Truthspoon


Insider info and illuminati analysis...


...from the man they just can't recruit.

Wednesday, 15 November 2017

Dead Pop-Star Christmas Sweepstakes!



The chocolate Santas are crowding the aisles, the kids are in the shops picking their advent-calendars with feverish anticipation and the air has turned a little colder but also perhaps a little merrier.

Santa is always watching...

It can only mean one thing.....


Yes, the yearly festivities of impending unexpected Pop-Star mass death.

The festive period of 2016/7 was a record-breaking year for pop-star deaths. Wham! Suddenly pot-loving pop star George Michael was no more. Michael might have died of heart failure on his Last Christmas on Earth, but his pop-career was no failure, releasing bouncy clean-shaven hits throughout the 80's with  absolutely no hint of gayness until becoming a fully bearded 'serious' artist and officially gay, and dying of who knows what passed off as a 'heart attack'.

So here at Truthspoon.com, in the bid for a little festive fun I have decided to start a sweep-stake on which of our great catalogue of increasingly aging, drug-addled or otherwise vulnerable pop-stars might pop their clogs around Christmas time or going into the early days of the new-year.

There's sure to be one....or with any luck......a whole festive shitload!

Dead popstars are like buses. You wait for one to die, and suddenly three all turn up dead at once or as Oscar Wilde might have said, to lose one popstar around Christmas time might be regarded as misfortune, to lose two looks like carelessness, but to lose fucking three or more popstars in two weeks looks like something fishy is going on.

And here at Truthspoon.com, where the truth comes by the spoonful but doesn't taste of sugar, we think something is definitely up so we wonder who or which witch will be the next pop-star to have their Illuminati fame-contract summarily terminated.

Remember age is no-indication of impending mortality, anything could happen...and if it's going to happen then it will probably happen at Christmas. If not popstar death then Asian Tsunamis, Iranian/Turkish earthquakes or Christmas massacres in the merry Christmas loving Congo.


Christmas is mass disaster and death time!

When everyone's guard is down and quietly enjoying a bit of peace from all of the distractions of the outside world it's time for another festive surprise.....so let's wrap up our celebrity death presents and get ready to pop them under the tree, and see which one we get to open.

What's in this year's pop-Christmas coffin box?

Could it be Madonna?




Madonna was once a powerful figure in the Illuminati but lately her career has very much been on the slide, following a loss of a magical manna and prestige and the supreme affront of falling on her arse while attempted to fly during a stage-show, it seems that Madonna's power is failing and is only a matter of time before the Dementors come to take her to Azkaban and imprison her for all eternity with all the other bad witches.

Madonna has kept her dead down and resorted to feeding from the bodies of domestic pets which she hunts during early morning expeditions for fresh blood to sustain her decaying form.




Madonna is fast becoming a forgotten dusty relic from an ancient time. What better way to rejuvenate her career and freshen up the Madonna brand than a sudden unexpected Christmas death and the ensuing media canonisation and the endless sea of stupid tearful faces and miles of media print dedicated to a tawdry and corrupted satanic slut while depicting her as the greatest cultural heroine since records began.

That really would make it a Holiday to Celebrate!

Right dead pop-star pickers?


Or how about the steadily disintegrating cultural black hole of infinite quantum vacuity known as Britney Spears as our next candidate for a fresh Christmas carcass.

Britney is presently doing a residency in Las Vegas and posted a 'selfie' from the gym showing a woman who has clearly found a more interesting alternative to food. 



The Sun described her as being 'in the shape of her life' which seems to be tempting popstar fate at this time of year and will possibly ring out hollowly from the bottom of the cat litter tray underneath the front page story reporting her sudden unexpected death on Christmas Eve. 

Britney famously shared a kiss with demented pop-crone and co-entrant in the 2016 Christmas Illuminati 'hit-list' Madonna.  As a result of the kiss with Madonna, Britney may have become contaminated with the witchy pop-madness in Madonna's fetid saliva, a disease which can remain dormant for several years only to suddenly lead to an outbreak of self-destructive behaviour; the hearing of whispering voices in the dark, and the attention of members of the occult organisations who only prey on those who are thus weakened.

Contaminated with witchy pop-madness.

Madonna's saliva is more fetid and bacteriologically active than a Kimono Dragon's bite which kills its prey with fatal bacteria.

Britney suffered from a nervous breakdown where she publicly shaved off her dizzy blonde mane of her, possibly because she was sick and tired of getting constantly gang raped by randy witches in the middle of the night flying through her window on their broomsticks. This led her to a dependence on prescription drugs which inspired her number one Billboard hit 'Tranquilizer'.

In no way does Truthspoon support or condone the 'burning times' but if Madonna and Britney Spears are any indication of what witches are really like, then one perhaps becomes a little more sympathetic to the witch burning mission of Mathew Hopkirk, the much maligned Witch Finder General.

Where is he when you need him?

The question is, will Madonna, Britney or even both, get burned this Christmas in a freakishly tragic but ultimately deeply satisfying, festive-season accident?

Place your bets.....


Monday, 7 August 2017

Dead dogs and Lebanese mountain bandits.




It felt like being stalked constantly by an ancient evil, one roused from slumber by the pleasing sound of chaos and the rattling motion of heedless idiocy. Three dead dogs and two car accidents in the space of a twenty minute drive from Beirut to Sidon.

The first one of which I passed was like a vacuum or zero point outside of time. The scene shimmered with death and helpless policemen stood frozen inside the zero point and an unspeakable dampness of the punctured and lacerated oozed beneath the torn body of the car and whoever had been in the back seat. I didn’t even focus on the front seat, suffice to say it’ll probably be in Monday’s paper with lots of wringing of hands and impotent wailing as nothing whatsoever is done to curb the rate of traffic deaths.

The second accident had been much more cordial however, and the police busied themselves taking notes and employing themselves with the bureaucracy of poor but sometimes energetic infrastructure; usually long after the fact, writing up notes for the insurance companies which of course failed to mention the rotten condition of the roads and the lack of interest which anyone in the country seems to really have about people getting killed in road accidents. 

If they cared about traffic deaths they wouldn’t drive like assholes. But they do. Stupid assholes who don’t understand the dangerous power of Newtonian mechanics and the frailty of human flesh and bone when rattled and wrapped up in high speed collisions with metal and stone. I drove here and I was terrified. Every maniac pulling out from nowhere, every plonker who suddenly stopped his car on the motorway for no reason, was an assault on reason and my worn nerves.

As I write this, a glass breaks smashed to the ground at the sushi bar at Beirut airport overlooking the improbably tower blocked deep receding hills of this city of relentless concrete. 

Death is a powerful word. It resonates whenever it is written or even thought. In dangerous ways. The Almaza pure malt beer has opened up a corridor of communication between my ever-mute locked-in self and the cheerful white screen whose purity I do not conceive of corrupting only enhancing with nothing but the bloody truth.

In addition to three dead dogs and two dead cars I bumped into what I can only describe as some idiots from Hezbollah.

All I had wanted to do was investigate a couple of ancient Canaanite ruins and maybe a crusader castle. The day was ruined and my mood blacked to apocalyptic levels of impending bomb destruction by bearded goofs in the mountain villages harassing passing motorists with DVD’s of some silly bearded Fakir.

I hadn’t thought much of it initially, except that these interminable mountain villages which took me closer and closer to the Syrian border were alternately either bedecked with posters and billboards for some odious secular politico with a child-abuser face, or else a mystified looking madman with a beard looking to draw in other mystified mad-men with beards. Like some kind of ever accumulating mass of human hairiness which will roll down the mountains like a vast human tumbleweed snagging more bearded men into its obscure depths.

In fact I'd often been asked while living in the Muslim world why I don't have a beard. The answer is obvious: Because I'm not a Broadway Market hipster wanker. Fuck beards. I hate them! They belong to Communists and cider tramps. 

The first time they had left me alone, as I glided by in an improbably luxurious and sleek looking black Kia Optima. I’d only wanted a bloody Ford Fiesta but they just had to go an upgrade me to something too big and expensive to really drive in this country on the verge of autogeddon apocalypse. 

I was too tired to refuse. So there I was, buzzing around these dead dirt poor rubbish strewn hills in a fancy shit-mobile, a smooth faced chimp in three-quarter length combat shorts and blue Quicksilver hoodie. Dressed like the beach cunt I really and obviously was. 

It was the same blue hoodie farmed from TK MAX  that I had worn at the March Against Terrorism in London the day before which I hoped wasn’t in any way affiliated with Britain First or any such bare-knuckle neo-nazism. The SAS guy had put on a damn good show though, when referring to the government’s instructions in a terror event; not to hide under tables and cower, but to ‘Stand and defend and protect!’. Can’t argue with that. Would like to think I would put that into action if the worst case ever arose. 

I knew an SAS bloke once, he would tag around with North London UFO hunting weirdos for some reason. Told me all about the SAS training. Not just the rough stuff, but the dirty and depressing mind-breaking stuff. They pretended that the IRA had caught them and would then torture them, even involving their own families in the charade. I think it left a bad feeling with him. 

But to return to the bearded ones. The first time they had harassed some other motorist with their beards and DVD’s. And I think he had bought one. A kind of Sunday Market banditry arrangement seems to have been taking places in the hidey hills of the deep Lebanese countryside. It was Sunday too. Maybe they had a car-boot open somewhere too selling iffy Calvin Kleins and moody bottles of Chanel Number 5 from a suitcase.

The second time they annoyed me though and got my attention. They were in the road, doing their flea-market banditry thing, and two of them came close to my car, I waved at them charitably to acknowledge the length of their beards, but they advanced. 

What was I supposed to do with a DVD about some bearded Shia messiah or other who was probably no more holy than the oily looking secular politician of the previous village. You’ve got to hand it to Hezbollah for SHIA brass balls to pester westerners with their rubbish. I put my foot down on the accelerator a little, but being used to driving around back home in a slightly underpowered Toyota Yaris I was surprised by the power of the motor it gave a screech of wheels and a dirty vroom sound which sent them scattering. “Sorry about that” I didn’t say. 

I tried to stop myself calling them fucking idiots, especially when they started tapping on my window with one of the DVD's. I got my karma though since the road I was following suddenly became a dead-end. For a moment I saw a car following me close behind at high speed and wondered if they were after me for rejecting their lord of the beards, but then I lost interest and got on with my drive, doing a u-turn and turning off at the turning I had missed before and saw the beards no more.

Worse and even more annoying than Hezbollah were the goddamn speed-bumps which the authorities feel the need to randomly lay everywhere on every road in Lebanon, without even a warning at fifty yards. True, some of them had once been painted yellow but nothing now remained of that ancient chroma to give the clue to the deadly danger. As if the country didn’t already have a problem with car accidents. Few things are more lethal than a sleeping policeman who overslept and no one knows he’s even there. But why did they even need speed-bumps anyway? The roads were already wrecked with so many cavernous pot-holes which I pondered might be the result of Israeli hellfire missiles from the 2006 war. 

Tony Robinson and his Time Team could probably have spent a satisfying week at one of Lebanon’s pot-holes.

I also pondered whether the lack of signs regarding the presence of speed-bumps on all of Lebanon’s roads might also be some tactic to slow-down any projected incursion by the Israeli army or even ISIS. For that matter there were no signs or highway infrastructure to speak of. Motorway lanes had not been redrawn since the French or Phoenicians had first built them. Roundabouts and traffic lights came upon the driver with sudden surprise and alarm and we all just seemed to roll with it, like some kind of frantic Commodore 64 game or the hardest ever level from Crash Bandicoot. 

The traffic lights were made all the more surprising since none of them worked but clearly they were supposed to, being placed at dangerous and busy intersections. So it was an interesting free for all which probably claimed at least a couple of traffic accidents per day and possibly some lives every other day.

I had had plans to visit the Temple of Jupiter or Baalbek, a deity whose name I believe should not be pronounced to sound like ‘ball-bag’. He or it was the evil child sacrificing monster Satan of the Canaanites but he had now left the Temple to the tourists and was probably busy messing about creating deadly anarchy in the highway infrastructure.

After meeting Hezbollah, zombie policemen and dead things on the road, I’d had enough. I pulled over at a coffee shop and ordered a coffee. Bought a packet of Davidhoffs from the garage and smoked a long couple or three ‘fuck this’ cigarettes, before driving my rental car back to the safety of the airport and hiding in the bar until my flight and escape.

I picked up the copy of the Labanese Daily Star, which was by no means any relation to the British titular version, but more like a slightly less weighty Sunday Telegraph full of news from the front line battle against ISIS. It seems that our bearded Shia chums the Hezbollah have joined the regular Lebanese military in their battle against ISIS, of course I didn’t get particularly close to the front lines but it made me realise how easily I might have done. And what might I have found when I got there. 

I’m quite tempted to book a cheap flight with Whiz-air, write a fictional hotel name on my immigration card, and actually see what all the fuss is about. Though I doubt ISIS could ever take Lebanon. They'd never survive the traffic.



Wednesday, 7 June 2017

Weaponised Popstars: Bendy Roads to Punk Apocalypse.


70AD: The Year Punk Rock and the Pop Apocalypse was born! 



It was the year 3830 by Eleazar Ben Simon's reckoning. The cooling bodies, filling every street, sometimes piled as many as four of five high, were so numerous that the dying did not even have their own place to fall. There had been a million people crammed into the city, from every nation and empire of the known world. All come to Holy Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. But none had been spared, even now the killing continued and there was nothing to celebrate except their own looming extinction.

The Romans had entered the city three days ago, their arms surely wearied from chopping down defenceless pilgrims: old men, the women and children. All around was the sound of sudden screams which reached his ears and now the Romans hacked with a lack of discrimination so as to almost appear disinterested. 

To Eleazar Ben Simon it was like the Romans were massacring his people with the gusto of an office clerk. Lazily but with implacable determination. 

This has been going on for three days now and peace would come only for lack of more victims. There were sobs of the fallen and those whimpering and forlorn whom the Romans could not even be bothered to kill, these sounds were accompanied by the gasps of pain of the dying and their final passing gave rise to peace. 

The amount of blood could not be believed.  As Eleazar, former leader of the Zealots hid himself inside his attic hide-out, surveying with a supreme sense of affront, the carnage the Romans were now wreaking on his city and his people.

At that point, he started to plan. He saw now that it was impossible to ever beat the Westerners in open war. There would have to be another way but it would be a long term project. They had nearly killed his people and possibly they intended to wipe them out altogether, but as long as a remnant could be found, they would work his plan. A plan which would probably bear no fruit even in his lifetime or that of his children, but one day the Westerners would be brought low and his people would reign supreme on the ashes of their civilisation.

But they would not hack the bodies, nor rape the women and burn the holy places. These were not fit tasks for God’s chosen people. They would find others to do these things for them. They would recruit from the Westerners themselves the agents of their own downfall. It all became very clear in Eleazar’s mind, even in the midst of their utmost destruction and greatest loss, he knew that destiny had singled him out to conceive this plan which would stretch far far into the future, far beyond even the Roman’s sight, and would leave his people conquerors of the whole world. He laughed and slowly muttered to himself over and over, ‘give ‘em enough rope,’ until it became a low chant which seemed to take flight on a sudden breeze above the smoldering, burnt out city. Their revenge would be terrible, more terrible if it were possible than the sight of the butchered men and women blood-staining the streets of the holiest city on Earth. 'Give 'em enough rope!'




He shuddered at the thought of their total subjugation which though remote in time, was already an absolute certainty for him because he knew God would not stand this affront. As he reasoned he concluded that this had all transpired for this very reason, in order to make them the eventual masters over the Earth. The fall of Jerusalem was the first necessary sacrifice. There would no doubt be many more before they achieved their goal.


Joe Stummer loves red-terror so much he got the T Shirt. The BR were credited with 14,000 acts of violence in the first ten years of the group's existence.[28] According to statistics by the Ministry of Interior. A total of 75 people are thought to have been murdered by the BR. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Brigades

Nearly two thousand years later the plan formulated by Eleazer Ben Simon while hiding from the Roman holocaust of Jerusalem, had ravished Europe and utterly subjugated the Westerners on all fronts. It had been passed along in time and space with a dedication and devotion which saw the rise and fall of Empires, and remained unchanged and unwavering. First in the ruins of Judea in hiding from the Roman legions, then to Athens or Marseille, to Moscow, to Portugal then finally to England.  The final battle ground in the culture wars where only one side was fighting and the other didn’t even know it was being defeated.




To an impressionable young child, the strange solemn men and a grandmother who appeared suddenly unfamiliar and frightening, was a deeply transformative experience. A knife at the young boy’s throat, an oath sworn to the Sicarii to fight the Westerners with every ounce of blood in their body or have their throat cut like an animal: better dead if you can’t serve the Sicarii like a man. Then the sudden passage from terror to joy as a new Sicarii fighter is born. 



Then the surprise of a great banquet with sufganiyot usually reserved for Hanukah and even his own glass of wine which was even topped up. He went to bed that night full of jelly doughnuts and thick kosher wine, and what was more he was now a man and he had been entrusted a solemn mission, one which he could not fail in, his people depended on him. He would not fail them and they would support him as one man, a nation spread out throughout the world, millions of men all devoted, like him to this one mission and all wiling at a moment’s notice, to give any help he required. How could they lose? They didn’t, they wouldn’t, they don’t. They went from victory to victory and the dazzling beauty of it all was that no one suspected a thing.


In a clothes shop in London’s King's Road a man who resembled a straggly ginger tom cat only lacking the  fastidious grooming habits of that species, was singing a snarling and tuneless song to the accompaniment of a duke-box. Another man of Scottish extraction was shouting instructions and encouraging him with gestures.




He had been brought into the shop by Bendie Rhodes, who had immediately spotted a man who he could use as an unsuspecting tool in his people's undeclared war. He had spotted an angle he could work, he could use the family clothing business as a way to push forward new and degenerate fashions and use music so the two prongs act in symbiosis to create a new and horribly degraded counter culture.



It had been observed that despite the attempts of their agents in the 60’s to destabilise British society using pop-music, they had found that instead it had led to a flowering of British culture and an intellectual growth in young people who were being introduced suddenly to various metaphysical, psychological and social concepts contained within the lyrics to 60’s pop music and had managed to assimilate these very well. Things were even worse now in the 70’s with bands like Pink Floyd who were making cogent and highly articulate protests about the ruling elite and were likewise encouraging young people to have the same intelligent and cogent approach. It was a disaster! Pink Floyd had to be stopped and he had found the very man to help undermine their intellectual and articulate approach. Johnny Rotten: the human antidote to Pink Floyd.

Bendie Rhodes was pleased with his creation. The snarling spitting vomiting Sex Pistols, but felt that pop music was rather like politics. If you wanted complete control you had to have your hand up all the backsides otherwise you were just a weird bloke with  a puppet on his arm. He had been tipped off that the band the 101'ers had a lead singer who was also a secret member of the Sicarii and what was more, his father was an eminence gris of the British secret service and it was custom to reward the offspring of those who served their country with some kind of cushy number in the arts. 


Malcolm McLaren and Dame Vivienne Westwood DBE RDI. Pro-rape and paedo T shirt apparently created by Bernie Rhodes.

The invention of pop music allowed the British government to branch out and provide more career opportunities to both reward and keep a person holding a sensitive position’s offspring in the public eye, since if all an agent had to do to monitor a former agent's family member's activity was to turn on the television then so much the better. The Americans had been doing something very similar with senior military staff and most of the most famous music stars of the 1960’s were promoted solely on the basis of their father’s military service record. Dee Dee Ramone, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Frank Zappa, Kris Kristofersen, Michael Stipe, all benefited from the US military’s generous cultural investment programme.


John Mellors was exactly the puppet Bendie needed to complete his pop pantomime and cultural assault on the Westerners. Already the man was in disguise, a member of the British elite but behind enemy lines with the common punk rabble affecting a mock cockney accent and pretending to be hard up and calling himself Joe Stummer.  Above all he was instructed by Bendie to always pretend to be working class and affect a working class accent. Additionally, despite being able to sing quite well he was told above all, to sing badly. To affect an out of tune raspy voice which above all, was to sound bad. 

If Bendie could convince young people to enjoy bad music with a very feeble and barely constructed intellectual message then he would be able to make them emulate this and therefore weaken the intellectual development of an entire nation, thus protecting the elite of which he was a part, from any well orchestrated and unmatchable intellectual attack. Much better to have any citizens who oppose you dressed in rags, drunk and shouting curses because they are so much easier to arrest and so much easier for the general public to disdain.

A Total Waste of Everybody's Time.

Joe Strummer had the misfortune to inaugurate the annual Christmas-time cull of pop stars, the first of what would soon become an annual tradition as pop stars who had outlived their usefulness or had been ignoring the memos from the Sicarii pop-star management team. He became a victim of the great dead rock star Christmas lottery which has seen such legends as James Brown, David Bowie, George Michael, all fail to have their contracts renewed for the following infernal year.

Punk Pop One Eyed Illuminati Dajjal Apocalypse Time!


Reality dawned on Johnny Rotten in 1979 in San Francisco, as he looked out at the audience and saw for the first time what he had helped create and he took the mike, vowing to end this artificial pantomime and hanging up his puppet strings for good when he said the words, ‘ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?’

Johnny Rotten: Plastic punk pop product.







The previous article was particularly difficult for me to write and research because I love the Sex Pistols and The Clash.....Fucking hate Malcolm Mclaren though.







Not you as well.....


Thursday, 18 May 2017

A Reader's Poem.


The Everything Christ by Tenderfoot-In-Truth


Why is is that everybody seems to be sleeping awake? 
What other ways do we have?
Existence we have created,
For the survival of this very cheap loneliness.

Fulfilling!
We need something more, 
Something exuberant, 
Something great.

I wait for that day,
I can't understand the greatness of God 
I just dream 
Those in Christ will be glorified

Victorious, powerful, sinless,
Together with Christ 
Judging Together with Christ 
Ruling Together with Christ 
Without a single wrinkle.

Of the rubber of water, robbers vanished into the night 
Time meaningless 
Hours forgotten 
Seconds, minute ripples 
What is His love? 
What made me worth it?

A single breath 
For Him to come down and save me 
A worthless piece of dust and yet 
The breath was worth it all 
It was worth  
Everything

Livened, strengthened, and permitted 
Saved, determined, routed 
A single breath 
Upheld, predestined, secured 
Enamored, attracted, envisioned 
A greater I 
For the glory of the only One

The gracefully impartial Lord even in all the respects seeming none the kindest 
For the glory of the only 
The absolutely and indisputably, the irrevocably and unfathomably Great One 
The One great and just God 
Because I am sick of the alternative 
Satan tailored for me to wear 
And I am sick of the reflection of perfection 
I can no longer even kid myself with a clearance sale
Because the suit I wear is a custom-made clown costume 
Unsuspecting me 
Oh, silly, unsuspecting me!

I have given you the key 
Behind the veneer 
Behind the smile, behind the torment 
Behind the pride, behind the heartache 
Behind wickedness 
I ask are you done? 
Christ asks you are you done? 
Get in! 
Rush to claw to grab to climb to drive!

Never to receive rags of fine linen 
Come in now, immediately, and open! 
Time will pour out in a gust of wind that falls down a trail to nowhere 
And you will be eternally indistinguishable in a pool of darkness 
Returned to your master and 
For the wedding occasion

Yourself to blame you for mediocrity 
Behold something other than self-importance! 
You do not slam your pom-poms on the silent show 
Don't you do that 
The minuscule, mangled dance 
That you do not even qualify as 
Mediocre! 

Apparently, for the mediocre qualifier you have yourself 
Without Christ to blame

Under the place hidden 
Because, oh, with Christ, with the very thing of the everything Christ 
Nothing, yes, nothing, nothing at all! 

To blame you have yourself for 
Why, with the everything Christ 
You do not blame yourself 
You blame a blameless one! 
 And thus is swept the dust that collects 
And finally it is rid with, good riddance! 
In good sound and mind

In the everything Christ 
To bend the flaw aright 
Thank God, you can actually say good riddance! 
You can say good riddance! 
God in Christ bent the flaw aright

God bent the flaw aright.

Tuesday, 11 April 2017

The Adventures of Jesus Christ and the Sword of Conflict.





When Jesus said ‘I did not come to bring peace but a sword’ he was telling the world that conflict is the price of truth. That the world would take up arms against him, his people and his message. We see this culminating in the events of the last century and this century. The Earth has now become a battleground, and it is precisely because this world is not the abode of truth and the resultant turmoil we see is the battle between good and evil, between the truth and lies, which will never settle into each other to develop into harmony, ying can never resolve into yang in harmony, but only to conflict, continual and all consuming. Good and evil are mutually exclusive, ‘the light shines in the darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not.”



We are on the verge of a huge world war which has been carefully arranged, just as the previous two world wars were carefully tended and grown by the international bankers who ensured that Nazi German had all the funding she required to build up her colossal war machine. The same agents also funded the Soviet Union which was bankrupt and impoverished after her disastrous role in world war one and the 1917 revolution, and millions of dollars of funds were made available to ensure that Stalin’s radical five year plans of industrialization and mechanization, bore the fruit of creating a suitably armed belligerent to aid in the destruction of the Christian world.
 


And now we live in a world which is on the verge of being torn into pieces again. Yet this time who knows what will remain once the dust and bombs have settled. The first world war left shattered churches in broken towns in Northern France, churned up fields, and a mortal moral wound in the heart of the Christian world from which it has never recovered. The great unspoken thought was that if a Christian people could murder each other on an industrial scale with all the genius of their science turned to making machines and substances designed to rip up and ruin human bodies, then maybe the Christian programme hasn’t worked.

The second world war was merely the end of the long 1918 ceasefire and again all of the malicious genius of science after being given many long years of apparent peace to perfect the art of murder, used its genius to murder on a mass scale, culminating in the nuclear destruction of two Japanese cities. 



The Dominoes, Ready to Fall, All Lined-Up by the Hidden Hand.

And now, as of the time of writing and indeed, perhaps for about the past five years, we seem to have entered a final phase for the civilized world, a phase where all the dominoes are now in place, conveniently aligned, entwined and positioned so that the right pleasure applied to the right domino, will set all the pieces tumbling upon each other. While one group remains aloof from the cascading chaos: those who push the domino. They get to observe and watch their handiwork from a vantage point of perfect safety. They are not in amongst the dominoes, they will not fight, or be bombed, except those pawn sacrifices from their group they have decided to use for such a purpose to further their goals and they, like the banker, always win. 

But the true creators of war and conflict are above and beyond the chaos they create. They are the ones who have worked so hard to put all the dominoes in position in order that they might fall all the better, that the least pressure be enough to totally flatten the whole world.

This is because the group setting up the dominoes and preparing to push them all over is at war with Christ and has been trying to kill and persecute Christians and Christian civilisation from the first day of their appearance on Earth, just as they persecuted and had Jesus Christ himself murdered. It is the same people dragging the world to war as those who killed Christ.

We live in a world dominated by the sword. Christ brought the truth to the world for the first time. We now have the word of God and the choice to listen to his voice through the ministry of Jesus, or to ignore that message. 


Unfortunately even the existence of that choice and the presence of the truth of the presence of God, is too much for some people to bear, and they have made it their role, to do what they can to destroy the presence of God and all knowledge of God’s word, even if it means destroying the Earth and all its people.

In the next world there is the eternal turmoil of judgement, which means the transmutation of souls to the next dimension, either into the light, where ‘the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their father’ or ‘into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’

It is perhaps for this reason, to tackle this potentially inconvenient truth about this world being a crossroads into the next world and our inclinations, inner desires and actions determining which path we take, that the scientific and media consensus is that the next world doesn’t exist and that this world is not in any sense a crossroads but a cul de sac.


If we can imagine that in the next world our physical body no longer exists, and all we are is the inner being, then all superficial charm and outward personality, have no value and no substance and all that would be left would be the inner desires and inclinations, whatever they may be.


It is often the case that people erect a façade and construct a ‘personality’ with which they negotiate with the physical world.
This personality often bears a vast difference between the inner reality of the person and the outward projection so carefully crafted.
  


Unfortunately superficial charm and the crafted personality façade are highly prized on this planet and in many fields are indispensable to success and the ability to rise to a position of controlling influence. 
Such people by their nature and ability to maintain a steady and reliable personality façade at any time, become highly successful in the media and entertainment and from there, they are able to directly exert a controlling cultural influence over other people.

These cultural figures become mental and cognitive leaders for the people under their influence and their beliefs and values soon become shared by the greater population who no longer think for themselves but absorb the ideas and suggestions of their cultural leaders, whose ideas and beliefs they adopt, under the influence of their superficial charm and their constructed personality.

One often finds the most vociferous voices in the media and science extolling atheism, are those very people who might have something to feel guilty about. For instance both Stephen Fry and Richard Dawkins are atheists who seem to have a very ambiguous position on paedophilia. And so to negate any sense of judgement and to evade the idea that they may be responsible for some immorality they conveniently relegate all such ideas of morality, responsibility, judgement, and even of good and evil itself, to non-existence.

In this way, atheism is a new kind of deception and a very easy way for evil people, or at least, people who have committed some evil, to feel that they can elude any consequences. Of course, the consequences cannot be avoided because you may think you can rewrite the rules of reality, but no doubt such thinking is convenient for these people during their earthly lives, but such thinking often creates attendant problems such as depression, bi-polar disorder, drug abuse and alcoholism, because these people are not dealing with truth and are willfully evading it, the result is discord, depression and a life of confusion where they search for meaning which they have willfully obliterated.

Only Jesus can save such people, but they are so oppressed by their own guilt and that attendant guilt is used to construct the artifice of their atheism, that they have too much personally invested to abandon it to Jesus, besides, such people also, much to their detriment, have built up such a level of adulation, professional respect and kudos that they probably start to believe their own bullshit, since everyone else seems to. It must be a very difficult temptation to resist, to join the mass of the public and believe in the consensual illusion about the grandeur of your own public image.

These are the values stitched into the culture and the people exposed to that culture through the media. The only way to be mentally free from the conditioning is to leave the country and spend several years in an alternative culture, preferably one which has some value and appeal to you, in order to break the conditioning of ones native culture and learn to transcend such conceited television boobies as Stephen Fry. Once one has removed oneself to a suitable vantage point, perhaps just across the English Channel, or some thousands of miles away near the Saharan desert, such people reveal themselves to be nothing but paltry and conceited fools, and merely local phenomena, having nothing of the real wisdom of universality which one can only learn and acquire through extensive travel.

There are other ways to ensure one is not taken-in by the deadly nefarious combination of the TV alpha trance and the charming air of wit and authority which these media demagogues use to spread their own particular values, or lack of them, but they most certainly involve throwing away the television and disdaining any form of mainstream entertainment, but it is very difficult for anyone to truly live in a vacuum within a society, such people soon become seen as eccentrics, or they just don't seem to fit in with other people; not sharing cultural and social cues which people use to build and maintain friendships.

Indeed there was much work undertaken by the Conservative government of the early nineties to expressly ensure that no one had the opportunity to access any alternative lifestyle by the express use of law to shut down alternative ways of living such as that hitherto enjoyed by the travelling community. Such people were a direct threat to the cultural dominance now enjoyed by ‘their’ media and now we all obediently go to work and come home to switch on our TV sets to receive our evening dose of mind and thought control, and cultural conditioning. What’s more we pay a license fee for the privilege, it is all rather too absurd and such absurdities only become apparent once one has achieved the level of ‘perspective’ which travel, free thinking, and throwing away your TV, will bring.

Had Jesus never had his ministry and had his message never advanced like a righteous tempest through the Roman Empire the world would probably be at a kind of peace right now. The kind of peace where there is no conflict and no right and wrong. Where every child must submit to a sexual initiation in midnight wood with a strange man dressed up as a goat. The kind of world where a slave class made up of half of the world would exist, who would be literally owned by the local aristocracy and forced to wear chains around their feet. Conflict is a sign that there's still something left to fight for and the turmoil of this world shows us that they are still waging war on us because we are not yet completely under their control.

Conflict only comes because there is dispute but imagine a world, like that of the Greeks or Romans, were there was no such strongly sense of entrenched morality which Christianity has brought.

No idea of freedom, no idea of personal rights. Where a child for instance, can be sexually abused by an older man, not only with impunity but as a cultural expectation. Where madness and hysteria were part not only of the religious life and spiritual rites, but often also fully expressed in the most powerful rulers of the land, men who ruled a huge empire spanning thousands of miles and scores of languages and cultures, were completely mad.

Some writers have posited something called ‘Roman Emperor’ syndrome and explained the madness of several of the most famous Roman Emperors as a direct result of being emperor, that absolute power corrupts absolutely and that few men can remain sane given enough power. But what if somehow the Roman Emperors were offered the same deal that Jesus was offered, dominion over the kingdoms of the land if only he bowed to Satan, except that those who became Emperors were those who unlike Jesus, had accepted Satan's offer.

Perhaps Jesus too could have been something resembling a Roman Emperor, since one man is much like another, there seems to me to be little particularly remarkable about the type of men who rise to positions of great power, except for symptoms of madness and sometimes, something like a messianic zeal.

The Messiah who said YES to Satan.

Hitler himself, saw himself in Messianic terms, and he too was once nothing but a second rate painter (who seemed to have a problem mastering perspective), an occasional homosexual and later, injured army corporal. But someone or something singled him out for greatness and temporary dominion. Something made a deal with him which he accepted.


Hitler: A slight problem of perspective. 

What happened to Jesus is a perfect representation of the true nature of our world. It is a world which does not want to know or hear the truth. It is a world ruled by Satan and the easy self deception of people who will do the myriad small crimes required to maintain his dark kingdom on Earth, if only for a quiet comfortable life. But the world has been judged and found wanting and Jesus, the only righteous man to ever walk the Earth, was rejected by the Earth itself.

“Now is the judgement of this world, now shall the ruler of this world be cast out; and I, when I am lifted up from the Earth, will draw all men to myself.”

We as a species, in the majority, seem to have this fatal flaw in our psychological makeup. This is only to apparent by the fact that people still engage with modern democracy, still work their jobs, pay their taxes and have children, when it is a known fact that politicians lie to us. We vote for them again and again, as long as their lies are not too obvious and are relatively well dissimulated. The populace will vote for a liar, but not for an obvious one which would reflect badly on their own confidence in him or her.

But we love lies and deception, fraud and fakery, because it is easier to believe in a lie and know it’s a lie, than to face the truth and risk being exposed by its light.
And so humanity has learned to advance forward under the comforting shadow of reassuring lies they have learned to live with. The sure knowledge that whoever they vote into power will just continue the steady decline we all know has set-in, is preferable to being exposed to their own power and ability to take the reins of power and control their own destinies. 

Most people don’t want that because they just wouldn’t know where to begin. Being told what to do and how to exist on planet Earth, even under a million obvious contradictions and blatant injustices, allows most people to avoid the sight of total reality, because humanity has little to no knowledge of any kind of absolute reality or total truth and is in no means equipped to operate under these parameters. Some people however are and they attempt to do so. And as Bill Hicks pointed out, we tend to kill those people, not only because they threaten the institutions and power structures in place, but also because they make the general populace feel mentally uncomfortable, since dealing with the truth suddenly after being habituated to the comforting delusion of falsehood is tantamount to putting people in a forced stress position.

Few people will tolerate such discomfort for long and will rise up as one to remove the source of their torment. And so what happened to Jesus wasn’t a particular indictment against the Jewish people in particular, but an indictment perhaps, of any people, when faced with a truth which threatens their whole way of life and their continued ability to maintain that way of life. Jesus, despite being greeted and acclaimed by crowds sometimes numbering in the thousands, was still at the mercy of people’s general wish to follow the path of least resistance.

However the Jews it seems have taken it upon themselves to wage a two thousand year war on their own Messiah and the savior of humanity. The man who told the truth and for that, he had to die. Traditionally civilisations have always felt more comfortable creating their own Gods and when given a vision of God which doesn’t accord with the vision of their creation, they reject it. The Gods which human have created have tended to be brutal, jealous, destructive and capricious figures. Figures which judged humanity but which gave the comfort of exhibiting characteristics understandable to human nature. For thousands of years man created God in his own image, while writing holy books which deny the fact completely and pretend that God created man in his image.

The truth which arrived with Jesus’ ministry was not that God had created man in his image, but more that man had lost sight of God entirely, and what was worse was that the image of God man had created was almost entirely erroneous. Mankind had completely misunderstood the nature of God. It is mankind that feels the need to create rules and order and control other people, not God and this was why Jesus was at pains to say ‘that the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath.’

The God mankind had made celebrated war and massacre, of men, women and children alike. Whether the God or Gods of the Ancient Egyptians, the Greeks, The Germanic people, or the Jews. It is fair to say that none of these people had ever properly glimpsed the true nature of God, and if they did, then they scarcely publicized the fact.

The Buddha came close, but the impersonal nature of the universe from Buddha’s vision and his story of pain and suffering being the root of existence, seems to miss the flavor of the truth, and might be the kind of conclusions, a man who, once emerging from a strictly controlled environment of harmony and peace, and to leave that artificial illusory environment to see the real world for the first time and be suddenly struck with the brute force of those new impressions and the shattering of old lies and old illusions, which of course is precisely the story we are told about the Buddha. That he was a young prince, cossetted in his palace with the royal household in an artificial paradise beyond which he knew nothing else. Almost like the character from a Night Shyamalan film. The sudden loss of any sense of reality may indeed create the lasting impression that all is illusion indeed.

Jesus is the way the truth and the life and our suffering world of turmoil is because we are living in a spiritual war-zone. But the fact that they are still fighting to subjugate and control us, shows that we are still free and above all, we are free to find the truth of Jesus, but they have made the way very narrow indeed. Throwing away the TV might be the first step to accessing his Kingdom.


Thursday, 6 April 2017

The Crata Repoa and Plato's Haunted-House Funfair Adventure.




The Crata Repoa, written by Karl Fredderich Von Koppen and Johann Wilhelm Bernhard claims to detail the initiatory practices of the ancient Egyptians. Whether there is any truth as to whether this book really did detail the initiatory practices of the Ancient Egyptians must remain moot, however it is far more likely that it reflects more the general initiatory practices of the Freemasons who claim ancestry as far back as Ancient Egypt. 

This book’s purpose was to connect Freemasonry to Ancient Egypt for the purposes of providing a hitherto secret organization whose roots stretch back to Kabbalah practicing 11th Century Jews and Ismaili Hashashin, revealing itself to its particular public of royals, wealthy parvenus, and agitated revolutionaries, a sense of continuity, pedigree and even moral authority to their order. 




The cover image for the 18th Century French translation of the original German manuscript shows an image which might be familiar to fans of 21st Century pop music. 



It is doubtful that the Crata Repoa has any authenticity and is little more than an 18th century fantasy. Its descriptions of the Ancient Egyptian initiate being given a sword and a shield has rather too much of Teutonic Germanic romanticism or a hint of Spartan military to reflect the reality of the mystical purity of Ancient Egypt. Still, the descriptions are interesting in that they evoke what kind of fantasies might be enacted in the Masonic Lodge and the kinds of theatricalities which probably took place in the mysteries of Ancient Greece, with its initiations which have become the stuff of myth and legend with its labyrinths and descriptions of supernatural beasts. 

The first degree, strangely named ‘Christphoris’ or ‘Chris’ I suppose to his friends, describes the initiate being forgotten and left to his anger for 18 months, when he is suddenly taken up and delivered into a labyrinth and assailed by agents with terrifying masks and flaming torches in their hands, while screaming the word ‘Panis’ which again makes me think of the Greek mysteries and the cult of Pan, from which we have the word Panic, and initiations into his mysteries were probably a cross between The Skull and Bones society and a Club 18-30 holiday. 

The initiate tries to battle the hordes but is overpowered by the sheer number, after which he is blindfolded and a cord put around a neck like a yoke, as result of which he is brought to the ground. This is surely more an echo of the activity of the German Masonic lodge or even the Bavarian Illuminati than having anything of remote antiquity in it. After which there are more screams. He is then taken into the presence of a bright light in a richly decorated room and given a drugged beverage which he must empty to the dregs. 

He is then ordered by a King to go into a room nearby and chop the head off a person who is found there. When he gets into the room he finds a beautiful woman, what is apparently a puppet made of skins and inflated cushions, so well made it appears to be alive. He removes the head of the puppet or it may even be a living woman, who really knows with these people, and presents it to the king. 

He is then told that this is the head of the Gorgon (which symbolically represents his own ego and sense of self). In this story it is the Gorgon who is the wife of Typhon (Set) who was responsible for the death of Osiris. 

In the same volume I found a text called ‘The Initiation of Plato’ apparently written or compiled or who knows what, signed by Marconis de Negre. Jacques-Etienne Marconis de Negre was a Freemason born in 1795 and was the founder of the French rite of Memphis, an Egyptian rite of ‘invisible’ Freemasonry, or at least he put his name to it. 

On a similar level of banal idiocy is the Masonic tale of the Initiation of Plato. I am extremely surprised by this text. Surprised that the ancient mysterious initiation of Plato seemed to resemble a cross between a scene from an Indiana Jones movie and a ride on the fun fair ghost train. It is possible that the account in the text is entirely fabricated, in which case I am surprised that Manly P Hall was taken in by it, if indeed the account is accurate, then I am surprised by the nature of the ancient mysteries and how paltry they were and seemingly wholly lacking in any supernatural element which cannot be managed by men in funny costumes. 

Apparently Plato starts by entering a narrow path in a deep cave, which may be supposed to be the Great pyramid since his initiation is said to have taken place in Egypt. Though Ancient Egypt had no shortage of narrow paths and deep caves of various sorts so the initiation could have taken place anywhere, however there is a romantic notion that the initiation took place in the Great Pyramid and for such a personage as esteemed as Plato, no other venue would appear worthy. 

Now there is a possibility that the initiation took place as described, within the various complexes of the Giza plateau, but one would hope at least for decency’s sake that the mysterious majesty of the ruins of ancient Egypt which evoke such awe and evocative contemplation of time of grandeur and majesty which we can scarcely comprehend, were not so sullied as to have been the venue of what seems to be little more than some kind of dungeons and dragons fun-fair adventure game. 

Apart from looking deep within the Giza plateau for the much vaunted hall of records of the ages maybe they might one day also find a hall of mirrors, and a fossilized freak show. At least if the account is anything to go by. 

It is suggestive of the kind of activity which day trippers to Blackpool might have experienced in the heydays of the 50’s holiday seasons and the myriad entertainments devised for the working classes for a couple of old pennies. 

To continue the account, Plato moved a metal grill in order to enter another chamber, which closed after him. This was the cue for poor Plato to be assailed by the cast of the fun-fair haunted house and no sooner had he entered a second door, and with his flaming torch sees winged dragons, horrible scorpions, and even larvae. 

Then his light went out and he is plunged into darkness. Then a voice called down to Plato to ask him if he was scared yet, and Plato bravely said no. Shadows, scorpions and even larvae didn’t shake Plato, he wasn’t the type of chap to scare easily. He continued on his path and then saw a beautiful temple lit by lamps and a voice lectured him on some nebulous banalities about how the universal cause acts to one end by different laws, and how the whole world of nature and matter presses towards a common goal toward the general good. 

There can be no doubt that the text known as the Initiation of Plato is a fanciful recreation informed by the rituals and focus towards materialism and Neo Platonism of the 18th Century. There appears to be of little of interest in the dialogue between Plato and the unknown locutor of the mysteries, except the imparting of the idea that genius is born of the immortal spirit and is facet of the soul, and that divinity is the source of creative genius, and to become an angel one has to cease to be a man. 

The voice then asks him if he wants to go back, but our brave hero replies no, he is not afraid. He wasn’t shaken by larvae, nor was he frightened by interminably pretentious new-age discourse. So he continued until he came to a burning furnace which he could cross only by walking along a narrow metal grill, at then end of which apparently was a torrent of water which he could only cross by swimming. So basically it was a little bit like It’s a Knockout and We Are The Champions, if anyone remembers that show.

And the text rather feebly describes this as a double peril, a shuffle along a narrow metal causeway may be somewhat perilous but swimming? Perhaps swimming wasn’t really a thing back then, who knows, and perhaps one only experienced the idea of crossing water while physically moving parts of your body during secret ancient initiations. Maybe swimming itself is one of the great revelatory mysteries of the ancient world.

But the text tells us that the worse is yet to come. A stairway of a few steps led to a door of ivory, Plato crossed the threshold only to find the floor crumble under him, just like in the movies. After which huge metal wheels moved with great speed being pulled by great chains, again, just like in the movies. Then the neophyte is taken by a powerful arm and taken to a ruined chapel where fallen columns everywhere block his progress. 



A man with a severe countenance is sat at a table lit by a lamp who then instructs Plato to rummage amongst a bunch of ancient tombs full of dust and delivers a dreary discourse on how fleeting life is and how sad it is to be dead. Hardly the discourse of an enlightened spiritual master, much more likely the kind of sad and dreary materialistic nonsense which comes from our age and our learned fear of death. This is yet another reason to suppose that this text is in no way an authentically ancient account but something dreamed up in the 18th Century as it has all the materialistic and atheistic baggage of that age, when people abandoned the mysteries of spirit for the sureties of science, and we entered our present spiritual dark-age with its world wars and weekly atrocities delivered fresh to a work-sodden half living mass of humans who spend most of their time on the treadmill of doing and have forgotten their being. 

After which Plato is presented with a golden horn, and yet more wise old people take their cues in the scene and start yet more interminable dialogue about sublime architects of the universe, force, power beauty and proportion. Could there be any hell worse than discovering that God was indeed an architect and was fussily poring over blueprints and dangling plumb lines while peering disinterestedly at humanity over his eye-glasses? Only the Masons in their peculiar sado-masochism could invent such an appallingly degraded vision of God. How about going one further and saying God works for the council, or is the chair of the Chamber of Commerce? 

The three old men continue and slip into something like school masters, delivering lectures on topics as diverse as the elliptical nature of the orbit of the planets around the sun as well as the moons of Jupiter. The moons of Jupiter were first observed by Galileo in the 17th Century and prove beyond doubt the dubious nature of this account. 

It is particularly interesting that this account was written by a very high level French Freemason who is one of the major figureheads of European Esoteric Freemasonry which went on to influence American Freemasonry. Since he was so able and willing to pass fantasy fictions of as secret historical esoteria how much more of Freemasonry is nothing but fanciful deception and, to be blunt, bullshit. 

Plato’s haunted house fun-fair adventure culminates, as with the previous Ancient Egyptian Initiation, with Plato being ordered to decapitate what the text says is a puppet made so cunningly of skin and inflated bladders, so as to appear lifelike. This is highly suggestive and disturbing. What would be the purpose behind decapitating what appears to be a human body if it were just a cunningly designed dummy? Aside from the suggestion that the head represents ego, what purpose would removing the head from a puppet’s body serve, particularly since it seems to be the culmination of what prior to this has after all, only been, old men reading university lectures by flickering candle light and the odd guy wearing a scary mask. 



The Initiation only really makes sense as being a profound, disturbing and transformative ceremony, about which the initiate is sworn to secrecy, if the murder were in fact real or at the very least, the initiate was led to believe it was. But how does one make skin and inflated pigs bladders appear lifelike? Such an appearance would most likely make a mockery of the ceremony in the initiate's eyes and reduce what already seems a ghost train farce to a pantomime. What ethical scruple would there be to prevent the architects of the mysteries from using a real person, likely someone who was drugged and would not be missed? Someone from the streets or even from another district. 

We can assume that the authors of the mysteries are the very people who rule our world and have always done so, have they ever shied away from bloodletting? Have they ever shown themselves unwilling to commit atrocities and butcher people? Of course not, history is an endless red sea of blood and the greater the human development the better the means the rulers of the world have to extract more and more blood and kill more and more people. In fact to an outside observer from a benign and civilized race from a distant star, they might observe that this seems to be the most pronounced activity and chief legacy of this human race. Bloodletting on an industrial scale. 

For this reason I am ready to assume that the ancient mysteries and Freemasonry did and does in fact involve the murder of an unfortunate victim. This could have been useful as a way in which the cults removed their enemies, while simultaneously being a test of the initiate's devotion to the cause and additionally, making him complicit in the crime and forever knitted to the order by his crime and the possible use of threats of blackmail of the unmasking of his crime, since it was he and he alone who committed the deed, despite doing it under instruction. This is exactly how the modern black street gang initiations unfold. In fact the initiate may well be told that the figure is a dummy and that the verisimilitude to a living person is all the skill of the art of the mystery school. 

But it is clear that the possibility of using a living victim renders so many more useful possibilities to the group and knowing how easily states and religions spill blood there is no reason to assume that a secret organization which is the very essence and distillation of the power of the state political group and the state religion, would hold back under cover of darkness. It is far more likely that here they would abandon themselves to every excess they consider useful to their aims. Furthermore, and perhaps even more crucially might be the working on the mind of the initiate of his guilt at having murdered someone in cold blood for no motive.

My point behind all this is that until very recent times, Freemasonry was nothing but a society dealing with ridiculous mythological enactments and fancy dress costumes, with the possible hint of danger with some kind of ritual murder which may or may not be anything worse than bursting a pig's bladder made to resemble a human head.

However what we have within Freemasonry now is of a very different complexion to those early fools. It was probably someone like Aleister Crowley who decided that the rituals were so much more effective and the Gods all the better invoked if real murders took place...

I'm on FIRE with dat TROOF.

I'm on FIRE with dat TROOF.
Kundalini refugee doing a bit of landscaping.

Morocco Snapshots.

Oman man!

Cyprus, history washing over old stones.

Egypt... getting proper stoned.

Jordan. Biblical landscapes.

Nice shots of Morocco

Moor from Morocco.

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