PortYouGal Water Gods

 Politicians sit yourselves down there’s nothing for you here
Won’t you please come to Chicago for a ride

Don’t ask Jack to help you ’cause he’ll turn the other ear
won’t you please come to Chicago or else join the other side

(Graham Nash)

 

Iron-ick, so many Recording Radicals from the Sixties ended up fundraising and promoting Pharaoh.  Knightings before the Queen, brunch with the President.  

Cell by regenerated cell, compromise by rationalization, swirling right on down to Cafe 101 Babylon . . .  become enemies of themselves, caricatures of a shallow idealism long ago jettisoned.  Become the Other Side.   The Amsterdam Vallon Effect.

 

 

 

 

 The Water Dog Does London

 

Polynesian folk, with lotsa cogitatin’ time, fingered Hawai’i as Land of the Dead.  Them being no more ignorant than you or l.d., we can expect a legitimate, if myth-cloaked, reason — sprung not from imagination, but race-experience.  The Polynesian view dovetails ancient Egypt’s siting of the duat or tuat (underworld, death, between-ness) in the extreme West.

Given the slavish compulsions of the various Masonic branches and iterations concerning Egyptian sorcery, royalty, astronomy, and cosmology, unstunning it be that Obama, our solnigredic Pharaoh, hatched in the State of Death, Hawai’i – and thus, even profanely, has “returned”  from the Deathlands to rule over the Goddess’ personal realm, America – based in the Goddess’ own District, Columbia . . .  in the nation’s extreme East.

Quite a coup.  For a dweezil. 

[Czeck the blue sol-niger Obie in the lead animation -- we see the left (unconscious) side of his face.  Warning: not for persons under the age of eternal.]

As in Egpyptian resurrection cycles, Barack de Ra travelled firstclass Jornada del Muerto, across the duat abyss from West (death) to East (sunrise, life.)

Barack and Benedict derive from root BRK.  The Catholic Church, especially in the 20th century, was infiltrated steadily by masonic agents.  (Plus the usual innocent errors by loyal clerics resulting from goddess worship and deception.) 

Barack Benedictus, hoom.  Has a Ring to it sez lil dynamo, skritching his treebranch beard.

Upper and Lower Egpyt seal, the serpent’s mouth entails.   Dubble dubble toil and trouble “blessings” from the Bones Boys’ favorite play, Macbeth . . . about a weak Scottish king and his murderous, slithery wife.

In the BRK root, the Two Egypts (like the Two Babylons) fuse, uroboric, Church and State welded – like the two major world-powers, the Christian-Islamic Church and the Scientific Legate, from The Divine Invasion.

Barack means he who is blessed . . . though we’re not told exactly who’s doing the “blessing.”  (Probly Grannie Robinson brandishing a voudoun chicken.) 

 

 

 

 

 

From Egg Salad Annie’s Geronimo! post:

Now Skull and Bones does everything in deference to this goddess. They have songs or they call them that sacred anthems that they sing when they are encouraged to steal things, some remarkably valuable items, supposedly, they are said to be bringing back gifts to the goddess. They begin each session in the tomb, and they meet twice weekly by unveiling a sort of a guilt shrine to Eulogia. That’s the point of the society. They call themselves the Knights of Eulogia. That’s where the 322 comes in.

 

Eulogia is Greek for, ho hum . . . blessing.  Plus shares a prefix with Europe and its goddess-namesake, Europa.

In Christian context, Eulogia means Eucharistic bread.   A sacrificial body.

The whole “guilt shrine” and goddess-worship thing is standard subjugation, kabbala, and the self-loathing of immature masculinity.  Might’s well be on a Caananite hilltop, chunking kids into Moloch’s Maw.

Paleolithic throwbacks, they vie in  “bringing back gifts to the goddess.”   

. . . operating off instinctual, predatory imperatives . . . drones, subject to some Mad Queen Bee . . .  Palace Guards of the Western Witch,  sharing the closed, aural, ritualistic, matriarchal Hive Mind of inbred cryptocracy.  Attached, even in advanced age, to the Machine Womb.

Like  honey-bee colonies, our cultures have become gradually but ineluctably dominated by female-workers.  Check the gubbermint offices if ya thinks different.  The gens-bees do the gathering, when civilization relents to Hive.

Goddess Eulogia inhabits a guilt shrine, to which her male servants return stolen offerings.  Pirate theme.  We get it.  Har har matey.

 

Since femaleness suffuses the created world, the pure male is cast out.  He has no right to life.

– Camille Paglia

 

The fierce, independent, free male spirit of Geronimo was – like Baptist John before or J.F.K. after — a Grand Prize, heads returned on platters to Eulogia Herodias.  Kali brandishing her necklace of skulls.  Michelle, mind spinning, in Black Widow vestments, Mom-in-Chief. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 They got God surrounded!  lol

 

Whilst on tombs, fifth-century Merovingian king Childeric I was uncovered in 1653, buried with a golden bull’s head and golden bees, indicating allegience to, and membership in, the “grail” bloodline.  Little-man-complexed Napoleon adopted the bee-motif for his coronation cloak. 

Childeric I, King of the Franks, was a renouned sorcerer.  His father was Merovee, said to have been sired by both a mortal father (Clodion) and ”an arcane sea creature,” the Bistea Neptunis –   Greecian Poseidon, founder of matriarchal Atlantis, “when giants walked.” 

The Merovingian in The Matrix is a Master Programmer or Systems Tech, who fabricates cultural memes and mass programs to enslave Earth’s population via deceptions of consciousness.  His infernal companion is Persephone, Mistress of the BrainDead.

In the late nineteenth century, Western corporate (masonic) sugar-cane  interests set up shop  in the Hawaiian Islands — continuing the Templar tradition of spice/drug monopoly, as with their East India Company or today’s CIA.  

The Big Five, the DeadLand’s oligarchy.  (Term also applying to the “Five Points satanic center” of New York; to the NY Five-Families Cosa Nostra; and, as Big Five Game, to Africa’s most difficult animals to hunt afoot — thus suggesting the “Most Dangerous Game” and predation upon humans.)

Nineteenth-century Native Hawaiians, content with bountiful fishing and gathering subsistence, saw no need to enslave themselves on Maggie’s Farm West.  Mass immigration of foreign workers therefore followed, the greatest number being Chinese and, a surprising second, Portuguese.

Many Portuguese immigrants were simple laborers, but some were Templar scouts and operatives, well-connected and steeped in Chaldeo-Egyptian sorcery, slavering at the potential of Opening the Coffin in the ”uttermost West.”   With the Hawaiian Royalty soon to crumble, the mega-fertile Land of Death spread like harlot thighs to certain Portegee newcomers, joyful as Chicago gangsters at news of Prohibition.  The Portuguese Templars now had — no doubt through related byzants – an opportunity to buy, bully, or machinate their way into Hawaii’s virgin powerstructures.  

Juicy prospect for a Brotherhood of Death.  Sugar cane in one hand, warden’s cane in the other. 

They sucked the Sweetness itsef from the Islands, turning them fertile of field and barren of spirit.  Better than dead: alive in death.  

As explored on our blogspot site (e.g., “Krypt On and Off,” August 14, 2006) , Port You Gal, especially during its various neo-gnostic/templar infestations, was the saucier occultus in the financing, exploring, charting, founding, and directing of New Atlantis, this District of Columbia known by Matrix dwellers as the United States. 

Eastern Seaboard explorer Henry the Navi-gator and the Portuguese Order of Christ claimed the continent’s soil for the Goddess.  We’ve also written on blogspot about New Bedford, MAssachuSETts, and its occult atmosphere — thick as oatmeal, fetid of soul.  New Bedford’s the birthplace of American Feminism, via the whaling (wailing) wives of township sea captains.  Gender activism soared during the captains’ long absences.

In fact, some Portuguese whalers stayed in Hawai’i.   Seems like every time they returned to the U.S., their influence had mysteriously diminished.  :O)

Not that the Hawai’i plantations were novel.  The large Cape-Verdean population in current New Bedford stems from the (primarily) Sixteenth Century Portuguese colonization of the little Atlantic archipelago, with establishment of sugar plantations “staffed” by their own African slave trade.  Tidy.

So . . . the Portuguese were persistent Water Dogs.  Beginning in the latter fifteenth century, they  splished and splashed up and down the West African coast, linking hands and making deals.   The profits from this human bondage and misery financed the New Atlantis expeditions of Henry the Navigator and others, leading to our Goddess Homeland.

In the mid-nineteenth century, the Womens’ Movement again utilized the “Negro” at Seneca Falls and elsewhere, teaming with Abolitionism and equating the American female’s “oppression” with that of both slaves and (former) subjects of King George.  Pushing all the right brainstem, mass-psych buttons.

Now it’s Obama and Oprah.  But the rap ain’t changed.

Even today, New Bedford has a strong Portuguese population, cultural tradition, and psycho-religious inheritance.  In England, where Bedford-ness began, the titles of Earl and Duke of Bedford are held by the Russell family – financiers of wars, intergenerational pals with the Bushies, and Bonies from Wayback.

The Skull and Bones Society “does business” under the name “Russell Trust Association.” 

Leading back to decaps and purloined bones. 

The heyokan-monikered Harlyn Geronimo, great-grandson,  writes letters and files a lawsuit for return of the skull and femurs.  In an interview in Heyoka Magazine, he fesses:

That morning of 911 about two o clock, I was in a deep sleep, and then I had this dream. All the buildings, the debris was falling around me. . . .

Wikipedia:

While Geronimo said he was never a chief, he was a military leader. As a Chiricahua Apache, this meant he was just one of many people with special spiritual insights and abilities known to Apache people as “Power”. Among these were the ability to walk without leaving tracks; the abilities now known as telekinesis and telepathy; and the ability to survive gunshot. . . .

 

Egg Salad Annie:

 [I] began to understand that these (for lack of better word) sissy boys want power. (Sorry .. but boys who do these things for power and riches are sissies to me.) So, why not rely on their goddess? What was it about this manly man Apache, Geronimo, that made his remains so alluring that a grave would be robbed to steal his skull and bones. . . .

 

Whether Democrat or Republican, Bush or Kerry, they’re rewarded for serving their Goddess, delivering up to Eulogia’s Tomb powerful icons of masculinity.  Today it’s Geronimo’s bones.  Yesterday it was JFK or Baptist John’s head, MLK’s dying gasps . . .  RFK was particularly valued, brimming with vigor, libido, charisma, goodwill.  Eleven on a scale of ten.

Authentic masculine NRG is the rarest substance in Creation.  Like God, it’s what the Bonies ain’t.  So it’s stashed away in their New Haven Crypt, on their Russell Trust campus, State of Connect-I-Cut.  Solve et coagula.  Heavy on the solve.

An exhausted Geronimo, finally cornered by Army Captain Henry Lawton, eventually was reduced to selling souveniers and photos of himself at fairs, bartering his own shadow, riding in Teddy Roosevelt’s (Matinecock Lodge No. 806, Oyster Bay, New York) Inaugural Parade.

One Lawton wasn’t enough . . . in 1905 Geronimo recounted his biography to S.M. Barrett, Superintendent of Education in Lawton, Oklahoma.

Ooowee baby.  Dubble Law-ton lojo.  Had that poor boy Coming and Going.

In the far Pacific Leviathan surfaces, is crowned.  Henry the Navigator resurrects, scuttling about the Eastern Seaboard crablike, hammering driftwood together and fetching cakes for his reptoqueen.  Due south in Columbia’s District, we find just another Portuguese Water Dog, head on Malia’s lap, whining before Little Sasha, begging at Michelle’s hand and bowl.

And that’s just Obie.  Wait’ll ya see the Dog!

Bred specifically for Mari-time work!  :O)

Navigator Henry sails into Nova Scotia, Lady Liberty sails into her harbor, Anubis sails into London, and Pharaoh sails into the White House, dogstar glaring behind like Barad-dur’s baleful beacon.

 Still . . . little dynamo likes dogs, as previously reported.  He just doesn’t want them as his Master.

Portuguese Water Dog, Parti Breed (black and white)

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