Surprise! The Predator Blames the Victim…

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After a royal tour of Africa, the adorable famille Sussex, returned home and got down to the business in hand. Naturally, the venal hate-mongering, bullying, racial predator, Piers Morgan, had nothing to vent and spew the usual hatred about. Then like fresh meat, he pounced at the announcement of legal action against he and his venal, racially predatory rag, DailyMail.

I am so happy that Piers Morgan has blindly engaged in his campaign of open hatred towards Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. Now it has gotten to the stage where an American does what can be expected of an American; she sues. Americans are not bullied! What Piers and his arrogant island of boorish prats have not realised in all this time, is there has already begun a campaign of retaliation against their bullying of Americans. The British media and public campaign of racially predatory bullying of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex has been unrelenting from the word go and has continued unabated.

Little has Piers Morgan and his ilk realised that the 2019 Academy Awards was American retaliation. After all these years of watching Brit after migrant Brit waltz in and grab another Oscar, which is not an international competition; the Oscars are not the Cannes Film Festival – it is an American award. That’s right, finally, the people who built America, blacks, were finally being acknowledged as never before. There was Barbara Streisand handing off the Oscar to a fellow New Yorker from Brooklyn, Spike Lee. For the first time, there was a record number of blacks who won Oscars. Even in costume and design, there were black winners.

So there sat that thoroughly effete prat bore, boor – take your pick – Richard E. Grant, virtually knighted in British media as winner of the Best Supporting Oscar for 2019; it had not even occurred to the migrant Brit colony with their superior-than-thou attitude that something as absurd as a black male American would win the best supporting actor award. Why would a black American win over a Brit? That’s right, if you don’t play nice and quit bullying Americans then it is time you start selling your Beverly Hills estates and adapt by moving to that beach ghetto Malibu because Brits acting as though the Oscars were a colonial offshoot of the BAFTA has run its course.

Guess who yachts with David Geffen? That’s right, there are no Brits and Oprah is infinitely more powerful than racist boors like Piers Morgan clearly appreciate. That’s correct, they all have money and they are all Americans and they do not like being bullied. The age of being wowed by The Queen, The English Patient, My Fair Lady, Downton Abbey, The King’s Speech, The Madness of King George has finally run its course. Thanks to you Piers Morgan, the Americans have seen your true visage and like the wizard’s of The Wizard of Oz, they are not only not impressed they are also not having it. The sea-change is well and truly begun. Yes, indeed, stop with the can’t shake snobbish accent and decamp where you belong. It is an American industry and an American award; in the Age of Trump, it is high time that you were exposed as what you truly are, the ugly migrant, who must no longer be suffered.

Here is where you truly lost the plot, Lara Stone was burnt at the stake – during which time, of course, little predatory racist boor, Piers Morgan said nada… zilch. Yet, in all these going on 24 months not a single migrant Brit in Hollywood or elsewhere has passionately spoken up in Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex’s defence, with the exception of Sir Elton John. Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex has the deep-pocketed support of the likes of the Clooneys, David Geffen, Oprah and the major players in Hollywood who happen to be American and matter. It is grossly racist and absurd to sit by and do nothing whilst this human being is being lynched for merely being black.

Well, then, since you feel so passionately about it, why pray tell do you deserve to be considered, let alone nominated and more egregiously awarded Oscars season after season, after blasted motherfucking season. You are a gross displacement of what a truly civilised society resembles and how it behaves to ‘others‘ in its midst. Just think of it, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex toured Africa and there they met scores of elevated, remarkable human beings on an order, which you can never match in the British Isles. Stellar exemplary human beings, like Archbishop emeritus, Desmond Tutu, Graca Machel – persons who thanks to their nobility of spirit successfully vanquished the racial predator in their midst.

Yes indeed, Piers Morgan, run off at the mouth all you want and incite the mob to racial hatred, time and again. Like every predator, sexual or racial, your first response when the prey fights back, is start blaming the victim. No woman ever sexually preyed on, goes out asking and looking to be preyed on by any sexual predator. The woman, the victim, is not the problem; she has not brought it on herself. A woman is not raped because she wore suggestive and provocative clothing; a woman dresses to please no one but her damn self. She does not get dressed, thinking: how am I going to attract animus from a sexual predator today? Similarly, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex and no black person anywhere goes out of their way, looking to attract racially predatory boors, so that they can somehow feel victimised.

Fuck you, Piers cowardly-chicken-shit-arsehole Morgan, you are the victim of your own racially predatory obsessions, which has resulted in your being sued and they, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex for being entity mates and for her being American with a very powerful cadre of supporters will plough your fucking idiot, smug arse under. You will never again work in America when they are done fucking retaliating and defending themselves against being lynched, slandered, and made subject of ridicule, death threats… all thanks to your vile, stinking racially predatory, incendiary braying, masquerading as journalism.

Americans are going to teach you a very callous lesson that they hold sacred above all others: Freedom is not free, you dumba$$ bitch!

You, like that ghetto of migrant Hollywood Brits said and did sweet dick-all when HRH Prince Andrew, Duke of York was exposed as a sexual predator; if you truly cared about the monarchy then you would have been even more livid in defence of your institution at Andrew’s obvious culpability… there is also the very real matter of the Cambridges’ tattered marriage, which you and others from Joy Elvin to the palace mandarins are eager to reinvent.

No one cares at this point, Catherine was too bone idle and downright maudlin to make speeches, too bone lazy along with her arrogant husband to undertake royal duties so begged off claiming, Hyperemesis gravidarum – meanwhile 2/3s the world’s women have to walk with gallons of water on their proud head for miles whilst pregnant. Just imagine if Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex got up to their stunts and engaged in the wilful idleness that the Cambridges have?

Catherine is great, she is a warrior’s warrior and she is at her best each year at handing out shamrocks, being on guard at Armistice Day ceremony in Whitehall. Clothing is uniform for a warrior; it is not fashion. Fashion is not a way of exuding their inner magic as with artisans like Meghan and Diana, Princess of Wales. I will never knock Catherine for her athleticism and her right saturnine bearing; it is the essence of who she is.

This absurd pitting women against women is just drunken idiocy. Stop suddenly talking BS about Catherine being a great speech-giver. Bullocks! She is not, never has been and never will be. Stop trying to eclipse Meghan’s innate commanding stage presence and gift for being on and engaging an audience. It is not a competition of Duchesses; Meghan is supremely gifted at uplifting, inspiring and empowering womankind for speaking and so eloquently, representing her uneclipsed light. She and her husband are doing the work of upholding HM The Queen’s greatest legacy, the Commonwealth.

In the meantime, the days of Hollywood being obsequious towards migrant Brits in their midst have run their course – just as much as you are going to be rudely awakened, jousted and ploughed under for fucking with Americans. Americans are no one’s damn fools, as you shall yet learn.

The Sussexes are making a valid and real difference in the world where it is sorely needed; you, Piers Morgan on the other hand, are merely being yet another white male arsehole. There is nothing either unique or noteworthy in so being. You sadly are far too common place and that is the real problem in this world. You are a fucking otiose boor to say nothing of bore and high time, you were handed your arse like that damn audacious prat, Richard E. Grant, who sat there and heard his name not called last February at the Oscars.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex are not victims; they were never in the business of affording you or any other media racist predatory thugs, the power of their time and shortly, you are legally going to get your just dessert just as that other pariah, Jeffrey Epstein was served. A pity you know nothing of Margaret Beaufort… all you saw was some damn black bitch, who does not belong and you intended like every sexual/racial predator to put her in her place and rape her of her power. More fool you, indeed…

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©2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha. All Rights Reserved.

On Board the Schooner.

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The dream occurred, on Monday, December 2, 1991, whilst the Moon was in Scorpio transiting my sixth house.  Every now and again, long after his passing, there would be dreams such as this one which would revisit the gravity of Merlin’s end-of-life illness.

These dreams are uplifting in their beauty, realism and inspiration.  Deeply breathe in and drink of this poetic turn.

<O>

I was standing by this shore looking out to sea.  There were some orcas that had come close into shore.  It was, in fact, an unusually murky sea.  The waters looked even cloudier because the cetaceans had been chopping up the sea a great deal with their mammoth bodies.

Out to sea on these rocks, there were some wonderful, little sea lions basking.  There was clearly a coral reef in that section of the water.  Where the killer whales were, of course, there was no reef.

Suddenly, one of the orcas bolted like a submarine-launched torpedo.  With lightning speeds, in such shallow waters, it made for a young adult sea lion.

It was overcast here.  Goodness, before I knew what was happening, it had ferociously ripped into this animal and was manically feeding on it.

Basically, the pod had come in to feed but this one orca had become frustrated.  The tide was rapidly changing and they knew that they would have to head out to sea.  Based on the tidal activity, the pod knew that they had arrived a bit too late to make a successful kill.

I had been looking at this bunch of guys who were working as marine biologists.  They were there to usher the orcas back out to sea so that they wouldn’t beach.  This would be most queer if they did because orcas almost never do beach.

The human professionals had to do so very cautiously and at a safe distance because, at any moment, the orcas could have attacked.  Finally, they managed to guide the orcas out to sea where they then took off.

After that, I entered the sea as did some other bathers.  There were about eight of us and we swam out to sea because moored out to sea was a wonderful, large white yacht.

The stern of it was facing directly to shore.  Another vessel was also out to sea; it was a brown schooner and a bit off to the left.  As we swam I did the crawl; it made my progression so timelessly beautiful.

The water was not too choppy and the further out one got the murkier it did, in fact, get – and just as well.  I started gaining, whilst a girl swam to my right and rear.  She was pointing out that I was soon going to get ahead of the guy in the lead who was outfitted with snorkelling gear.

He kept on looking down into the water.  Taking his time, every now and again, he lazily used his fins.  This guy wore a partial wetsuit that ended in shorts at just above mid-thigh.

The marine biologists were, of course, wearing full wetsuits.  Their wetsuits were no doubt, though black, outfitted with that mesh to prevent them from being severely injured if attacked.

I effortlessly swam and, in point of fact, I was almost as if a fish in my complete union with the water.  More than that, I progressed through the water by sheer will.

As a result, I was as if an aquatic creature in its medium and one not hampered in its progress.  Of course, normally I would have been much slower for being human but things were different here in the dreamtime.

It was, in fact, quite beautiful.  My head was always above the surface.  When I got close to the stern of the white yacht, it was populated by a bunch of young-souled, aggressively smiling people who were on a leisure trip.  The stern of this yacht was unusually wide with a white awning overhanging it.

When I got to the side of the brown schooner – a beautifully polished, medium-tanned wood, I then propelled my way out of the water and dove up into the air.

At the zenith, which I had gotten to by powerfully kicking my legs in a cissons-like motion taking me clear of the water, I was now above the considerably raised deck of the schooner to my left.

Stationary in the air, for a second, I then arched my head forward bringing my body forwards.  Pulling down my head, I brought it into my pointed feet with legs fully extended.  At that, I kicked opened my legs and was now stationary in the air whilst perfectly upside down.  My head was craning back so that I could see the water way below.

I began diving downwards but this was more so flight than merely crashing down at normal speeds.  Majestically, I gracefully spliced into the water.  It was a rather effortless entry.  Beautiful!  It was quite nice.

I then came up for air.  All the young souls, on the white yacht, were excitedly paying tribute to how skilled I was.  They had been thoroughly impressed – not that I had done this for anyone’s benefit.

I had distinctly been aware that I was dreaming.  It felt so freeing to will my body through the water that the next logical progression was to have become even freer in another medium – air.

The water, in fact, was covered here with seaweed as though it were close to the full Moon.  Characteristically, it is during this stormy lunar phase that much kelp gets uprooted, harvested and make it ashore.  This always creates quite a mess of things.

I then got up onto the brown schooner with the others and we hung out.  The guys on board were going to be taking our picture.  I was hunched down in the front row and was sunnily smiling enjoying having my picture taken – which is certainly rare for me.

However, I thought that because I was feeling in such good spirits I would show-off and leap off the edge of the schooner and into the water.  I did not, however do so.  In fact, I was glad that I hadn’t because when I got down into the water, I realised that the water was quite shallow on that side of the schooner.

The vessel had, in fact, been docked at this reef but was in no danger of grounding, for being moored there.  It was a very thick, massive, coral reef which was on the port side of the schooner.

I went and walked around on top of the coral reef; the sea came to just above ankle level.  So had I dived in, I would have suffered a great deal of head and neck injuries; it wouldn’t have been pleasant at all.

Then I came off the reef by walking on it out to sea.  I then jumped off the reef’s edge and down into the deep water.  I was swimming around towards the bow to see the other side of the schooner.

It was then that I had a pang of fear thinking,

‘My god, Arvin, what if there are sharks just below the water here, having hidden out under the edge of the reef?  I could be attacked from below.’

The water was so murky.  The profusion of kelp obstructed a good view of things.  However, then I thought that that was being silly of me because that was being fear-focussed.

It was the certified way in which to bring on negative experiences.  So I promptly decided to heal myself of such images and to move away from such fear-based vortices.

Then, on swimming around to the starboard side of the schooner, the kelp was so thick that one could easily walk on it.  I got up and walked leisurely atop the kelp.  It was delightful an experience.  I moved towards a door that was opened in the hull – just inches above the water.

On getting inside the hull, I visited with a couple of people.  We were talking and having a good time.  I can’t now, however, say that I recall the gist of what we were discussing.

<O>

I do know though that at one point whilst on board, I had encountered Merlin.  I was so blown away to have seen him.  He was off by himself.  He was alone and very introspective.  He was very weak.  Immediately, I came to his side and visited with him.

I felt a swell of compassion towards him.  It was devastating to see him in this state because he was very frail and just as he was a week before his passing.  It was so wholly unexpected.

Merlin was so drained, for being ill, that he couldn’t even communicate.  However, it was okay, for me.  All I needed was the drink of his company and the touch of those soulful – though here weary – truly magus eyes to parch my questing soul.

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Photo: Schooner.

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© 2013-2025 Arvin da Brgha.  All Rights Reserved.