Wednesday, May 31, 2017

There was one special day when ROLLING STONE was born, so maybe we all got a shot too? .. 6/1/17

We've been experimenting and considering new things. Story arcs will still be a part of it, but so will a lot of other things.... non fiction... 'newsy' things.... critiques... opinions...interviews.... Still feeling our way around... Will be sending invitations to writers soon... Manhattan's Ron Woodard might be the first (his invite already went out).. If you're a regular reader or TWITTER inter actor<---- click here to communicate with me (us?) about this via Twitter.... Morphing (maybe, I hope) into #vampirewonderland (clickable) an Urbane 'Evening' Newspaper... as we always say ---- 'everything is everywhere'..... what do you want to say, or highlight, or share?.. What's YOUR niche?

We already have 'some' name recognition... Might as well stretch and grow...

Also note ---- you can cover goings on in ANY city on Earth.... arts.... politics.... film.... pop culture..... how to get a break... how not to get a break.....Everything is everywhere.... borders are merely an illusion....

Please think about this... If you like, go watch ALMOST FAMOUS for inspiration...

That's it.... PLEASE communicate.

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Monday, May 22, 2017

Ape Tears Human Asunder 5/22/17 . Matthias Loibner hurdy gurdy master



Lawrence Edgerton, in spirit form, shares more from his early years with the Illuminati-----

Besides Hefton, I made three other friends that night. They were all a bit older than I and called me 'little brother.' One was a 'lord,' since his father was an earl and, as elder son, he carried the secondary title. The other two were brothers hailing from an amazingly rich gentry clan. Now gentry families are a whole other thing. They bear no titles, but not due to any social deficiency. I suppose, they just don't need them. Everyone knows who they are. And not being peers allows them to pull strings in the commons, where it really counts. Besides, they often hold vaunted county seats, such as sheriff and that provides real power too. Tarlton, they were called. Twins, though not identical, if I recall correctly.

Why do I dwell on this?.... Well, that's due to what happened next. They took me to a secret establishment. London was filled with secret establishments, from hidden gambling dens to a variety of gimmicky whore houses and occult cellars where they (at least according to whispers) sewed live humans into the carcasses of gigantic Nile crocodiles, which were then slow roasted in a long narrow bed of red hot coals. They say a certain Upper Egyptian river deity appreciated the gesture and dispensed eternal largesse to all committed supplicants. Why they didn't just write him a nice fat check, I'll never know.

We went to a rare and new display, deep beneath the second cellar of an old country house (or what was once a country house) a bit to the west of Vaux Hall, a once esteemed pleasure garden with wine dispensaries, live music and lovely little boats for hire, as well as a festively decorated merry-go-round and other such fun-fair devices.
The place sat off beyond a dark, secluded copse patrolled by armed guards. Some said a Scots Laird paid them, others a gentleman close to the throne. Wise men said nothing, as it was their place to know nothing.

That night we travelled incognito, in a nondescript hired coach, devoid of ostentatious trim. The coachmen was a mute illiterate. Any secrets he might know were sealed within his bones. The two bodyguards, brought up from Palermo and blood members of The Black Hand were the best that money could buy.. So we rode through the gardens and passed through the trees, till we came to the house (still a large commodious affair) and entered through a discreet, little kitchen door 'round the back...... A quick race down two or three turns of an ancient, spiral stair delivered us to the spot.... How many similar places hid among the rabbit warrens of London, I do not know. In that age they were numerous and well frequented.... You might call them 'television' and 'internet.' So feign not exalted honor at our expense. You do the like, though from a proper distance.

None were witness, save myself, my four companions and a master of ceremonies done up like a cruel, dandy clown. The walls, thick, white washed, rough hewn stone. In the center of the chamber was a large, black, cast iron cage with a small narrow passage going off to the right and a matching one going off to the left. They floor was strewn with straw. A miserly bit of dull, orange light fell down from lanterns widely placed about the space. The cruel clown whistled. A door opened and a whimpering naked wretch crawled forth from the sinister side out into the round cage.... No one made a sound.... The wretch, in a barely audible voice, whispered - Please..... but in vain. No rescue there that night.... The clown sighed and the remaining door burst open, releasing a bristling, bounding ape, brought hence from the banks of a river deep within the fetid depths of an equatorial jungle... How it shrieked and rattled the bars.... The victim curled up like a nut and tried to disappear, but the keen eyed beast already knew his scent and studied him . It hissed. The man screamed. The carnage was on.

First they go for the scrotum (true). Do you know how easy it is for a one hundred and eighty pound thing with two and a half inch canines to do that? The immediate and prodigious fountain of red is absolutely amazing. One can see the heartbeat in each and every pulse. Very often other sex parts come off with it. Death, due to exsanguination is a given. The straw was completely blood soaked. The ape's head resembled nothing so much as a crazed, candied apple. One or two of my companions downed swigs from cunning, little flasks.... Then the ruined fetal human babbled in an unknown language, reigniting the ire of the troglodyte, which grabbed the doomed meat sludge by its ankles and swung him around in complete circles, like a frightful ballerino committed to smashing as much bone as possible against the bars. Finally, the dizzy, stumbling ape settled down and proceeded to strip the flesh from the skull. We heard weak, little moans as it sucked out the eyes. Hard to stomach the fact that any measure of consciousness still remained.

The small door at the end of the passage to the right scraped open. The ape grabbed his dead 'toy' by the mandible and quickly disappeared back to its den.

No one moved...

After a heartbeat the cruel, dandy clown clapped his hands and giggled with delight.... We freshened ourselves at the kitchen pump (fortunately no one was splattered... they obviously had this show down to a science) and left.

The cool, night air through the slightly opened coach windows felt good.

And the sound of lurid hurdy gurdy music (a Vaux Hall staple) played us down the lane and out to the streets.

Tomorrow, or some day soon after, I'd see the Tarltons about an investment. My Illuminati mentors need their money to proceed.

And I think I know how to approach them..

That's how it was... Witness a murder, make a friend....

'Society' in the capital, circa 1830's......

<more next time>

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Friday, May 19, 2017

Prologue - Any Dream Will Do ..Edgerton learns Illuminati Symbolism 5/18/17

 

I hope the great and talented creator of musical culture responsible for this inspiring material begrudges us not for highlighting it here. But this disembodied spirit narrator burdened with the telling of the tale (for it is his tale) wafts through productions of the great composer's work all the time and wants you, oh best belov-eds, to think upon it.

Though that comes later...

Now we must return to Lawrence Edgerton (please know that the spirit was Edgerton) and what happened to him after the 'pleasurable' dinner and card came at Mivart's Hotel (the egg that grew into Claridge's) last time we met..... David Hefton (known as the 'second Beau Brummel') dropped him at the London townhouse he shared with his ersatz 'aunt' and left.

Inside, the selfsame lady sat in the main salon entertaining a late night visitor.... the man with the long, salt and pepper hair, indeed the gentleman who first brought young Edgerton 'out from the darkness' (an Illuminati term) a few weeks ago. They shared an aromatic Turkish hookah, as a large, wind-up music box played Gypsy folksongs in the corner. London culture in the 1830's still had a very 'romantic' bent. A soft glow from a pair of milk glass whale oil lamps bathed all in a most flattering way.

Edgerton nodded to the seated pair and joined them... The dapper, gentleman guest said - What's that smell? And I don't mean the ambergris scent from the lamps. It's something else.... The ersatz 'aunt,' herself a valued Illuminati 'light,' blushed and smiled, as the man went on... Is that some sort of perfume, or eau de cologne? And I don't mean that concoction  the 'Little Corporal' favored, 4711, or whatever it was........ Edgerton didn't say a word.... I believe it is a perfume. Chantilly water if I'm not mistaken - whispered the 'aunt.'....... The visitor thought for a moment, smiled knowingly and chuckled.... Please forgive us, young sir. We're quite familiar with current practice. We know what goes on at those 'gentlemen's evenings' - said the guest..... Speak not for me - went the aunt. I am a lady..... But she ever so slightly rolled her eyes.....

The salt and pepper haired man reminded Edgerton that although true Illuminati plans and purposes were in no way evil or sinister, the world was not an innocent place. 'Lights' (members) sometimes stepped down from the high ground for the greater good. Then he referenced the Biblical story of Joseph, a well known Illuminati symbol of one who did just that.... a reverent Son of Jacob, who made his way in a scandalous, foreign society, thus saving his brethren from certain starvation, as well as saving the Egyptians too..... We are all Josephs - said the man.... And Josephinas - added the lady..... We do what we can, where we can and when we can to move the herd along. Some may hate us. Some may love us. But all need us - he added.

So Lawrence Edgerton went up to bed. His employer, Sir Charles de Castor expected him to be at his tasks by eight 0'clock and his Illuminati brothers and sisters expected him to learn the ways of 'the street' (financial district), as well as the habits of the powerful men who made their mark there.

The music box went quiet. The house was dark.

Before drifting off, young Lawrence could not help but think about the 'private girl' he'd met just a few hours earlier.

And that was it.

Let the game begin...

<more to come>

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Wednesday, May 17, 2017

The Chainsmokers... Uno Illuminato said to post this.. 5/17/17. - Closer (Lyric) ft. Halsey




Hotels are a new thing... urban 'manor houses' for those with a bit of social distinction, or the money to create the illusion of social distinction. They set up 'house' for a few evenings or a week, perhaps a month, if funds allow, and live a life of luxury. Mivart's is such a place. London's first major hostelry. Quite a step up from the plain, though comfortable Georgian inns, although some of them still enjoy a devoted clientele. Indeed, so discrete was the neo-classical façade that most actually took it for the city home of an aristocratic, well-off person of distinction.

My entre, my voucher, David Hefton, led the way. We ascended the grand staircase and proceeded down a wide, cream paneled hallway, lit by tall candles in crystal sconces, each surrounded by a sizeable cream framed mirror.... Why do I dwell so on such superficialities? I suppose I want the age to come alive for you. Mirrors were necessities back then, needed to reflect and multiply the illumination. Every floor had its 'sand boy,' even private homes, always at the ready to smother flames with a large, heavy pail-full of white Dover granules. For flames above the floor, such as those caused by mischievous sconces, there was a water boy... same job... different bucket. Should a ceiling alight, those that could escaped to the streets. Those that couldn't ran toward the windows and prayed.

Our era was tinged by the Enlightenment, though not by much. Urban poor often lived on pigeons or worse and prostitution was (no matter what churchmen said) better than starvation.

Now, let me get back on track.... I can use that term. Investment in railroads was beginning. The Illuminati promoted it. What better way to knit humanity together?

Hefton stopped before a pair of doors... cream colored, as usual. Oh, there was a bit of gold leaf applied here and there. 'Eggshell' does get tedious , thus the gory over reaction of the Victorian age yet to come.... Then he quietly knocked. A footman soundlessly let us in. The room, somewhat dim compared to the rest of the establishment was set up as a card room... five tables of gentlemen carelessly placing bets on the turn of a stiffened piece of thick, glossy paper..... I whispered to Hefton - How much is the buy-in? ... That term, I knew. Even country boys gambled. And I did have funds supplied by the 'beacon' (an organized 'chapter' of Illuminati).... Hefton (called 'the second Beau Brummel') smiled and said - Just sit down. Everything's been arranged.... So we took seats at a table occupied by four gentlemen recently graduated from university. Hefton made the necessary introductions. Another footmen gave us each our buy-ins and that was it. Not much different than the last time we spoke. Society was like that. One met a group... sized everyone up and was sized up in return.

Those in attendance were men of wealth, either their own, or some senior relation's... But the important thing is they could get it... should the right organization apply the proper amount of pressure.

So I played cards that night... I ate delicious cold, rare roast beef served Bavarian style with horseradish and pickled slaw..... I drank chilled Rhine wines. In the 1830's chilled wine was a true luxury and quite a delight.

Before play resumed, 'private girls,' as they were called, dressed in corsets and scanties, took their place under each table, surprising every guest in turn. Some closed their eyes. Some giggled. Others just stared into space and gasped for air.... How did I react?... With dignity and aplomb, I must say. I do remember that 'our' private girl was a quite striking Amazon named Charlotte... I did not know that then, but I learned soon enough...

'Dame' Charlotte, as she was called, proved a true friend... and a genuine virtuoso (is there a feminine suffix for that word?) in the persuasive arts.

Now, please let me streak about the universe, as disembodied spirits do. I have an appointment west of The Pleiades.

Edgerton out...

<more tomorrow>
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Thursday, May 11, 2017

Our Vampire Jonathon ben Macabi Speaks Tonight 5/11/17 .Kabbalistic Village - Raga Chill - Happy Indian Sitar Music

 

It is I, oh best belov-eds, one Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea and also known as a life-eater. I know your age calls me 'vampire.' I hate that word.

For many many nights I have been lost to you, as you are lost to me. Our tale meanders like the waters or the Duero, but sometimes we fall in. This is one of those times.

I have been thinking about 'infinity,' the ever expanding nexus of all possibilities and I know why such a thing can never rest under a label of numerical worth. I have always known, or almost always. A holy man came to our city during my boyhood, a man from far off Hind. All knew him as Bene Yisroel, a Hebrew proclaimer of the Unity from beyond the River Ganges. Thus they who over saw the governance of The Caliphate accepted him, for all who proclaimed the Oneness of Divinity found protection, if not unblemished freedom in our land. Though after a time we knew him as something else.

He was wise and learned in the ways of many tribes and nations. Indeed, many cartloads of books came with him. I heard him expound on The Logic of Old Ur and the mathematics of Ancient Cathay. He claimed knowledge of The Ten Lost Tribes scattered far beyond the River Sabbath, but our own learned men just rolled their eyes. Still his recollections were extremely diverting and so we shared our honey cakes and wine.

One night, after imbibing too much, he regaled us with detailed histories of battles fought in Heaven between blue skinned gods in radiant conveyances and cunning demons with swords made from lightning. From the tone of his voice, those versed in such things recognized his reverence and knew these stories were holy writ to him.

A scholar from Toledo said - Tell me, most erudite sir, are you perhaps a high born believer in the ancient Faith of Hind?.... At first, the man hesitated, afraid to speak... but the scholar from Toledo went on.... Fear not - he said. We will not denounce you, for was not our Deliverer, Savior and Redeemer also a stranger in a strange land?.... And the high born believer in the ancient Faith of Hind knew of that Prince of Egypt who stepped down from greatness only to rise to Glory, for as I said, he was versed in many things.

We asked him why he was here. Muslims ruled in this place. Trinitarians and Jews might live here, but those known as polytheists were anathema. They faced adoption of the dominant creed or death and our foreign man of wisdom was to meet with a brother wise man from far off Ux Mal, a city of the Mayans. Please don't look so shocked. People from beyond the Ocean Sea were known to us. Of course we never encountered them in great numbers, nor did we write of them. Such beings were myths, or if not myths, surely the most evil of demons. Believe me... we knew the rules.

Now it was that this gentlemen from Ux Mal washed up on our shores amidst the wreckage of a great twin-hulled ship built in the manner of his people. For months, he and a companion lived in shadows, fearful of our ways and our beasts. Horses terrified him. Till a widow in Cadiz took he and the other one in. She believed them to be angels or perhaps jinn and after a time they learned her language and ways, becoming the kidnapped sons of a faithful tribe from beyond the Great Desert in Timbuctu. Word of this kidnapped prince spread through back alleys and various municipal marketplaces. Though all knew he must remain hidden lest enemies assassinate him before he might regain his portion and, if God willed it, share a bit with they who were his protectors and friends.

Thus the legend worked its way from caravanserai to caravanserai, till even in the vicinity of distant Mumbai there were they who knew the tale...

Where language failed, numbers kept true. And peoples different in every way still searched for the resolution of Pi... the Portal to Infinity... The magic which was real and the same even unto the most disparate segments of humanity and after a fashion represents the unity of all things....

The next time we meet, if God wills it, we will get there, or at least approach as close as we might dare....

(until next time)

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Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Edgerton Meets the Fashionable Set.. 5/10/17 .a travel to the 19th century of london




Before we continue our tale, the disembodied, spirit narrator directs all to subscribe to the site conjured by Alexander Flamel on You Tube. Mr. Flamel created this video and you should see it...

and now our Illuminati Arc goes on~~~~

London in this age had few hotels. Members of the landed classes had their own townhouses and used those during 'the season.' People a wee bit socially deprived rented distinguished domiciles. Unmarried gentlemen lived bachelor lives at their clubs and parvenus attempting to be what they were not took rooms in the better inns or rented space in suitable homes owned by respectable widows.

Lawrence and his artificial 'aunt' left Miss Bobbin's residence for a somewhat small, though smartly set up neo-classic townhouse owned by the Illuminati. Few knew it was not theirs. Funds from the organization covered everything. And do not believe they who claim sinister intent. True Illuminati follow an assortment of recognized  creeds and denominations, or none at all. Liars who tout fealty to evil forces are just that... liars and have no place among the group. There are no horned gods , or fallen angels, or revenant mummies. Seek them in fiction, for they are not here.... although mystery of a sort and shadowy intrigue run rampant and reality can be just as lethal.

The Thames holds many victims tied in sacks and drowned. River mites creep up from the mud to take the leavings. The little crabby things work fast, pinching off the waterlogged flesh and stuffing it down their loathsome maws. In a fortnight only the bones remain. Hagfish and lampreys grind into those. The river swallows it all. Them what takes no dives in dark waters dies just the same, but the trip can be more troubling..... Cross the wrong sort and you might get throwed in a fiery furnace, or head-crushed in a vice, or ripped to shreds in the bear pits. The folks 'round Seven Dials got their tricks. Professionals, they are and known to work for the highest and mightiest in the land... plain and rich alike... those who scrape for their fat and them with golden pockets.

Lawrence Edgerton was about to meet some... the golden pockets sort. That evening his new sponsor, the 'honourable' David (Beau Brummel) Hefton came by in his brougham and carried him off to a private roast beef dinner in an establishment known as Mivart's Hotel... indeed, the first concern of its kind to bear that lofty designation. Later generations knew it as Claridge's, but that came in Kitchener's time, soon after the fall of Khartoum.

They spoke, as a quartet of chestnut geldings bore them over the damp, London cobbles.

First trip to 'the Aldwyck' (early Saxon name for London, popular with romantic poets), my boy? - said Hefton..... Lawrence nodded. I believe I was here as a very young child, perhaps two or three years old, but I remember none of it, sir..... Well, you'll soon remember some after this night is over.....

Then the talking ceased. Every so often the soft gleam of a street lamp cut in to warm the shadows, till they stopped by the white, marble curbstone and exited the carriage..... A liveried footman opened the door. They passed into a public room worthy of a duke's house, bright with candles and London society.

Few took notice, perhaps a quick practiced glance, for all had parts to play...

But they left that 'stage' and climbed the wide, main stairs to a private room above....

And there it all began...

<more to come>

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Monday, May 8, 2017

Edgerton Meets The New Beau Brummel.. 5/7/17 .Order Of Precedence - British Royal Family. Why Catherine Curtseys To Pr...

 

So young Lawrence Edgerton occupied a tall clark's desk in the room nearer the door, his top hat neatly stowed among a row of long, canted wall pegs specially made for that purpose. Shorter pegs might do for lesser headgear such as working men might wear, but this was an establishment frequented by middleclass quasi-gentlemen as well as those farther up the scale. Indeed, in 'the City,' as the financial district was termed, top hats were almost a legal requirement.

He was put to work reading every newspaper and broadsheet available and neatly clipping anything remotely important for his patron, Sir Charles, to examine later. After that, since he had a good hand, came subscription cards, fine heavy stock, about the size of what people in your time call an Ebook Reader. Each featured the name of  the concern marketed, its location, the product or service vended, shares to be sold, date of initial sale and opening price. At the bottom came - Sir Charles de Castor, honourable broker, City of London plus  his location on Chancery Lane. Lawrence penned them by the dozens and a bit later, during luncheon, distributed them to gentlemen coming and going from The Royal Exchange. Similar advertisements appeared in various daily business journals, but a card, respectfully presented in person was harder to ignore.... That's how he came to know Beau Brummel...

Now this 'Beau Brummel' was not the first Beau Brummel. that personage had long absconded to France in avoidance of debts and other obligations. Yet 'style' had become a 'thing' among certain moneyed circles of the town and this gentleman, one David Watkins, second son to Lord Hefton (thus he'd never inherit the title) was a sartorial paragon and because of that was bestowed with this informal appellation. Everyone called him Beau. We'll come back to him, but first I have to tell you more...

Lawrence particularly valued his time on 'the street.' He'd watch, as 'money barons' good naturedly gathered for lunch at this or that coffee house. Truthfully, coffee house entrances were a good place to distribute his cards, if not the best. The air was less sooty than districts farther east. Due to the narrow streets, foot traffic trumped the horse drawn variety. Shoes stayed cleaner. The meat pies sold at establishments up and down the thoroughfare seemed less lethal than those in less rarefied surroundings and the Honourable Mr. David Hefton apparently liked him. The 'tall' top hat is what did it. We described it in our last post, but for the uninformed, we'll do so once more..... taller than usual... slightly flaring at the top....fits low over the ears and brow, with a brim that rolls up on the sides...very memorable indeed.. In fact, the dapper man about town stopped him and asked where he got it.... but Lawrence didn't know. His 'pretend' aunt paid for it with Illuminati money. He paid no attention to the shop. He was new in town. What did he know?.... All Hefton heard was he didn't know and it struck him funny. Young men always sought good tailors, or hatters and the like and few 'forgot.' So he examined the subscription card Lawrence had just given him and later that afternoon, after a delightful coffeehouse lunch, the rather well known fellow came 'round to the House of de Castor for a talk.... and dropped seven hundred and fifty pounds on a canal company up in the midlands. Sir Charles was very pleased.

That evening Lawrence joined his new friend and other fashionable people for a night at the theatre, followed by a late dinner at one of the fashionable new hotels springing up around town.

Young Edgerton was off to a good start....

<more to come>

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Friday, May 5, 2017

Edgerton's 1st Illuminati Assignment In London 5/4/17 . Street Life in London in the 19th century - Pictures from the streets in...

 

The woman playing Lawrence Edgerton's aunt was an old Illuminati 'light' (individual member) known as Flora Mendez. In her own way, she was responsible for Wellington's battlefield successes and the Chartist movement yet to come. Contemporary Britain would not be what it is without her.

She directed the coachman toward a respectable establishment known as Mrs. Bobbins' Inn, a late Georgian townhouse, not far from  Chancery Lane, and all the most respected counting houses. If you've seen the 1951 version of SCROOGE with Alistair Sim, you know the place. The moving picture show up above is for them what ain't seen it. The images come from down time's road a bit, but close enough in feel and spirit..

Now the Britain of these times is in no way like the nation we know today. Few people were allowed to vote. No Woman had the franchise. The vote for Catholics was a new and novel thing and not at all universal in the hearts of the Protestant majority. Jews only voted if they were also registered as members of the (usually) Anglican Church. Many submitted to baptism ( a la the Disraeli family), were added to the rolls, but continued supporting and attending services in synagogues ( the word means 'meeting houses') throughout the realm. Indeed, Benjamin Disraeli himself regularly attended services in the old Synagogue at Bevis Marks.  Thankfully, Britain had no Inquisition, even if many openly hated the new voters (Catholics too) for remaining steadfast to their ancestral creeds. Catholics were allowed seats in The Commons in 1829. Unbaptized Jews gained the national franchise in 1858. Both groups faced certain petty difficulties till 1890. No male, of any group, voted if not solidly middleclass. This was not a democracy in the American manner. Life was hard. Family status and personal connections were paramount, although in some ways Britain transcended the American model. Slavery was abolished in 1833. Now we provide all this data to make a point. Much of the social progress we, in the West, take for granted was husbanded and nurtured by those many would call 'Illuminati.'... The pivotal names of individuals responsible for the furtherance of positive ideals we all enjoy today were often found on so called 'Illuminati' lists.

Young Lawrence Edgerton belonged to such a group. Soon after arriving in the City of London he joined the counting House of one Charles de Castor, showing up and ready for duties at eight o'clock one cool autumn morning, resplendent in his trim, black suit, dazzling white neck cloth and really quite dashing and impressive 'tall' top hat... You know it.. flares out slightly at the crown... rests low on the ears and brow. I defy any one to look bad in headgear such as that..... Beau Brummel himself (noted, aristocratic fashion plate and man about town) would have approved.

In fact, the extraordinary gentleman himself, as well as many of his exalted associates (including a few royals) regularly invested in financial offerings represented by the House of de Castor. Such dealings were strictly private. That's why it was so important for Edgerton's group to place one of their own inside. Who gives money to what is a great indicator of public endorsement and the Illuminati most keenly wanted railroad and steamship consortiums to succeed. Edgerton would provide them with much useful information...

How did he come by this position? His artificial 'aunt,' Miss Flora Mendez, also Illuminati, knows everyone...

An extensive network of friends is everything.

And the young Lawrence Edgerton was well on his way....

That's how the Illuminati does things... A little push here, a little push there... a nod... some money... a beneficial social introduction.... nothing violent... nothing harmful... It's not that way at all... and if it were not for them, human culture would be just as hard as it was in the 'good old days.'

<more to come>

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Tuesday, May 2, 2017

How Illuminati Pull the strings 5/2/17 ..Romeo and Juliet Montagues and Capulets Ft. GetRektGG

 

There was a dinner, or some sort of meal. I'd lost track of the days. Time meant nothing. But I sat at a table in a small room, opposite the First Facilitator. The walls and ceiling were covered in a burnished, antique mirror-like finish. The floor was florentined copper tiles. I suppose one of the reflective panels was a door, though once inside and seated, I could not remember where it was. Light came from two carved glass candlesticks. Not too much... just enough.

Our leader poured the wine and motioned for me to drink. I did. Odd, how in just a few days (I assume it was just a few days) I'd grown accustomed to it.

The leader said - You've been watched since birth... before birth actually... even before conception. I knew your mother and father. Members of the order they were. And we placed you with that family to grow up normally.

I asked - Who were they? Why did you say 'were?' Are they dead?.

But he ignored me and went on - It's not that hard to control the world. What's required is determination and foresight. Not just on my part. Every member of the order contributes. And some of what we do is so easy. Even kings have secrets. We excavate those secrets and thus we control them - went the leader.

Do they ever rebel ? - I said.

Sometimes - said my host. But then we persuade them. A prince dies. A palace burns. Whatever fits the situation. There's not a royal bodyguard we can't turn.

Wouldn't the people notice all the dead royals? - I asked.

They never notice. They never know. We insert a double. Few outside royal circles ever see them close up. It's not hard to do. A gilt coach rolls by. A hand waves. The people cheer.

What if a monarch refuses to cooperate and before you can neutralize them, they kill themselves, but not before notifying the church of your presence? What do you do then? - I speculated.

You are clever. But tell me, are not churchmen an educated lot?

I suppose - I said.

We brush shoulders at the best universities all the time. They, officially, avoid change. We embrace it. Thus we respect each other . They follow their path and we do ours. Yet privately many a bishop takes the best scientific journals. And many a monsignor wonders about electricity. Now we've spoken too long. Lift the dome and eat.

I did and the fine breaded veal chop was still hot, so were the roasted potatoes and green beans..... The food. It's hot? - I asked.

Why wouldn't it be? - went my guide, as he buttered a light, fluffy roll.

And then we ate, apparently in the Continental manner, for after the main course, a footman entered through the secret door with a tray holding two plates of salad... savory, peppery greens topped with salty, Italian Anchovies and sweet onions. Dessert was lightly candied pears and shaved chocolate, some cheese too. I settled in very quickly.

It seems the First Facilitator often dined with newcomers, as a way to feel them out. He poured more wine and we talked some more.

I passed inspection, for the next day I took a coach to London. Not alone, a woman, ostensibly my 'aunt' went with me. Our trunks were fine, but not too showy and our garments were the same.

I'd never been south before and took in all the sights. Towns grew larger. Well kept canals funneled narrow, cargo laden boats toward the capital. Carriages became numerous and gardens more lush..... At night we stopped at the better inns, taking two rooms, but never overlooking the coach yard to avoid the noise. Some people engaged us in conversation. We were polite but never shared much. I was going south to read law with a learned London barrister and my 'aunt' accompanied me for the esteemed gentleman was a close kinsman.

Thus I sailed ever farther from my first life and into something new... mysterious, though enticing at the same time.....

<more to come>

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