Gonna Have A Gay Ole Time in Rio!

01.05.202528.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

Peter Allen – I Go to Rio 1976

That’s right, for this old earth that we so love, we are gonna shoot the jizz in Brasil! We are gonna have us a Gay ole time at the SolarJizz Gala. Without doubt, #peggalicious and his *BAC posse are going to have a riotous time of debauched late night man-on-man loving, whether at Ipanema or Abricó beach. This will be the moving-centred aggressive-sexed one’s liberation and coming out romp through the country that annually hosts the world’s largest Gay Pride parade.

Catherine at Her Most Radiant

If the murmurs are to prove true, in due course, and the Waleses are to be officially divorced, let’s just take this time to salute Catherine. Let me make it perfectly clear, your first impressions matter, though, your opinions of someone’s actions in due course prove them unsavoury. The fact is that in the first minute of this video except from TRH The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s wedding in 2011, one was readily enamoured with Catherine and completely enthralled by her intoxicating allure. What is a woman at her wedding but a Queen being crowned, even Baron Richard Chartres, Bishop of London said as much that day. Look at Catherine’s eyes, she is utterly radiant and magical. It was the most sublime theatre. Catherine has always had great power in her projection of her Michael overleaves, her role in essence and who she has been reincarnationally in the British monarchy. Pupils fully dilated, Catherine was most ravishing.

Catherine in the late 14th century was Mary du Bohun, first wife and Queen of King Henry IV’s. She died during childbirth with Philippa, who became Queen of Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Henry IV is currently, HRH Prince William, The Prince of Wales and her daughter, whom she did not know in that life, is currently her firstborn, HRH Prince George of Wales. Prince George is a fourth Mature King, and his closeness to his father is as much to do with a rich past-life history as it does William’s responsibility to groom Prince George to be sovereign in due course.

Not only are Catherine and William task companions, but she is a warrior soul to his scholar soul; they are also mature souls, which is beset by tempestuous emotionality and drama. There are two soul bonds that are most trying, yet the most compelling, that of task companions and essence twins. It is the one soul to whom you are most intensely bonded each time you encounter regardless the outward relationship when incarnate. Famous essence twins were Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, which is why they remarried and had such a volatile relationship. Essence twins are consumed with each other, especially when in a physical/romantic relationship to the exclusion of all others in their lives, especially so children. Less intense, but by no means not intense, is the relationship of task companions. Catherine is a fifth mature warrior and William and sixth mature scholar.

Regardless their sex, a warrior is always the dominant partner in any relationship whether as lovers, parent/child, friend/foe. Catherine having an energy body of 9 makes her steely and formidable foe for William or anyone. In the GIF above, William is being submissive to Catherine and his goal of acceptance plus is energy body of three (peacemaker, gracious, tactful, but archly manipulative, duplicitous when negatively focussed) is dowsed by Catherine’s brittle 9 energy body. Catherine’s mindset of 1 leaves her ruggedly individualistic and not given to be ‘out there’ or ‘on.’ Persons with 1 mindset are not social butterflies and would prefer nothing better than to stay indoors and let the world “go fuck right off” – this is why Catherine was dubbed ‘Princess Do-Little by The Late Queen Elizabeth II. Catherine is a warrior and knows her power. As of July 22, 20213, she became the most powerful woman in the House of Windsor, even more so than The Queen – she became future king mother.

Get Off Me!

As the preceding clip validates, William with his 9 mindset is quite capable of giving as good as he gets. 9 energy is about being fault-finding, nitpicking, difficult, snobbish, boorish, shit-disturbing, obstreperous. It is virtually impossible to cohabit with a person who is 9 energy anything, however, when you have a couple who both have 9 in their numerology and they happen to be task companions, you can expect nothing but prickly, combustible relations at least once per week. 9 energy is simply exhausting. It has not been easy for Catherine, but she is a warrior and will always give as good as she gets. Task companions, even if they mate for life, will at some point have to live separately to avoid destroying each other or simply imploding of exhaustion. In the case of Catherine and William they each need an ‘out’ from each other; how they manage to, is their business. However, it is plain to see that William has had enough of putting up with shit; he was simply not brought up to take shit from anyone.

There has been serious disruption in their relationship and it is hard to know whether she suffered a breakdown when slapped with a demand for a separation or divorce; perhaps King Charles simply wants them not to make his waning years wrought with the same drama that plagued his mum’s reign as he fought and destroyed, in tandem with Queen Camilla, Diana, Princess of Wales’s life. Ultimately, William is the product of a divorce, so he may well see himself entitled to walk away from a problem marriage just as much as his father did. Too, there is the matter of his being heir and having the right to dispense with a wife, if he’s had enough. William is the principal and whatever he does, the kingdom with slavishly obey and support him in his wishes.

Easter Sunday 2025 Royal Family St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle

There were two lies widely disseminated about the Waleses not being in attendance at Easter Sunday service, 2025. William does not like going to church. The Waleses chose to spend Easter with Catherine’s family in Bucklebury. Naturally, after having been exposed for being on their second skiing holiday weeks earlier, the Waleses nor their gutter press henchmen could not speciously allege that they were away, owing to Catherine’s cancer recovery, leaving her a bit under the weather. Her sister, Philippa Matthews has already outed Catherine’s cancer fakery by stating to the press that Catherine has not been ill in the traditional sense. Hours later, Catherine’s sister Philippa’s remarks disappeared from the press. Naturally, William has recently consulted the legal firm which his late mother, whom he dismissed as paranoid, Diana, Princess of Wales’s employed during her divorce. Of course, Catherine has not attended the last two state banquets as separated or divorced royals can no longer wear tiaras.

Drunk and barefooted in Courchevel. Skiing cancer break. Predatory in Birmingham

Second skiing trip of the year, in between which was a jaunt to Mustique for the cancer-faker to sun herself and not give a damn about the little people. I just don’t get how The Waleses have such open contempt for the kingdom. Stop making excuses for William stating that he did not attend Easter Sunday service 2025 because he does not like going to church. That is his duty as heir and future sovereign as Supreme Governor of the Church of England. Granted that Easter Sunday service is classified as a family event; however, both Sovereign and heir have attended for the optics of it. Let’s also not forget that William is not a cancer sufferer, despite how gaunt and god awful he looks on meeting Trump at the Paris embassy in December, 2025, which is more likely due to his alcoholism. However, if as Poland and Vladimir Putin have openly stated that they know that Charles is not William’s father, even going so far as to state that his father is 4th Baron Rothschild, that would certainly explain his disinterest in having to attend church services. I might also add, there is much credence given to those claims when William bears an uncanny resemblance to a famous Canadian Ashkenazy film industry professional’s son.

Mere Milquetoast William Brusquely Dismissed by the Felon Boor

Just look at the way the lightweight, royal poseur and as claimed, interloper, is dismissed and shoved out of the way by the felon, who has evaded justice thanks to the power of racism in America. William is gaunt, looks unwell or it may well be that he’s just a damn drunk. As ever, the energy body of 3, has him do his studied hand-clasping routine to no effect as Trump knows that there is no one more important than himself, positively no one. All the world is a stage, indeed, and at that level of society there are no secrets. Trump would turn on William in a nanosecond if it suited his agendum at the moment. William has no cache; he’s built up no capital as a statesman. He has kept his sniffing, twitchy interloper ghoulish hide in the wings, too afraid and unaware of the bigger picture to ever venture centre stage.

Trump, Macron, Zelensky. No William

The Daily Mail’s specious assertions that William at Pope Francis’s funeral proved himself an elder statesman who had the forethought to bring Presidents Trump and Volodymyr Zelensky together, is pure sophistry. William was never present and why would he be, all three men do not waste their time, thinking of William as a statesman; William is not. The thing about all 3 energy body persons is that they are also the most charming, totally superficial and polished operators. To the core, though, they are each one, the most backstabbing duplicitous and manipulative energy body you’ll ever encounter. To be sure, the most dominant statesman with the keenest, shrewdest intellect is Macron. Notice that he declined shaking Trump’s hand. Macron knows that Trump is a damn fool and a menace. Macron shook Zelensky’s hand to remind him not to take the fool seriously and that no matter what, those who matter have Zelensky’s back, not Trump. Trump is energy body of 5 – liar, fool, crazy and dangerous. Zelensky is energy body of 7 – amoral, cutthroat and survivalist. Marcon is energy body of 3, the most ruthless, strategic, and purposeful assassin of the lot.

King George V has the exact same numerology as Prince William. Added to all, that William is a sixth mature Scholar soul who is moving centred. This is someone who not only screams and is difficult in the extreme, the saying shoots first then asks later, is endemic of persons who are moving centred. This, of course, was borne out in Prince Harry’s SPARE when he told of the kitchen incident at Nottingham Cottage when William confronted Harry, assaulted him, shoved him to the floor then quickly recoiled afterwards and demanded that he not speak about it to Meghan. The incident validates exactly what someone who is 3 energy bodied and moving centred would do in such a situation. Also, William has a goal of acceptance, in the positive pole, these are the kindest, gentlest most loving persons; however, in the negative pole, they slip to its opposite goal of Rejection and do just that with everyone… everything. William when encountered in dreams is always focussed in his goal of acceptance. William, though, is a scholar soul and there are more assassins, bullies, executioners, gangsters, serial killers who are scholars than not – they do not do emotions. They simply do not care. Queen Camilla is also a scholar soul, which explains why she was so driven and obsessed with stalking and literally driving Diana, Princess of Wales out of her life. In this life, William has chosen a goal of acceptance to temper his innate inability to care, give a damn and not be arrogant as all hell. Obviously, one of the reasons why he has a drinking problem is because he is so rarely focussed in his goal of acceptance. All the ‘drama’ against the Sussexes is manipulated by him; he is excessive in the extreme. It does not help that he is on the spectrum as this would mean an almost diabolical obsession with Meghan as we see being played out. Unmistakably, William’s callous dismissal of Harry and his Black wife, is precisely like King George V’s response to the Romanovs, his relatives, “Let them eat lead!” In essence, William sees Harry with his Black wife and their son, Prince Archie, whom he dismissed by stating, “I’m already an uncle,” as much a liability for the House of Windsor’s image as George V saw the equally foreign, Russian relations, Tsar Nicholas II and his entire family. The specific combination of the four numbers 2, 3, 5 and 9 has the exact motivation and results for both King George V and Prince William, The Prince of Wales, which in their case is: 3.9.2 = 5.

Meghan: It’s Your Brother, I’m Not Going to Say Anything about Your Brother

Meghan, possessed of master number 11, displays a greater intellect than William or Catherine. With that statement by Meghan, “It’s your brother, I’m not going to say anything about your brother. It’s so obvious.” Meghan displays her mettle and her superior intellect. Meghan is more shrewd than any other member of the House of Windsor and they know it. She terrifies them, yet she has said nothing save elegantly state fact in the most poised manner before Oprah and the world. That interview is an historic document which will be celebrated, in time, for what a master strategist Meghan is. She was after all the Tudor matriarch, Margaret Beaufort, mother of King Henry VII, grandmother of King Henry VIII and great grandmother of Queen Elizabeth I.

Another display of William’s controlling, duplicitous energy body of 3 on display occurred when this exposé of him and family on their second skiing holiday of 2025 appeared. This, of course, occurred weeks after they had been to Mustique; she, cancer-faker Catherine, likely laid around in the sun, being thermoregulatory aka sunbathing – reptilian that she is, and likely without a hat. I know of no one with cancer who goes skiing twice in as many months with a sunbathing holiday thrown in for relief. William has been incandescent with rage and threatened legal action for the French publication having invaded his privacy.

Catherine Visits with Scouts

Naturally, this was good for the idle arrogant principals to have released an old video of #sportykate getting down with the Scouts. Purely PR, the scout visit video dropped a week after the Paris Match exposé, though, the visit had occurred the month prior. That’s right, nothing to see here, move along and go lynch the #yank. What these not very bright third-tier pantomime players do not realise, is that in releasing this tawdry video in response to the Paris Match exposé, proves that Catherine has not been sick with cancer. Her sick subplot has been about buying her damage repair and an overhaul of her image, in response to the racist royals exposé in Omid Scobie’s Endgame.

Cancer-Stricken Catherine Initiates Kiss with Female Wimbledon Champion 2024

When you need an excuse to counter why you have refused to tour predominantly Black Commonwealth nations in Africa, you make it so that you are too ill to even do a full schedule of royal engagements within the kingdom. Post disappearing act, the pantomime’s thermoregulatory reptilian, Catherine, now does Trooping the Colour, St. Patrick’s Day, Remembrance Sunday and her wishy-washy Christmas Carol nonsense, which unsurprisingly is about as engaging as she is charismatic.

Going to Rio!

Having launched a not too successful hostile takeover of Sentebale, along comes #peggalicious drunkenly flexing. With an obligatory Black woman in the announcement, fiendishly the Windsor interloper gloats at his latest attack on Harry’s superior accomplishments as he announces his latest vanity venture, which is truly an ode to folie de grandeur.

As the drunken interloper can’t for a nanosecond stop obsessing over Meghan, the wayward bastard has sprung for more drama. That’s right, the 9 mindset and that drama-crazed 5 fourth number lusts for more than just debauched sex; it also wants revenge against the Negro Yank that dare try to enter the Guglielean court. Absolutely not! Under no circumstances is the fourth baron’s bastard suffering any such indignity… just imagine the Vesuvian screams every time that delicate, spectrum fare #peggalicious experiences at the thought of Meghan, let alone Meghan failing to be bothered by his lunatic existence, after having very firmly, a tone filled with rumbling tectonics, stating, “If you don’t mind, keep your finger from my face…”

So like a loyal sex slave, with the sort of pretty Jo-Beth Vance eyes, to be bearded and moustachioed; all the better to tickle the rim with bristly stubble. This grovelling nez brun, like pure white Texas calla lily, has the flute of its two major orifices – anus and mouth – stuffed and pegged good by fingers, fist and cock as the Guglielean court has taken febrile debauched shape. There is positively nothing about this no-chinned, snivelling kiss-ass that says that he did not spend his youth in America, passionately consumed with racially predatory animus towards Blacks. Finally at the ass-sniffing Guglielean court, he’s flowered into quite the malodorous specimen; indeed, this is no mere calla lily, he’s nothing but a stinking, showy agave Americana. The easiest thing for the White tribe to do, in their obsession with Blacks, is tell a lie and readily, they’ve long assumed that it will be either believed or true for saying so.

Gay Ole Brasileiro

That’s right, girlfriend, you take the Guglielean court’s harem of *BAC and go to Rio and have yourselves a Gay ole time. Thermoregulating your reptilian, no-calved, flat-assed, clit-nosed, lizard-lipped melanin-deficient freakdom at Ipanema then partying long into the night, pegged, bothered whilst having a well-fisted drunken, wasted time of it after the SolarJizz prize, is ultimately where it is at. Darling long before you reincarnated cum interloper, we’ve been there, done that… you are neither a mystery nor are we fooled. Go on, Jacob Lusk, take us to church and sing these tired fools to the back of the bathhouse…

Bennie and the Jets by Jacob Lusk Library of Congress Gershwin Prize

That’s right, flying down to Rio, in the country with the largest Gay Pride parade, if not the planet’s largest Gay population. Though it is now impossible to find, back in 2023, there was a revelatory video of #peggalicious at SolarJizz in Singapore where he had a member of his entourage who was seen walking a few paces ahead, energetically get the attendant crowds to start screaming, clapping and going into sycophantic meltdown as the charisma-challenged interloper approached.

Adrienne Warren TINA The Musical Royal Variety Performance 2018

Not only was this a great performance – those chops, but Harry & Meghan were the royals in attendance that night in November, 2018. I could not manage a ticket to the Aldwych Theatre production when visiting in November, 2018; I would love to have seen her commanding performance.

**Prince Andrew, Duke of York 19.2.1960 Year of the Rat 1.3.1 = 5**

Well, what have we here, on the magnificent day of the funeral of Pope Francis – a truly beautiful and unsurpassed affair, Andrew was suddenly uppermost in everyone’s consciousness. It was only the weekend prior that the delusional boor was front and centre at the Easter Sunday service at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor. Perhaps, this was an attempt to rehabilitate his image and welcome him back into the royal fold; however, a week later the tide has definitely turned. Rather conveniently, the suicide of the American trafficked by Jeffrey Epstein with an unsavoury and undeniable association to Andrew had suicide. Certainly, it all stinks and it was HLM, Queen Elizabeth II who paid off the trafficked American woman 13£m.

What was to be expected was that product of 182 years of reparations to Britons for the financial blow to them, for having mightily profited from the enslavement of Blacks, to raise her rear right leg and engage in classist condescension. True to form, there was viscomtesse Victorianus de Herpees copping hauteur and feigning compassion about the trafficked American’s suicide, which without doubt does not pass the sniff test. Of course, one could expect nothing less from the Cannes Festival yacht-hopping zombie. To look at it, you just know that like a urinal in a high-trafficked, very cruisy washroom, it’s perpetually pissed on and full of cum. Enough about bipedal urinals. How exactly are the Fleet Street abattoir hacks and the senior royals going to address this obvious wrinkle in Andrew’s rehabilitation? What new plot twist next for the macabre pantomime?

Reptilian humanoids from Luigi Serafini’s Codex Seraphinianus

It is abundantly clear to those who choose to perceive that some are decidedly not like us. They who thermoregulate are remarkably queer. They are also clearly of reptilian stock, which is why they are consumed with thermoregulating; it is in their genes. The too-short arms, the legs sans calves, the smell, the thin reptilian lips and the need to be ever focussed in the reptilian brain stem – violent, predatory… indeed, cannibalistic.

Naomi Campbell Met Gala 2019

May 2019, After Meghan wedded Prince Harry and became the first Black royal in the House of Windsor, Pierpaolo Piccioli had Naomi star in his stunning campaign that year, which predominantly featured Black models for the Valentino haute couture show. It was stunning. So then look at the old reptilian Hollywood casting couch worker in back, hissing away. Desperately, she is trying to get into the shot but she knows Naomi will have none of it, and why should she? All that casket fugitive had ever done was banged what few Straight actors there were in Hollywood, most notably Warren Beatty, yet he still never her had her star in any of his films. Fast forwards a couple of years and there is the clit-nosed thermoregulating reptilian – they with the skin that does not fare too well with age (ew) and she is out front hissing and lynching Meghan at every opportunity. Notice the way she flicks the fan because, how dare ‘she’ Naomi, get all that attention when she is nothing more than those of enslaved stock. Work that fan, you blasted oxygen thief. Go on, your shadow’s tired of your reflection in the mirror, it’s warming your casket.

Leopold 9.4.1835 Year of the Goat 9.4.3 = 7. Catherine 9.1.1982 Rooster 9.1.3 = 4

One of the hallmarks of persons with an energy body of 9, is that they are incredibly racist… regardless of race. 9 energy body persons are ruthless, cold, sadistic, vengeful and given to being violent, bullying. Of course, one only ever hears of Meghan being bullying, which is truly all about #peggalicious and his #mumblelina beard projecting like mad. Leopold II was not only racist but he went to great lengths to make sure that there were no historical ambiguities about his racist convictions. As future King Mother, Catherine too is possessed of immense power and given her chance to flex her reptilian claws, well of course she would readily do so. After all, it is not as though Meghan were of Jewish heritage… far from it. Moreover, Catherine and Leopold II have three numbers in common. If you want to know what Leopold II was like to some degree but not exactingly so, as they do not have the same numbers in same positions as George V & Prince William, take a keen look at Catherine. Both Catherine and Leopold II have/had 9 and 3 in the same position with the third number they share, 4, in different positions but they numerologically are/were rather similar.

TRH Prince & Princess of Wales, William & Catherine

Not for a second does one forget or cut these two slack for their racially predatory ugliness towards not just Meghan, but Harry too. The magic, theatre and allure that was a royal wedding – that once in a generation spectacle that we had last witnessed with Charles and Diana, was upon us, 14 years ago. Now here was a brunette, with sparkling eyes and radiant smile with a long, delicate neck. She was, at her wedding, perfection in her Alexander McQueen haute couture; she glowed and was ravishing on April 29, 2011 – the feast day of St. Catherine of Siena. Then, from the start in the carriage ride to Buckingham Palace from William initially sitting incorrectly, to not waiting until Catherine was sat before doing so, but they rowed all the way down the mall to Buckingham Palace. This is the push-pull nature of the task companion relationship. They have been openly hostile towards each other; they are both possessed of 9 energy and do not give a damn what their public displays look like. So on the occasion of their fourteenth wedding anniversary, not only is the cancer-stricken Catherine been on two skiing trips this year, but she has also been to indulge in some reptilian thermoregulating in Mustique, but now here she is openly drinking in public. No other royal woman has been more photographed not just with drink in hand but openly drinking than Catherine. Catherine is, among other things, a drunk – thereby discrediting the notion that she has been cancer-stricken all this time. They are, fourteen years on, not close. William hands are always clasped and never engaging her. Even when they were stood with backs to the camera, in the money shot, William chose to look down rather than at her or with head lovingly, protectively leaning in towards her.

BBC Royal Wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge, William and Catherine

As I am a keen observer of human behaviour and also a hopeless romantic, at least thrice annually, I look at the Cambridges’ wedding. Similarly, I do the same for TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussexes’ wedding. Weddings are a beautiful human ritual; these royal weddings are also about observing human inter-dynamics, society and Britain’s class system. Regardless the strained relations between both royal brothers and their families, they are still Diana, Princess of Wales’s sons and for that reason, I will never tire, looking at both their weddings and, beyond their flaws, not see the beauty of their late mum in them. Watching their weddings always reminds me how much, Diana, Princess of Wales was a positive force in the world. Do not ever forget what Harry said to Oprah, and in this case, William does not get to get away, leave from the woman who stalked his mother, broke up her marriage and caused unimaginable pain – the pain of betrayal which William has been left to re-enact with his brother, Harry.

Ella Fitzgerald LIVE in Sweden. 1963

Ella Fitzgerald – Vocals

Don Abney – Piano

Ray Brown – Bass

Jo Jones – Drums

Herb Ellis – Guitar

Roy Eldridge – Trumpet

Oscar Peterson – Piano

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*BAC – backward-pussied, ass-eating, cocksuckers, of which #Peggalicious’s posse includes the foxy but straight-acting, Christian type, The Duke of Buckingham & Norfolk, Jaysun Nuffnuff – the chinless hillbilly fabulist, Jasmine middlebottom, the aggressive bottom retriever. There are others, of course, but they all have this much in common – they are all dark-haired, favour beards, moustaches and are passionately obsessed with dining out en derrière.

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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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Losers Do Not the Narrative Control!

11.12.202129.12.2025 Arvin da BrghaLeave a comment

What does it say about the loser Bourbon bastard and fraudulent claimant to the UK throne that the courts do not give a rat’s arse how he plots and schemes. HM The Queen is still very much alive and in charge. More than that, the one thing that Her Majesty is not, is stupid. She knows damn well that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex not only has been wronged by the Cambridges, she also knows that if push does come to shove, Meghan would not lose sleep, doing another Oprah sit-down interview and dispensing that H told her that it is not on him a DNA test needs to be conducted – Harry and the James Hewitt narrative were merely a diversionary tactic.

Indeed, not only did the Mail on Sunday lose, for a second time, in its ongoing racially predatory campaign against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex; however, William and Catherine’s need to interfere and fuck with Meghan spectacularly backfired. Never mind that that snivelling, turncoat, little cocksucker, Knauf, thought to win jousting favour with ‘big willy’ but, alas, someone mightier than the Cambridges picked up the phone and put an end to their little shit-disturbing BS. Of course, Charles would have done no such thing but in a week that saw the guttersnipe Bourbon dolt out partying sans the hoochie mama, Bucklebury cannibal with choice bottomfeeders, the verdict was rendered and a nice resounding fuck you it also was to the Cambridges. Stupid people can ever be expected to do stupid shit and make an arse of themselves chaque fois.

Rihanna and Prince Charles attend the Transition Ceremony to a republic in Bridgetown, Barbados. - Credit: MEGA

In a fortnight that saw HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, shook the hand by Rhianna – a Queen in her own self-made right, representing Barbados tell him and Sovereign’s closet Queen heir to fuck off, chiefly owing to the way that Meghan, Duchess of Sussex has been treated by primarily the Cambridges, HM The Queen is understandably wary to have to suffer any more haemorrhaging of Commonwealth member states of which she is symbolic head whilst she remains Sovereign. Days later, before Prince Charles could get settled in from returning from Barbados, William and his attempt to sabotage Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s suit against the Mail on Sunday spectacularly failed.

As part of the quietest revolution in royal public relations, Prince William’s Time To Walk podcast avoids the usual marketing hype. It’s just a man walking alone chatting with an imaginary companion

The Sunday following Meghan, Duchess of Ssusex having wiped arse with both Mail on Sunday and the Bourbon cutthroat boor, there is nothing short of a full offering of the rebranded bastard dolt as vulnerable, mentally sensitive and an all-around, great regular sport, getting down and singing along… mon blasted cul. He even did a podcast with Apple – that’s right, the same Apple with whom Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex had previously appeared in a mental health series with Oprah. And what pray tell was wittle pea-brained Billy’s podcast about – why raise your rear right leg and piss for joy, mental health… no shit! Just like his commoner emasculating, Bucklebury hoochie mama, carrying a briefcase, his Kensington Palace PR lackies demanded Apple come at the snap of a finger. All this reinvention of the square wheel that is lumpy cold, abandoned porridge, William, was all up in the kingdom’s face, looking as listless as limp lettuce with no less than 6 articles wasting valuable column inches on the DailyMail’s front page. So out come Tina Turner, god knows he would not have favoured someone black. Then there was specious crap about AC/DC; that’s right, right there in your faces big Willy is telling you, he just loves his lapdog Knauffie and you just don’t get it… an isle of gullible dumbasses, indeed.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9606099/SARAH-VINE-Prince-Harry-playing-foolish-game.html

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-10275769/SARAH-VINE-rare-insight-Prince-Williams-charming-character.html

What’s more, the same sycophantic Sarah Vine praises William for discussing mental health issues with Apple, after having criticised Harry for previously doing same with Apple on the same subject in collaboration with Oprah Winfrey. You simply cannot make this boldfaced disingenuous posturing up. What all this reveals, is how blissfully unaware and frankly stupid both William and Catherine are. Somehow, these two meanspirited, shit-disturbing, prejudiced, small-minded clowns fail to realise, in Knauf coming forward and running to the court on their behalf, that it reveals who all along, have been the architects of Meghan and Harry being treated like shit in the tabloid medium.

**The unmasked Bourbon Boar – the true face of the Boor who relentlessly hunts Meghan.**

Just look at that face – that of the pernicious, bigoted, alcoholic, chain-smoking bully, who on the cusp of the courts decision in Meghan’s case against Mail on Sunday, was out gallivanting sans the self-toxic vampiric used up broodmare. No doubt, he and his nez brun lackeys were out fiendishly anticipating the court’s imminent decision that would see the escaped, cowardly runaway slave, resoundingly losing against Mail on Sunday. One of the reasons why William ever clasps his hands in public, is to hide the nicotine stain on his fingers; of course, he also clasps those hands because they are a control mechanism to keep the tightly choreographed and scripted spectrum bully from ever betraying the fact that he is what he is – just a damn, dumbass Bourbon bastard.

Britain's Prince Charles is joined by Barbados President Sandra Mason and Barbados Prime Minister Mia Mottley as they prepare to depart from the Presidential Inauguration Ceremony, held to mark the birth of a new republic in Barbados at Heroes Square in Bridgetown, Barbados, November 30, 2021. Jonathan Brady/Pool via REUTERS

Days later, there was HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales being side-lined as his mother, HM The Queen was removed as head-of-state by the newly installed President of Barbados on November 30.

Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex speak onstage during Global Citizen Live, New York on September 25, 2021 in New York City.

Still, a few days later and the emasculated, cowardly Bourbon bastard suffered yet another defeat at Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’s hand as the court on December 2, ruled in her favour in her suit against Mail on Sunday. Suck on that, the obsessed, pernicious couple with two 9s between them, who do nothing but bitch, whine, complain and weed out any dark impure specimen from their court.

After the service, the Duke and Duchess beamed as they walked out into the cool London air

Mere days later, December 8, which had been planned as another celebration over Meghan, which of course did not materialise, there was Catherine, HRH Duchess of Cambridge, in a red version of the black Catherine Walker that she wore to HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh’s funeral on April 17, 2021. That red was to send up the red Carolina Herrera dress worn by Meghan, Duchess of Sussex almost a month earlier in New York City when Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex presented military awards at the Intrepid, moored on the Hudson River in mid-town Manhattan’s West Side.

The Duke And Duchess Of Sussex Visit Canada House

The date, December 8 was chosen as it was on January 8, 2020, the eve of Catherine’s birthday, that the Sussexes announced their intention to step back from Royal duties. Naturally, the Cambridges seethed at the timing of the announcement as it was seen as a retaliatory slight for HM The Queen’s 2019 Christmas Day Message. That Christmas, 2019, message many were expecting to see the Sussexes with Archie; however, as the Australian and South African tours had proven so successful, plus the fact that William was incandescent with rage at Meghan’s interview with ITN’s Tom Bradby whilst on tour in South Africa as it eclipsed the Cambridges’ fuck-all boring tour to Pakistan, the Bourbon y Bucklebury racially predatory duo would exact their revenge.

Britain’s Queen Elizabeth. Photo: Reuters

Naturally, the Cambridge’s retaliated by having the 5 Sovereigns featured with the only happy family featured, being Catherine and her brood of trifling coalminer pedigree. HM King George VI, HM The Queen, HRH Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, HRH Prince George of Cambridge and HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales. This was the pernicious slight of hand by the Cambridges that would muscle the more popular Sussexes out of picture.

The Royal Family Attend Church On Christmas Day

This, of course, was followed thereafter, by the Cambridges: El Duque de Bourbon y Bucklebury and his hoochie mama replete with their scared, clueless coalmining offal in tow for Christmas Day service at Sandringham. All this whilst the Sussexes were away in Canada, seeking relief from the Cambridges’ orchestrated tabloid scorched Earth campaign against removing the negro from their midst. Naturally, it was very clear to Harry & Meghan that they were being kicked out, yet again, just as they were bullied out of Kensington Palace. So whilst on Canada’s West Coast, calls were made, plans were set in motion, one’s resolve was affirmed. Just like that, as when saying to hell with the apartment next-door the Cambidges at Kensington Palace and moving instead to Frogmore Cottage, now it was time to simply leave the suffocating bullying web of the Cambridges, their households and the sycophantic tabloids, which were only too eager to lynch some goddamn black woman being in their midst and a damn Yank to boot. Well no matter what they do, the toxic dullards just keep on losing… This has never finally been about Meghan but how utterly obsessed the non-aristocratic, coal-mining Bucklebury hoochie mama just keeps on obsessing and lashing out at the black ‘thing’ being and having been in her kingdom.

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge passed members of the Middleton family as they took their seats for the Together At Christmas community carol service at Westminster Abbey in London

Just as at the recent Royal Variety Performance, there was Catherine, breaking with royal protocol by then having her non-blood royal relations in the royal box. On December 8, 2021, there were the same non-blood royal Middleton family members sat in Westminster Abbey and ahead of blood royals, HRH Princesses Beatrice & Eugenie, plus Zara Tindall who is of royal birth. As there were no senior royals invited to their Carol Service, hosted by Catherine, the Cambridge broodmare could damn well do as she pleased.

The Countess of Wessex wrapped up in a maroon jacket as she arrived at the event, opting to wear a colourful floral face covering

A show of support for the Duchess! Kate's brother James and sister-in-law Alizee also left the event hand-in-hand

Naturally, HRH Prince Edward, Earl of Wessex had no desire, as son of the Sovereign, to be sat behind the Middletons, thus he was not in attendance. Naturally, as Catherine could do no wrong and does not give a damn and as she wanted to telegraph how the new 21st century royals would look, she saw fit to have her closeted brother’s French wife, Madame Plotte-Visage herself, wear a pantsuit to Westminster Abbey. Of course, as vampiric coalmining fare is rather tight with her drag king henchperson, Sophie, Countess of Wessex, there too was she in white pants but at least, Sophie sought not to be too offensive by hiding her pants beneath the large burly coat.

One simply does not wear a pantsuit to a service at Westminster Abbey… but alas, in a move that betrays her coalmining pedigree, Catherine could not care less and has Prince Harry’s emasculated brother, fall into line so that her sister-in-law can set a new style precedent…. just can’t wait for HM The Queen to die, indeed. The most riveting insight into the Cambridges relationship was deliberately not edited out of the BBC’s 2019 special, A Berry Royal Christmas. Just look at what a controlling, vile, emasculating toxic person Catherine is to the future Sovereign. He, of course, utterly pussy-whipped and having lived a lie for a life, knowing that always one must keep hidden whom his biological father truly is, there he is neurotically rubbing his wrist and embarrassingly looking to see if anyone noticed him brushed off as a damn fool. But damn homie, cameras never lie. Those priceless few seconds of unmasking BBC footage, are precisely why wittle Billy is pissed at the BBC and went after them about Martin Bashir and again ran to ITV for bully Catherine’s hosting of a kissmeass Carol Service as if the BBC glitterati did nothing more than eye-roll and further ridicule that blasted bald oaf.

The Duchess opted for a tonal scarlet outfit the occasion, matching her red coat dress with complementing shoes with a matching bag

What this blissfully toxic couple – they are both self-toxic and also toxic towards each other; plus, to top it off, they are task companions, which means that when not harmonious, it is Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf 24/7. He is snickering and they are probably bitching and hissing at each other in the above shot. As the Sussexes no longer eclipse them for being active senior royals, the Cambridges no longer engage in copycat behaviour of touching, holding hands, looking lovingly at each other, for which the Sussexes remain known. That aside, what the Cambridges fail to grasp, is one of the most important laws of the universe – one has no right to interfere in the lives of others. You own no one. Neither Harry nor Meghan are property of the Cambridges. Period. Just as Emily Maitlis had no qualms about eviscerating the barrel-hipped (common Porchester body type) no-sweat tool with a proclivity for lamb, veal and other minor meat, so too will the BBC bring its considerable full weight to bear in exposing the Cambridges for who they truly are if further bullied by William. It has frankly gone too long and too far – no one taking to task the Cambridges for their racism, bullying, interference, using the tabloid medium to do their dirty work and, most of all, what it has cost HM The Queen’s legacy with Barbados being but one example.

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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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Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.

27.08.201930.12.2025 Arvin da Brgha1 Comment

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*Since having posted this dream blog some years back, I was always fascinated why I was simply summoned to be with the actor, River Phoenix when he passed. I did mention that sense of feeling strong resonance at the time of cadre mates’ passing. This dream was a poignant example of being called into action, to be of service to someone with whom I have a strong and connected soul bond that spans multiple past lives.

This was something that I felt at Natalie Cole’s passing and, of course, she proved to be an entity mate. In the case of River Phoenix, whose overleaves I will include here and which can now be found in the revamped and tidied up Michael Overleaves Appendix page, not only is he also an artisan soul but he happens to be a greater cadence mate of mine. This dream would not have occurred if we did not share this very strong bond; as a result of my cardinal casting, I am often called into action in dreams such as this one when entity and cadre mates pass on.

Read these dreams anew and do enjoy!.

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Whilst the Moon transited both Gemini and my first house, I would be transported to a cul de sac of the astral plane wherein I am not frequently focussed. It was Monday, November 1, 1993. At the time, as now, I did not own a television and hardly looked at it. Also, at the time, I hardly listened to radio or read newspapers et al. I was also much removed from most daily chatter as I had been off sick from work but did go in to participate in the annual Halloween costume competition which the year prior I had won when dressed in full drag and looking hotter than even Tina Turner herself in my high heels. The above photo of yours truly was taken at Halloween 1993, the day prior to this dream.

Thus it was that I would fall into sleep and immediately be summoned to be in service to the higher good. What is really interesting about the experience with the famous actor encountered in these dreams, I rather suspect that he may be a cadre mate from the tenor of the dream encounter. Too, there are a number of famous persons in my cadre and he seemed vibrationally not dissimilar to them.

That being the case, this likely explains why I was called on to be of service at the time. I am said to be rather cardinal in casting, which is clearly reflected in yours truly being inordinately gifted when it comes to fathoming the depth and breadth of the dream realms. Too, as these dreams were clearly focussed on the astral plane, naturally, there was dream flight. More than that, whilst focussed on the astral plane in the dreamtime, one did encounter at least two, possibly three, extra-human species.

As there is flight and levitation in these dreams, I pray that they will richly inspire you. Fly my darlings, fly, don’t even for a second doubt, just melt into a mischievous plié and start flying – cause you can… cause you are magic incarnate!

A woman and I were together, in this the second dream, above the Arctic Circle. This woman did remind me of the woman, who had earlier been in the previous dream encounter with Niles Ben-Daniel and seemingly his lover. I was not fully certain that this woman was one and the same as, the one posing as Niles Ben-Daniel’s lover, in the prior dream. She had a couple of siblings whom she had asked to find out what time it was.

Here, they kept time quite unusually because there was no tundra about. They, as a result, kept sundials. They grew their grass such that they were able to tell from Sol’s shadows what time of day it was. Their sundial was a natural phenomenon which used the rugged flat landscape for keeping time. Standing there, I faced due north. Sol was still in the sky, but low, and at the two o’clock position. Sol was red and potent; it was almost serene-looking.

Over time, they had planted a hedge of Chinese boxwood, which stood a foot tall. From it were a series of radial-like spokes radiating out from the centre. All told, there were twenty-four spokes; of course, the spokes lined up with each hour of the day. Even in the wintertime, the hedge though submerged maintained an imprint of itself above – in the snowed and iced over terrain. It was quite nude (barren) landscape here. Sol’s shadow was presently pointing directly at the ten o’clock position though it clearly wasn’t. Ten o’clock could also have been four hours past midnight.

I decided that it had to be around four, in the morning, which is why Sol appeared in the sky where it was. This was the time of year when Sol never sets which made it difficult for me, a novice in these parts, to readily get my bearings. Quite a strange phenomenon because my body felt nocturnally phased, yet, there in the sky was Sol as plain as the Moon. She wanted to know what time it was because she was getting ready to go down south to the ‘Southland’.

She also referred to it as, ‘the land of the setting summer Sun,’ which did make sense. She had said all that in her Inuit tongue, yet I had been able to follow perfectly well as though she had been speaking English. More than being with her, rather, I was there as an observer and took in the minutiae of this unique culture. Certainly, we were keenly aware of each other and that we were both gifted telepaths.

Next, in this the third dream, I was in a crowded interior. It was a waiting lounge in a large depot that was not unlike New York City’s Grand Central Station. A sandy marble, time-yellowed hue, the walls here were the same colour as at Grand Central Station. A high-ceilinged cavernous place it also was. The main hall had several wings that adjoined its considerable length. Here, there was natural light coming in from the bathysphere-like windows that sat way up the walls and close to the ceiling.

In that sense, this was not unlike the grand hall in which I walked with Merlin during which we encountered the exalted magus on September 4, 1988. I was seated on these large wooden benches that were old, comfortable and looked not unlike church pews. Semi-circular in shape, they gave a sense of inclusiveness to them. All around me exclusively were men. This place seemed, if you like, some sort of way station. One guy there was very slight-bodied, young and naïve-looking.

Looking at him, he wore a navy-blue track suit. He came over to sit next to me, eventually sitting on my right. Patting him on the back, I told him that it was really good to see him. I wished him a safe passage and asked that he go in peace, “Have a safe passage. Go in peace and do have a good journey…”

Of all people, it was the actor, River Phoenix – he recently overdosed on heroin, early on Sunday, October 31, yesterday. This was a very vivid dream. I was quite lucidly awakened. Feeling great compassion for his tragic departure, I thought to be of comfort to him and to uplift his spirit in whatever way possible. There and then, I realised that this was a place where persons who had recently died came whilst in transit to their final destination as returning astral plane habitués.

*This, of course, did not surprise me. Right away, I was reminded of the sense of mammoth dimensions that also exemplified the architecture of the train termini, where I had run into Merlin in that momentous dream on Friday, July 9, 1993. END.

Seated there, next to him, I exclusively turned my focus on him. I then began doing an enormous amount of energy transference, thereby healing his spirit, before he could move on. Who cares the attachments to this man, in the waking state? I have never followed his career but here, in his astral plane hour of need, we were souls and healing is the most generous gift of love. After having left his life in such a dissociate state, River Phoenix needed to be made more whole.

This is why he had seemed so naïve and as if in a daze. He saw me and purposefully began walking towards me. God only knows what he noticed in me that was different to the others. Until he was about two feet away from me, I for one had not realised that it was him. By that point, he had already been intent on coming to sit with me. He clearly needed my services.

Phoenix, River 23/8/197031/10/1993

This fragment was a second level mature artisan – third life thereat. River was in the observation mode with a goal of growth. A realist, he was in the intellectual part of emotional centre.

Body type was Lunar/Mercury.

River’s primary chief feature was self-destruction and the secondary stubbornness.

Casting for River is fifth-cast in second cadence; he is a member of greater cadence three – greater cadence mate of Arvin’s. River’s entity is six, cadre one, greater cadre 7, pod 414.

River’s essence twin is an artisan and he has a sage task companion.

River’s primary needs were: exchange, expression and power.

There are 18 past-life associations with Arvin and 16 with Merlin.

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At the level of soul, I could not have cared less who he was; his energy body’s vibration needed a good deal of realignment before he could move on. He chose me and I gladly obliged his wishes. When patting him on the back, I was keenly focussed on sending him a great deal of near-aqueous blue-white light. River Phoenix was saddened. Rather, he seemed to be in a state of shock, though, not horrified or enraged. There was just a degree of resignation as he came to terms with where he was at. When it was all over, in the brief moments that it took to lay my hand on his back, he got up to get going.

He was obliged to take his leave and move on. He seemed here truly dazed. Perhaps, these were residual effects of his having passed in a heightened soporific state. Seated there, I felt completely drained of my very breath itself. I was left feeling so overwhelmingly sad and strangely alone. Another guy had sat down, on the other side of me, whilst I energetically focussed on River Phoenix.

I can’t, for the life of me, say whether or not the guy had ambled up to join us seated there or if he had simply materialised – on the astral plane – for having just projected himself into our midst. Looking Hispanic, more than anything, this man had yellow-coloured eyes. Absolutely bewitching they were. He wore cream-coloured jeans with matching cream-coloured jacket. There was a lot of black in the clothing. This was in the style of Hip-Hop fashions.

He was a very sensitive man with a Hispanic accent and was slightly older than River Phoenix; he was about 24 or 25 years – at least he looked about that age. His hair was thick, black and curly. By way of conducting focussed energy transference, my function here was to provide counsel. I would simply tap into their vibration and, by way of their chakras, realign their energy. All of them seemed to have passed suddenly, completely unexpectedly. Thus they had a great need to become assimilated to what was clearly an unexpected turn of events.

They needed immediate supervision and companionship, until having become further acclimatised. Meanwhile, the persons around me were all being counselled by others – who were more solid-looking – whose role was like that of mine. I was, like all the others, a guide, companion and energetic facilitator to the arrivée habitués.

Architecturally, this place was so immensely massive. It was also more ancient by at least 30 millennia than the rise of the Roman Empire. Clearly, there is no way to get around the fact that this was an astral plane experience. There was also no way to get around the fact that the first man, with whom I worked, was the actor, River Phoenix. What was really impactful for me was that River Phoenix, like all the others, had absolutely no emotions. He was in a place of total detachment.

Though a sudden departure from the life being lived, his soul consciousness was totally matter-of-fact about the situation at hand. The past, his recently accidentally concluded incarnation, was concluded and behind him. Period.

Whilst we were all there, we were caught in some commotion when a Black guy appeared. He wore a blue jean jacket and wore on his face a flesh-toned fabric mask. He looked as though he had been in a burn unit at a hospital, I assumed, after having suffered massive burns to more than 95% of his body. It was the mask used for allowing skin grafts in such instances to take without becoming infected. My sense impression of his situation was that he had been in a violent car crash which turned into an explosive fireball. He had survived and was in hospital, for a while, undergoing massive skin grafting surgeries.

He also wore dark shades. The moment that he appeared, everyone instantaneously freaked out. All that one could see, was his mouth and nose; the image was upsetting, menacing. Right away, we all began fleeing that section of the grand hall. His arrival was simply instantaneous. He had simply manifested in plain view. When he came through, he brought with him a great explosive energy and immense suffering. This is what had upset the Chi in the place; it was quite an impactful energy wave that accompanied his manifestation. On closer inspection, I realised that he had not been a burn victim as he was still brandishing a large semi-automatic weapon.

Clearly, he had been holding up a business and got himself shot to death in the process. Thus, as is, he instantaneously appeared on the astral plane. The energy around his death was+ so immensely violent, as he went berserk, that it proved rather jarring for the rest of us. His body was violently sputtering away, as though, still echoing the massive volley of bullets that were being pumped into him. No doubt, a battery of over-armed police officers were only too happy to waste yet another ‘Black’ male.

We all immediately started bolting because here was he, suddenly arrived and carrying a weapon, on the astral plane to which all these arrivés were not yet fully acclimatised. There was a group of urbane Gays over to one side who kept to themselves. The Gays went truly berserk, fearful of him, as this man was clearly a zealous homophobe. That too was the other thing about this place; one was able to accurately ‘read’ a person on their arrival.

As I sat there on the pews doing my energy work with River Phoenix, most of the light flooding the hall came from off to the right and rear. From the inner hall, I went bolting along with everyone else and took cover. The armed Black man had manifested across the hall from me. Making my way from what I thought previously was the main hall, I ended up in a grand hall that was easily seven times larger than the atrium in which I had been counselling River Phoenix and then the yellow-eyed Hispanic.

As everyone else had been bolting in that direction, I made a left turn. From the main hall, I was now in another atrium; this one, however, was considerably darker. This one was several storeys high with the same colour schemata as at Grand Central Station. Though there were no discernible floors as such, at each storey there were landings. I would then bolt down to where all the other Gays were ahead of me. In a bid not to be captured by this guy, who had no awareness that he was now dead and on the astral plane, I leapt over the railing and down onto the escalator where the Gays were.

As they were all still clambering down the steps, this was not the greatest idea on my part; it was a truly chaotic scene. Deciding against pursuing the herd mentality, I willed myself from amongst them. With that I began levitating, above them and shot upwards, flying up into the nave of the towering complex. Goodness, this place was immensely massive. Soon enough, the man came to where we had been and made for the stairs from which I had just taken off. Being sufficiently distracted, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to either hear or see me way above him.

Too, he wouldn’t think to look up and see me. I flew in such a way that I progressed around a corner which took me into another wing of the massive complex. Here, there was a balcony whose wall was such that it had an indentation in the shape of an inverted top hat. Thus, the balcony was as if wrapped inside the hat. Hiding out in the cover of the balcony, I peered out – from time to time – where I saw others on lower balconies who peered up at me.

Others were off to the right in the inverted balcony. They discouraged me from coming because they thought that, somehow, my movement would attract the newcomer with semi-automatic weapon. They were of the impression that he was, in the first place, out to get me. All around, this whole episode was terribly unpleasant. It had all the chaotic madness that must surely exist, at present, in the streets of a war zone like Bosnia or Croatia.

Deciding against hiding out, I sought to be rid of this place altogether. With that, I began flying upwards towards the very ceiling of the grand hall. The ceiling was as if a force field and not a physical construct. Thus, without incident, I was able to will my way through its parameters. I was truly relieved to have made it out of there. One had the sense of leaving one dimension and moving on to another, whilst seemingly clearing the grand hall’s ceiling, and into the next dream experience.

Next, in this the fourth dream, I was outside where I immediately encountered some young teenage females. All were sarcastic, bitchy solipsistic twits. They were on an empty city street. Racy-edged, in the extreme, were they. Especially for feeling the enervation that I did for the massive energy transference work that I had undertaken with River Phoenix, I really did not care to be around these people’s energy.

At the time, I was still in flight but had slowed down, hoping possibly to interact with them. Finally, I had no time for them and their bullshit. No need to be around their imploding energy. Without haste, I flew on and went onto a side street. There, I saw a really large building from which there were some persons presently exiting.

It was as if one were looking outdoors, due west towards Fifth Avenue, in Manhattan. A young couple came from the building and entered a car which looked like a Bentley limousine. A massive stately old car it was and looked every bit as though it had been made from lead. A large structure stood to my left as I watched them drive away towards what seemed to be Fifth Avenue.

Looking to the structure, I realised that the structure was in fact St. Patrick’s Cathedral which, of course, meant that I was at 51^st Street at Fifth Avenue. Naturally, the car made a left turn and went south down Fifth Avenue. Here it was nighttime with lots of snow in the street, the sidewalk, and covering just about everything. The car wanted, once on Fifth Avenue, to go westwards along 50^th Street, but couldn’t because that street runs easterly one-way.

There was also too much snow jammed there in the street. So, in the end, the car went down to the south end of Saks Fifth Avenue to try and get onto 49^th Street. Here in the dreamtime, contrary to the waking state arrangement, 49^th Street flowed easterly. This made me realise that its attempt to go along 50^th Street was not bizarre. I guess that they then intended to go easterly along 49^th Street, over to Park Avenue then up 57^th Street, make a left at that street, to try and get across town that way.

I figured that that major thoroughfare would not be impassable. I was keen to find out who was inside the car, which was a very regal, stately affair; they were a sophisticated well-bred couple. I was more intrigued by the car because it was mostly glass, with the rear windshield arching up to above their heads, as they sat there exuding their exalted classism. The side panelling on the outside, and where the rear windshield met the roof, was all solid gold. Atop the roof there was a beacon like on a taxi cab, however, it was made of solid gold.

Really, it was more a coat of arms than anything so crass as a taxi’s beacon; this was a truly luxurious-looking vehicle. As I inspected it, I had been in flight hovering a couple of floors above it. Rising in the air, I began speeding down on the east side of Fifth Avenue over St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I got over the cathedral, I noticed that – unlike its waking state counterpart – this one had flying buttresses. Though it was very dark out, as though the dead of a Dark Moon night, I noticed that there was activity atop the cathedral. There were things there which I found immediately intriguing.

Abandoning my pursuit of the Bentley landau, I slowed down, coming closer to observe what was going on atop the cathedral’s roof. There, I saw wonderful fowl; there was a whole array of them which were quite large. One species was white with lots of black specs throughout its body. They were all on different ledges on the flying buttresses. All of them had nests that they were tending.

One of the nests had 8 large speckled eggs inside. There was, however, no fowl tending to this nest. Flying slowly, within ten feet of the buttresses, I inspected everything with a keen eye. This was so very astral plane in focus. Considering that I had previously been counselling River Phoenix, who had recently passed, it made sense that I should be on the astral plane. In any event, the rooftop was pitch-black and covered in tar. The masonry here was also much blackened with time’s passage. Too, there was a lot of moss covering every available nook and cranny.

I suppose that this replica of St. Patrick’s Cathedral needed to exist, here on the astral plane, to provide some sense of continuity to the dearly departed recent arrivés of the Catholic persuasion. Here on the astral plane, this St. Patrick’s Cathedral was considerably larger than its waking state counterpart. As well, it was millennia older than the Roman Coliseum. The older dead moss had left the structure blackened – along with the centuries of pollution and soot caked on in layers. Naturally, in order to get up to the roof of the nave, I had had to rise higher and beyond the buttresses.

Once higher in the air, I saw down between these two buttresses a group of Whites. They were dressed in animal skins and were, in the true sense of the word, barbaric-looking. They had not yet fully developed the ability to speak; thus, their speech consisted of a series of barks and grunts. Quite hirsute, they were obsessively fearful. Huddled on the top of the structure, they proved a smelly lot.

Everything was quite ancient and scorpionic-hued. As well, there was a tribe of black-furred monkeys with some red in them. The Barbarians also wore a skin that had a reddish hue to it which was seemingly a doeskin. Theirs was, as well, a tawny reddish complexion. On noticing me, the monkeys went wild, climbing up to the tops of the buttresses; frantically, they pounced and screamed up at me. Goodness, they had such large vicious-looking teeth; thank goodness they could not fly.

Mildly horrified, I simply levitated higher into the air and stayed clear of their none-too-evolved noise. Exceptionally tiny, they were also very intelligent-looking. Truth be told, they looked much more evolved intellectually than their simian cousins, the Barbarians. Goodness, they were feisty and noisy. Wanting to investigate everything about the queerness of the sight of me, they were truly inquisitive.

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Going higher, I reached to the top of the nave where I noticed a couple lying there. They were lying on their backs. Looking not unlike the sphinx’s, theirs were the most abnormal-looking skulls that were splayed and large. Their clothing was unusual-coloured; however, on closer inspection, it turned out to have been their skin. Basically, their skin was as if a floral-printed fabric. Very brightly coloured, their skin was an interesting sight… to say the least. They lay there, looking not the least bit surprised at the sight of me. They also seemed not inclined to do anything but enjoy themselves in repose.

They seemed so mysterious. Looking down, I alighted to investigate. I spent some time looking down at their feet where their skin was also uniformly distributed. I had wanted to leave but decided to head in the opposite direction; as they lay there, their feet were in my way. I didn’t want to have to upset or interact with them. They seemed alien, in the true sense of the word, but were not in fact to be disturbed. Silently, they lay there and directly looked at me. One had the sense that they could have turned deadly in a femtosecond and gone at me like a cobra on the attack. They had very cool eyes that were powerful, truly scorpionic. Theirs were the kind of eyes that were beguiling but utterly untrustworthy.

*Their eyes much reminded me of that dream encounter with Lars Gamst, set in the British Isles some centuries back, wherein we encountered a litter of oversized cats, which turned out to be not only psychic but also feral. This was back in the summer of 1988 – before recording the dreams on audio-cassettes. END.

Soon enough, I flew away from there because this was much too astrally focussed an experience. I might add, as dreams go, it was one that was very much so real and quite layered. It was simply much too intense; so, with that, I withdrew being energetically focussed therein.

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Hope you enjoyed having taken this groovy little trip with me… Go on, hop to it, start flying. I love you more.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: #TinaTurner

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Go In Peace: Energy Transference with Recently Departed Famous Entity Mate.