the fact that the exhibition of Renaissance Drawings among which were works by unsurpassed genius, Leonardo da Vinci, was masterfully curated and hung. Each piece was expertly placed such that you could never evade the glare of intrusive lighting and the works of art hung on the opposite wall. I laughed aloud to a couple of women staffers, then eventually on making to the next salon, a lone silver-haired beauty engaged me. She wanted to know where I was from; naturally, my Canadian accent as articulated with the women registered with her. She lived, it turned out in Mississauga as her husband had worked at the corporate headquarters of the elegantly designed Mies van der Rohe TD Bank (Toronto Dominion Bank) for a couple of decades. She insisted that I make the trek to St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle before leaving; I assured her that the journey was foremost in my plans, having shared that there were 4 governors-general in my extended family to date. She was a gracious human of whom I dreamt two nights later and her aura unsurprisingly was most pronounced.

Reclining Figure

Plaster and string

1951 Henry Moore

Henry Moore & Francis Bacon, Tate Britain

From the King’s Gallery, I briskly made my way to Victoria Station, alighting at Pimlico where after being moved by Chris Ofili’s tribute to the Grenfell Tower tragedy, I scuffed at the Turner Prize fare, which would have been more convincing if there were also homeless persons encamped. The Francis Bacon & Henry Moore exhibition was soul-stirring. By now my feet were beginning to seriously ache as I had forgotten to pack walking shoes. Stepping into the unseasonably crisp sunny air, I hopped aboard the Uber boat and swiftly cruised down the river Thames to the Tate Modern. I was not especially inspired for having visited and for the first time, after so many visits, successfully strode across the millennium bridge where I ended up at St. Paul’s Cathedral. As always, I paid homage to Henry Moore’s plaque. From there, I returned to my hotel in Russell Square. My feet were blistered and ridiculously ached.

Moore, Henry 30/7/1898<O>31/8/1986

Michael: This fragment was a first-level old artisan – third life thereat. Henry was in observation mode with a goal of dominance. A realist, he was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Henry’s body type was Saturn/Venus.

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

The fragment Henry is fourth-cast in the second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence one. Henry’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – he is an entity mate.

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

Henry’s three primary needs were: expression, freedom and security.

There are 8 past-life associations with Arvin and 6 with Merlin. ______________________________________________

Though I had about 1.5 hours to showtime, in light of the election results in America and because I simply cannot bring myself to make compromises when it comes to Jazz, I chose not to attend the oppressive brutalism of the Southbank Centre and endure Jamie Cullum apeing Black culture. Fuck that! Besides, I realised on arriving at the hotel that the ticket was for a standing room spot; not with with blistered feet was I going to time-waste. When Whites said fuck you, we are not voting for a Black woman, all bets are off that I’ve got time to suffer stubborn racially predatory boors. Whites were enticed by the spectre of Trump’s Bible, which omits amendments 11 through 17, most importantly, the 13th amendment which promises mass incarceration if not enslavement for American Blacks. Thus, I spent a couple of hours talking to Vanessa, Clive and my spouse whilst icing my sorely battered feet.

Fortnum & Mason, Piccadilly

Rested and with lots of buzz from London’s vibe, I decided at 2215 to head to Leicester Square. Got off the tube into the thick of the Friday night throngs, making my way past the Hippodrome Casino. Outside beneath the marquee was a group of statuesque, beautiful Black women in their mid to late twenties, walking past, I said to the tallest with her back to the street, “You’ve the most beautiful hair!” “Oh thank you!” She had the largest afro of the group and wore the most gorgeous, large silver hoop earrings. As I gingerly walked along, they could be heard howling and remarking at the fact that in the middle of the chill late evening air, I was fanning myself – thanks in part to the side effects of one of the medications which regulates my health well into my seventh decade. I then slipped into the Knatchbulls’ formerly owned Curzon cinema in hopes of seeing Gladiator II; however, it was sold out and I would not likely be able to see it until after midnight. Next stop, the Vue cinemas to attempt seeing Wicked; still no luck. Never mind. I then gingerly ambled to Piccadilly Circus and enjoyed the groovy beauty of Fortnum & Mason then headed back to my Russell Square hotel.

Royal Academy of Art

Next morning, bright and early, I got to Russell Square tube station only to be horrified by the note that read that the Piccadilly line would be closed both Saturday & Sunday; perhaps, I ought to have ventured out to Windsor the day of my arrival. Undaunted, I elected to head by bus to Piccadilly circus and made my way to Lilywhites where I purchased a pair of sneakers and chucked the pair of too tight and heavy, foot-blistering nuisance in the bin. Spent little time at RAA; the Michelangelo was underwhelming and too crowded for my ubiquitously masked comfort – my spouse is 24/7 on oxygen; I can ill afford to become exposed to respiratory contagion.

Iris

Oil on Canvas

1890 Vincent van Gogh

Provenance: National Gallery of Canada

Next stop, Trafalgar Square and the rapturously overwhelming Vincent van Gogh exhibition at The National Gallery. Breathtaking beauty that is each canvas was marred by the fact that there are simply far too many persons currently incarnate. Sixty-one phenomenal works of art by the modern Dutch genius, which must have a market value of at least 2B£. Obviously, it is all about the biggest bang for one’s buck but the heat radiating off the masses moving from salon to salon was at times overwhelming. There could have been a system whereby 50 persons max per salon to allow everyone a good appreciation of each piece. As ever, the tallest persons always have a knack for planting their obstructive frame before a painting and taking their sweet damn time before moving on.

Sketch for a Portrait of Lisa (Sainsbury)

Oil on Canvas

1955 Francis Bacon

This exhibition, next-door at The National Portrait Gallery, because it left me so pronouncedly aware of George Hawken being ‘around’ that it, plus the sheer staggering beauty of Francis Bacon’s genius moved me to tears. This portrait of Lisa Sainsbury, the way her eyes mimic Akhenaten’s end up remarkably resembling singer, Thom Yorke’s delicate beauty; even the colours betray the haunting melancholia of Yorke’s soulfulness. By the time that I left The National Portrait Gallery, I was listening to Radiohead’s 1997 debut album, OK Computer. The movement and emotional brilliance of clarity in each Bacon canvas is humbling in its beauty. This, by far, was the most ravishing drink for the spirit. Also the very posh Milanese couple and family members were grounding to be around; they sung the language, which I studied for two years in high school.

Bacon, Francis 28/10/1909<O>28/4/1992

Michael: This fragment was a fifth-level mature artisan — fourth life thereat. Francis was in perseveration mode with a goal of rejection. A sceptic, Francis was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Francis’ body type was Saturn/Lunar.

Francis’ primary chief feature was impatience and the secondary arrogance.

The fragment Francis is fifth-cast in the fourth cadence; Francis is a member of greater cadence five. Francis’ entity is five, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

Francis’ essence twin is an artisan, who is extant, an interior decorator and female; his task companion a sage.

Francis’ primary needs were: expression, freedom and expansion.

There are 12 past-life associations with Arvin and 5 with Merlin. (February, 2018) _________________________________________

Portrait of D. H. Kahnweiler II

Crayon transfer Lithograph

1957 Pablo Picasso

British Museum

Day two of the Piccadilly line being down, and out into the grey-skied chill air, I ventured from the hotel, cutting across Russell Square and proved the first in line on Great Russell Street for the British Museum. Soon, Juan and I were chatting; he is in his eighth decade, enjoying retirement after a career spent at the Prado; he never said what he did. He clearly loved art and came every few months to London where the best exhibitions were to be had. Paris was long passé, Juan declared with a dismissive clipped laugh. After the not very dramatic Picasso print exhibition, I took off for The Japanese Galleries where, as ever, I found centre whilst visiting London. As agreed, we met up in the café, close to the two beautiful totem poles that lord over that sector of the sprawling institution.

Picasso, Pablo 25/10/1881<O>8/4/1973

Michael: This fragment was a seventh-level young warrior — third life thereat. Pablo was in aggression mode with a goal of dominance. A sceptic, Pablo was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Pablo’s body type was Venus/Saturn.

Pablo’s primary chief feature was exalted arrogance and the secondary greed fixated on accomplishments.

The fragment Pablo is second-cast in the second cadence; Pablo is a member of greater cadence four. Pablo‘s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 6, pod 404.

Pablo’s essence twin is a warrior and his task companion a scholar who was known to him.

Pablo’s primary needs were: expression, freedom and security.

There are 3 past-life associations with Arvin and 1 with Merlin. (January, 2018) __________________________

The Japanese Galleries, The British Museum

Returned to the hotel, I quickly fell into sleep’s welcome embrace. As is habit, I dreamt rather lucid dreams, especially so for being in London. Among those eight dreams in 3.5 hours was a rather lucidly awakened encounter with Prince William and his wife; she was cool, tense and disinterested. I had a distinct impression that her mood was more so to do with their state of affairs than myself or anyone else for that matter. The three of us were the only persons. Catherine who had been stooped to the moist, wet ground was planting clippings. She declined to look when William called after her announcing, “Look who’s here.” When she finally stood up, being clipped, dismissive and took leave of more so him than me, William placed his left palm on the small of my back, caressed me with his left thumb; throughout the dream, I could very intensely smell him. He was calm, centred and without the trappings of his waking persona – numerology, chief features and centre. William is an older soul – sixth mature, who like every one in acceptance was gracious and civil – his father, King Charles III is also in acceptance. I awoke and ventured by taxi to an evening with Vanessa, Clive and two of their four sons. It was a very emotional evening and none of the past 42 years of rich memories, family life and subsequent generations would have unfolded had I not acted on spirit and dreams which assured me that I had to set up Clive and Vanessa on a blind date, a lifetime ago.

St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle

Moments after having spent a good two minutes in reflection, head bowed, facing due north, I quickly took this photo looking eastward. I was not the first to have arrived in the line at Windsor castle on day four, but as everyone ventured towards the castle’s staterooms, I turned westward and briskly walked towards St. George’s Chapel. There was an American family who’d never been before. On entering, they turned right, as I turned left towards the great west doors, en route to pay homage. After a few words with the crimson-garbed cleric, I bowed and meditated. Suddenly, the first dream had of the recently passed Elizabeth II lucidly mushroomed in my mind. The dream reanimated about me as I watched myself walk towards the transitioning astral plane habituée and placed a garment about her, keeping her warm, honouring her richly ennobled life.

King George VI Memorial Chapel (DailyMail)

I came to as the American family, having erroneously wandered off to the Albert Memorial Chapel approached. I took leave, allowing them to visit with the large black Belgian marble slab with bronze inlays that marks where Queen Elizabeth II, Elizabeth, her mother, George VI, her father, Margaret Rose, her sister and Philip, her husband are together entombed. Simple, elegant… poignant.

Freedom. George Michael 1990

Naomi

Well before noon and I was returned to London where I alighted in South Kensington. Small, intimate and the two films that accompany the exhibition leave no doubt in one’s mind that Naomi is a Queen. If weight considerations were not a concern, I would have purchased a few coffee table books from the exhibition. I listened to George Michael’s Freedom for the rest of the afternoon until taking a nap. This tiny exhibition infuses the Victoria & Albert Museum with intense beauty and style.

Campbell, Naomi 22/5/1970 London, England.

Michael: This fragment is a second-level mature artisan – third life thereat. Naomi is in caution mode with a goal of rejection. A realist, she is in the moving part of emotional centre.

Naomi’s body type is Saturn/Mercury.

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

The fragment Naomi is fifth-cast in the sixth cadence; she is a member of greater cadence four. George’s entity is two, cadre four, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

Naomi’s essence twin is an artisan and her task companion is a sage.

Naomi’s primary needs are: exchange, expression and freedom.

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

Andy Warhol & Jean-Michel Basquiat. Michael Halsband 1985

Next stop, I was off downstairs at the Victoria & Albert Museum to be thoroughly consumed by the staggering creative legacy of pieces from Elton John & David Furnish’s art collection. Truly arresting and brilliantly impressive, Fragile Beauty is a masterful exhibition. In light of Quincy Jones’s recent passing, the constrictor enrobed Nastassja Kinski photographed by Richard Avedon proved even more captivating. Why have I yet to get the hype over The Beatles? George Harrison and his vibe, I fully get. Hey Jude will ever be a touchstone, but them as a ‘thing’ remains for me utterly elusive. Billie Holiday captured in song proved more captivating than I anticipated. Some shots brought back memories of living in New York City in the early 1980s. Always found Keith Haring’s pheromones off-putting; he moved in the same art circles as dancer turned designer and lover, Attila Isaksen. Smiled at the memory of Attila and I, watching through a skylight Robert Mapplethorpe engaging in S&M at a loft in Chelsea. Our one sexual encounter was intense; I felt overwhelmed by the inordinate looseness of the man. On two occasions he had been leaving the S&M loft upstairs as I came bounding up the stairs to the second storey loft below his friends’. The third time this occurred, he rushed into the loft after me and our tryst was a noisy, feverish business; it was obvious that he was taken by my explosive kinetic energy. The exhibition’s photograph of Mapplethorpe reveals a possessed ghost of the dazzling persona I had encountered in late 1982; clearly, at the time of the photograph, he was being consumed by AIDS. By far, the best photograph of Malcolm X is part of the Elton John & David Furnish collection.

Trial proof of Self-Portrait: Reflection. Lucian Freud 1996

There could be no doubt why the pilgrimage was undertaken. This Lucian Freud exhibition of prints, though, not disappointing, was not the soul-stirring rapture that was the Francis Bacon exhibition at The National Portrait Gallery. I had been hoping to see Kai, Bella and other more notable works. The whippet Hugo was, without doubt, the highlight of the exhibition… at least for me. Feet sore though manageably so, I was returned to Russell Square and a dream-filled nap with one very memorable flying dream.

Freud, Lucian 8/12/1922 Berlin<O>20/7/2011 London

Michael: This fragment was a fifth level mature priest – third life thereat. Lucian was in observation mode with a goal of dominance. Lucian was a sceptic who was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Lucian’s primary chief feature was stubbornness and his secondary chief feature was that of impatience.

Lucian had a Saturn/Mars body type.

Lucian’s casting is in the fourth position of the fourth cadence in the sixth greater cadence. He is a member of entity six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414 – Lucian is an entity mate of both Arvin and Merlin’s.

Essence twin for Lucian is a priest and his task companion is a slave.

The three primary needs for Lucian were: exchange, freedom and power.

There are 17 past-life associations with Arvin and 14 with Merlin. __________________________________________

The Tales of Hoffmann. Royal Opera House

Ah the magic of theatre. Naturally, as the house lights go down, Merlin always falls into my mind. I loved the fantastic elements of the Offenbach opera; so very rich, pandimensional and dream-like. A good seat was mine and adding to the experience was, the man in his early 30s sat next to me. He was possessed of that yearning so common to us the tribe of men. A Briton, he seductively danced as he had since boyhood with his chums. I sat comfortably engrossed in the opera, but was ever mindful of his arm and leg gently, with increasing tension, caressing against mine. By act three, he was sat arms folded his index and middle finger gently caressing my arm. Neither of us had moved from our seats during the second intermission; the date, copine, épouse whomever did leave whilst I sat deeply engrossed in my phone. Rhythmically, his thigh muscle flexing, thus he kept up the dance’s intensity. Though he proved arousing distraction, I was still disturbed after having visited with Vanessa and Clive, the latter clearly not much longer focussed in this world.

The Farnese Hercules. Royal Academy of Art

Last full day in the city where in the 18th century I enjoyed a life (male) at court as a musician. Always indeed, it is good to go home. I was returned to the Royal Academy of Art to finish off my tour of the place. There were, three days prior, too many kids screaming their lungs out. Satisfied, I then crossed Piccadilly and indulged in putting together an F&M hamper of goodies just in time for the holidays. Returned home, I read and rested up for the night ahead.

Tosca, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

Round two and back for more! Returned was I for a glorious night of Puccini as the most beautiful production of Tosca unfolded. Gloriously improved seating; good to feel the orchestra fully washing over me. This performance was riveting and its staging and design were stellar. During my return from the first intermission, I looked up to where I was sat the night prior. My yearning seat companion leaned forward in his seat to peer down at me. The dance ever endures. The sets were marvellous.

Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

The second intermission and I went outside to make a phone call. Whilst admiring the monstrous Rolls across the street and whose grill is visible in the right corner of the preceding photograph, a concert goer approached and declared that he was alone. Did I smoke? No. Would I like some company afterwards; I had almost forgotten how cocky I used to be when young. My phone buzzed; there was my cue. Silently, I returned across the street and pleasurably relaxed into my seat for Tosca’s final act. Midway through the curtain call, I made a dash for the exit and hung out just inside the stage door for about half an hour then made it to the Covent Garden tube station… alone. Yes, my darling, à la prochaine, London!

Jones, Quincy 14/3/1933 <O> 3.11.2024

Michael: This fragment was a fifth-level mature artisan – third life thereat. Quincy was in the power mode with a goal of dominance. A sceptic, Quincy was in the moving part of intellectual centre.

Quincy’s primary chief feature was arrogance and the secondary stubbornness.

Quincy’s body type was Venus/Mars.

The fragment Quincy is second-cast in the first cadence. Quincy is a member of greater cadence four. Quincy is a member of entity one, cadre one, greater cadre 4, pod 129.

Quincy’s essence twin is an artisan and the task companion is a sage.

Quincy’s four primary needs were: expression, adventure, power and communion.

There are 6 past-life associations with Arvin and 11 with Merlin. _______________________________________________

Quincy Jones & Orchestra

Jazz pour tous

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You are to Jazz what wings are to an ostrich; what the fuck do eagles care that queer, unaware ostriches have wings?

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Flying Dream in Lemuria, Twin Earth. (Redux)

04.01.202410.12.2024 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

On Monday, April 4, 1994, while the Moon transited both Capricorn and my eighth house, I would dream the following six dreams. These dreams were recorded on audiocassettes one hundred and eighty through one hundred and eighty-one.

These were marvellous dreams; there was flight and there were dreams of extra-humans. More than that, there was information gleaned in the final dream, which spoke of hidden knowledge about intelligent life here in the Solar system.

As ever, sweet and blissful dreams to you; I love you more.

Saw Wilbur Clemsworth and a couple of others outside, in this the first dream, where it was uncharacteristically sunny – at least by Vancouver standards. They were on an incline above and to the left of the street. As it turned out, they were on the hunt for extra-humans. This was because a singing, pink chimpanzee had fallen from the sky. Three or four guys had, thus far, been rounded up. A Chinese vagrant showed up from up the hill; he had been at a busy intersection seated on a large green-trunked tree. He pointed out that some of the knobby-trunked trees were, in fact, hosts for stowaway extra-humans.

I was part of the group and there were three or four others. They were all very odd-looking guys. I was then on a busy sidewalk where there energetically was lots of colour. Young couples hung out beneath café awnings whilst enjoying the Sun and their love. When looking down the block, I saw – two intersections away – a house that was painted an electric psychedelic array of colours: pinks, purples and greens predominating. There on the second storey and at the far-left window, the actor, Teri Garr was seen being deeply French-kissed by one of the extra-humans. The extra-human was a blonde vixen who literally raped Teri Garr of her breath.

I was with a very dark-skinned beauty who wore a tight white dress; there was African-beaded print that horizontally moved across the fabric. She walked so beautifully that I began dancing ahead of her while serenading her progression. Gingerly, dancing along the sidewalk, I did pas de courrus as in the coda from the Don Quixote grand pas de deux. Soon enough, I leapt into the air and took to flight. Effortlessly, I left the group and the area while moving through a towering canyonned growth of cedars. Eventually, I had come out to a cul-de-sac where the canyon ended. At that, I rose some three or four storeys higher into the air.

**Angolan Model, Maria Borges, Vogue Portugal**

Next, I started to make my way back. This time, however, I would veer off to the left; this brought into view the vibrantly painted tropical villas in the village. Going to the closest, it had orange-exteriored walls. On the villa’s patio, I would try dialling a brown phone. The phone was long abandoned, broken and cordless. As it was, the place had seemingly been broken into long ago. Going inside, there I found a lightweight silver camera; it was like the old, large flash numbers that the Hollywood paparazzi in the 1940s would use. On its underside was a large cartridge that sat to the left front when looking at it face on. On checking it out, it proved an empty case in which batteries could be stored.

I took a few frames of Penina da Braga who was about and was taken aback at the speed with which they were developed. Certainly, the thing did not seem like a Polaroid camera; yet, it had spat out the developed product even faster than a Polaroid would have. There were different exposures of Penina lying on a red footstool. The stool was reminiscent of the tacky ones that used to be at 122 Mortimer Avenue. Large enough, it was such that it could comfortably host her curled up body. Penina reclined with right knee up with her face inclined to the right. While posing, she had squarely looked up into the camera. Her pose and energy were rather warm and arrestingly beautiful. She was so impressively alive and awakened here.

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Going into a large, nearby empty hall, during this the second dream, there I saw a curly-haired man who was distinctly Jewish. We sat in one corner by some crates and started fondling each other. He let me know that he has got quite the mouthful. Soon, he had gotten up onto his knees facing me and rammed his ridiculously huge thick dick down my throat. His cock was so massive that I began gagging on the damn thing. I did not appreciate his hairy-back-and-arsed brawny approach. A real low-browed grunt he was.

He then yanked his monster schlong away from me. Next, he got up and left by the doors that were off to my left rear. Waiting there interminably, he never did show up again. This is the sort of thing that one could readily expect of someone of his ilk whose raison d’être is fucking le tout goyim because… well… one can. Soon after, a tall cropped-haired brunette appeared and walked her horsy-faced arse past me. By now, I was in lotus position in the middle of the room. As a result, she went and took the same position to my rear. She laughed at me as I tried bending forwards to place my chest on the floor. I had had to use my clasped hands behind my back throughout the exercise.

I had placed my hands such, to give myself momentum; however, in this instance, it caused me to fall forwards onto my forehead. Meanwhile, the size queen in me was disappointed that the wunder-schlonged Jew had not reappeared.

*Roy Cohn was not the subject of this dream; however, the Jew encountered had the same vile, racist, depravity of spirit about him. END.

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**Forest with Moss-Covered Alder Trees**

Next, in this the third dream, I was walking in a grove of mossy alder. While there, I saw a species of reptile never before encountered in the dreamtime. About 8-12 inches long, they were diamond-headed and looked like young snakes. Fat-bodied, they had a short squat tail. Theirs were large black eyes with wide round mouths which were not unlike some lizards’. They did not, however, have four limbs like an iguana whose length they approximated. Nor, for that matter, did they have two limbs like a tadpole’s whose short finlike tail they matched. The face and neck of these creatures were white throughout. Too, the white applied to their undersides just aft of what would have been their four limbs.

They clung to the barks sucker-style and always hung such that their faces always faced down to the ground. Observing them for a while, I was intrigued to find out how they managed locomotion. They were never anything but perfectly immobile with the most penetrating gaze. Their intelligence was so uncannily discernible that it was almost as if they were looking into you. There was a real scorpionic intensity to their eyes; in that sense, they were not unlike Pericles da Braga’s eyes. The edge of having a scorpionic Moon that affords such persons the ability to directly look into you.

Prashant Sharma, too, does have this characteristic. Without warning, one of them leapt from its suckered perch and directly made for my face in one lightning fast move. In one agile duck, I was cleared of being attacked by the stealthy creature. From my squat position, I made a plié of it and pounced with feline ease into the air. Shooting upwards, I flew high into the air and thus avoided contact with these creatures. I then came to perch atop a 150-foot cedar which was no taller than its neighbours. The creature had been so fiercely agile that I experienced its approach as if it were happening in slow-motion. Finally, I had gotten their locomotion figured out; they simply sprung like a cobra on the attack.

They, though, were able to will themselves through the air; it was as though it were an aqueous medium and they merely newborn puppy sharks. When making for their chosen target, they simply bolted at you in an arrow-like short flight. They flew with their mouths agape because on landing, they took initial purchase by clamping down hard with their fierce-looking mouths. Theirs was a mouth full of razor-sharp-looking teeth with double fangs no less; they were a truly monstrous sight. The others, meanwhile, bolted for cover as I took flight. I suppose that they were surprised that I could fly; well, I am certainly no sleepwalker when in the dreamtime.

*This jarring experience, which truly terrified me, had had the advantageous effect of manipulating my problem neck vertebrae. Goodness knows that they had been a source of much pain of late. On awakening, I was really only too glad to have been free of the pain. When the sudden jarring motion of being startled by the attacking creature had occurred, in the dreamtime, I was suddenly aware of my body lying asleep in the pyramid. At the time, my spine was being manipulated back into place. Although I had been acutely aware of the corrective manipulation of my spine, I had not awakened.

Though I continued to be ‘under’ in the dream state, I was spatially aware of my waking state body. I remained focussed and engaged in the process of dreaming. As a result, these strange creatures could be said to have been healers whose purpose it was, to have jarringly righted my aches at this time.

**As will be obvious, this manipulation occurred in preparation of the astral projection that would take place during the sixth and final dream. END.

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Next, in this the fourth dream, I found myself in Crab Hill, Sandy Point, St. Kitts. At the time, I was walking and thinking of Pandora da Braga as I progressed on foot across the bridge to Patrice Wellesley’s store just a short distance away. As I did so, I had heard someone call out to me and it turned out to have been Ian Banks Jr.. He then called me inside where we visited; he was exceptionally handsome. He took a break from working at the store and asked me to join him for a drink. Dimpled, he was stout and had a bit of a paunch which I found surprising.

Dismissing my fears about him possibly rejecting me, he was genuinely pleased to have seen me. I had had concerns all along that he would not have approved of me – if only because of my sexual proclivities. This man’s presence was so very real and intense that I was completely energised by him. I was really turned on by his strong sexual magnetism. Finding myself in such strongly intense dreams has never ceased to inspire awe within me. Pandora then joined us and let me know that she didn’t appreciate my being loudmouthed about her having gone Rasta, “to please some stinking-mouthed, potbellied wimp.”

You just know too that I had said as much with regards to Roman Danier. Pandora here was long-haired; her hair was braided in cornrows. Looking to shift gears, I had asked her if she had had to cut off her dreadlocks to start all over again. Somehow, she had apparently gotten her hair untangled by a professional and was able to braid it. This I thought was highly unlikely.

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I went into a work area, in this the fifth dream, by some oversized cases beyond a set of machinery. There I saw Lola Davidoff as well as Lawrence Moncton. Naturally, Lola was wearing a hat and looked as stylish as ever. I was really pleased to have seen her. She wore a black outfit. There was a slight bit of tension as Lawrence was being sarcastic. Abruptly, I took my leave of them as I was not prepared to suffer either him or his bullshit.

Lola, however, was genuinely pleased to have seen me. She had been visiting with Lawrence when I happened on them. This woman was so sweet on running into her. Her face was so cute; her face was like a little China doll’s. She readily lit up and she does, in fact, remind me of Inge Wolfgang.

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In what proved the sixth dream, I went through the multi-tiered lobby of a large palatial hotel. Lots of gold leaf everywhere; the carpet was a rich mix of red and gold. The interiors were wide and spacious and of old stone. The place looked as if it had been hanging around for several millennia. The colour of these walls was an off-white to near-sandy tone.

I then walked past models in different salons; they were being prepared to be in a show. Specifically, they were there to model hats; some of these hats were cascading with lots of tulle and feathers. High heels and body stockings were de rigueur. A tall, light-skinned, big-nosed Black hairdresser did the many Black models; they were all together on one side of the large vestibule of the floor that I was on. This place was quite large. Across the hallway, all the White models were being prepared; this was about their hair being prepared in as natural a state as possible. This, therefore, did require different approaches and thus the separation of the models.

I did though notice that the White models were being prepared in a much better salon than that of their counterparts. I wondered if this hairdresser was in fact Chiquita Fines, whom I’ve not yet met in the waking state but have been meaning to see.

*Chiquita would prove herself a cross-dressing queer bird, who was given to pressing up against me while having my hair permed. Certainly, it took me a while to realise the reason for the long penetrating staring, while doing my hair, when I finally figured out that it was Chiquita’s cock that was aggressively pressing against my forearm as I sat there having her/him work on my hair. END.

She did though remind me of Carmelina Dunkins, that Jamaican shrew who works in Toronto. Taking my leave of the place, I moved to the outdoors where I found myself in a covered alcove that turned out to be high up the massive structure. I was so thrilled by the density of this architectural gem that I stretched out my hands drinking in this strange city’s beauty. Across the way, on the other side of a body of water, which from the towering heights where I stood looked jet black, was a massive structure in the same Gothic style as Westminster Palace.

**Twin Earth, Relatively Gargantuan & Millennially More August**

This, however, was considerably larger; the structure was easily 7-10 times more massive than Westminster Palace. I was so invigorated by this massive metropolis that I climbed up on the balustrade then pushed off and began flying. This city was just as colossal as that encountered when up on the winding road of a city, where I was in search of a concert hall. That was that very same dream in which I would have a most sublime encounter with Merlin on July 9, 1993. Of course, that dream is in this blog and entitled: “Won’t take the A train.”

I had flown out, too, to get a better view of this truly massive city. The blackened river way below was so coloured because for being canyonned by all these massive structures, it never got direct sunlight. The replica of Westminster Palace was made from a darker rock and easily 15 millennia older than the current structure on the banks of the river Thames. What really struck me too, about this building, was that I thought at the time of how much it made Westminster Palace comparatively look like a child’s toy model of the real thing.

Finally, on getting out into the beautiful-feeling sunlight, I turned around while I had been hovering at least forty storeys above the light-starved blackened river. I had done so to gaze at the structure from which I had just flown. Though a hotel, it seemed like a beautiful palatial structure on the banks of the ancient river. The structure was sandstone and Château-like in style. Easily in excess of twenty storeys, this was a truly massive structure.

This palatial structure made the Château Frontenac in Québec City look like a child’s dollhouse. There were innumerable dark spired turrets everywhere like at Château de Chenonceau. Fleetingly, I experienced a stabbing anxiety at being so high up in the air with a body of water way below. I was worried as to whether or not I would be able to stay aloft at these heights. Thanks to the sombre, umbraed river way below, I was also fearful of possibly experiencing vertigo. Isha da Braga came rushing out onto the balcony, from which I had flown, and excitedly called out to me.

She was worried to death that I would fall; she excitedly demanded that I return at once. Truly fearful, she asked that I stop being reckless with my life and to please return. Poor dear, she didn’t quite get it; this was about complete release and being at one with All. This dream was truly lyrical; it was sheer poetry. This architecture was as distinctive and revolutionary as Antoni Gaudí’s vision has to date been on this planet.

Looking up above me, I found out that the sky too was jet black and rather ominous looking. One had the sense that there was a giant black hole on the verge of devouring the local star to this world – just as it had all others in its wake. There were no doubts in my mind that this was, definitely, not here on Earth. This, altogether, was a totally different star system to Sol. Everything here was so intense and existed on a scale that was anywhere from 3-10 times more colossal than anything on Earth which closely resembled it. Most of all, this was a beautiful old-souled world.

Architecturally, buildings here were considered old if they had survived past a dozen millennia. What really impressed me about this astrally projected experience, though, was the fact that everything was so alive, awakened and real. My senses were keenly attuned. The light here, though beneath a jet-black sky, was more intense than on Earth. Though I never did see the star, or stars, of this particular system, nonetheless, it was a stellar source which was far more intense and powerful than Sol.

A truly rhapsodic dream this proved. After having telepathically told her not to worry, I spent a great deal of time soaring higher and just indulging in every aspect of this marvellous place and completely ignored Isha.

*Before having begun audiocassette-recording the dreams, as well as after having stopped recording the dreams on audiocassettes, I have had many dreams which were set on a companion Earth. What was interesting to have discovered, is that this twin of Earth, is right here in Sol orbit, rather, than about another star. According to these dreams, the parallel Earth, which is exactly the same size as Gaia, is at exactly the same location in its orbit about Sol as Earth. That planet, however, is on the opposite side of Sol and as it travels in the same orbital plane as Earth and has the exact rotation and speed as Earth, we never see it.

In that sense, Earth’s twin which sits on the other side of Sol is much like the dark side of the Moon. Just as we never see that side of the Moon, we have also never seen Earth’s twin in the diurnal or nocturnal skies. At this time, there is common knowledge of this planet’s existence by some governmental agencies. Conversely, that twin Earth has not one but two moons. They sit at the same distance relative to Earth’s Moon to the Earth twin.

One is roughly 81.5 per cent the size of Earth’s Moon. The other is roughly 18.5 per cent the size and mass of Earth’s Moon. The smaller Moon orbits the larger one and together they have the same tidal effects on the Earth’s twin as does Earth’s moon, Luna. The twin Moons of Earth’s twin affords its ensouled inhabitants greater psychic and telepathic abilities than Earth’s humans.

However, as that world is light years more technologically advance and is populated by different ensouled species, who peaceably cohabit their planet, it is best to keep mere mortals of this planet in the dark. Incidentally, both Atlantis and Lemuria are current and starfaring civilsations on that parallel Earth. Atlantis is an aquatic civilisation of seafaring humanoids which is where the tales of mermaids originates. Lemurians are a land-based civilisation.

More than 80, 000 years ago, the Lemurians altered their genetics to totally remove the primate instincts which left their DNA prone to being a warring race – as for that matter are Earth’s humans. Atlantean Mermen do not have primate genetics and thus were never warring. Too, there are three races of ensouled cetaceans on that world. Further there are at least two dozen extra-human races with which they are in regular and ongoing contact. The parallel Earth is a favourite, galactic tourist destination. From time to time, visiting extra-humans to the hidden Earth twin venture to Earth and these are the UFOs/Aliens reported.

The reason for the sky appearing so black and foreboding, I should think, has much to do with Twin Earth having developed the technological ability to cloak the planetary and lunar space. This would afford them the ability to not be detected or photographed by a now-spacefaring, albeit solar, Earth civilisation which could prove hostile to them. I should think that the foreboding blackness of the sky, observed from while being in the dream in flight on the planet, protects Twin Earth from any contaminants, especially nuclear, from Earth should there be any accidents. This makes perfect sense when considering that both planets share the same orbit about Sol. That blackness of the sky, though it was daytime, is what affords Twin Earth from going undetected.

Roughly, 17 per cent of current Earthly humans have had a reincarnation cycle on Earth’s twin and are therefore intuitively aware of that world. For these humans, it is part of their soul memories and periodically is accessed in dreams. END.

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A Love Supreme John Coltrane 1965 Full Album

Part I – Acknowledgement

Part II – Resolution

Part III – Pursuance

Part IV – Psalm

John Coltrane – Soprano & Tenor Saxophone

Jimmy Garrison – Double Bass

Elvin Jones – Drums

McCoy Tyner – Piano

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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: #RiverThames

Hello, My Darling!

Flying Dream in Lemuria, Twin Earth. (Redux)