The Magik of Words

121228 JUST DEFIANCE Outlaw Junction The Magik of Words Edition

Yesserday, while working on my mobile home, at the sheds I rent in a privately owned storage shed complex, I was accosted by the typically assertive land owner, a woman.

I was accused of offending other tenants, I think, of harassing them.

According to the land owner, the offended tenants had contacted her, or the real estate agents about this.

Something of a verbal dispute came of it, and, as usual, when I began counter-"accusing" other tenants of harassing me, she interrupted, changed the subject, and walked-off, to fill a 1000 litre-plus water tank she had on the back of her ute, from the property's fire hose about 10 metres from my sheds.

That took some time, but she stuck with her fabricated allegations, and as I did not bow to her superior financial situation, and to her psychosis of power-tripping white Australian female, she began to tell me I wasn't allowed to weld in the sheds.

All very assertive, and full of "put-me-down" accusations and threats.

During our chat, I said that her accusations and allegations were fabrications, and lies, etc., whence she upped the pressure, clearly with the intention of making me worry about being evicted from the sheds. Not a happy scenario for myself, should it go that far.

The whole of her story was false, and upset me enough to ruin my day, albeit that it was just around 5pm. But while she was up on the tray of her ute, filling the tank, a couple of times as I walked back into the shed, I stopped suddenly and turned back to look her way, and caught her staring at my ute.

In the words between us, I spoke about witchcraft, and that I am a victim of it's abuse, by all and sundry, because of the reputation that precedes me everywhere I go.

Seeing her turning quickly away from looking at my ute, tells me, as was her dominant stance leaning on my ute's roobar with both hands firmly clasping it in the 1st minutes she came and began to accuse and harass me, tells me she was, using witchcraft on me as usual, since I 1st rented the sheds from her.

No doubt, her being able to stand the extra metre-and-a-half higher on the back of her ute's tray, which she did for what did seem longer than necessary, was one more way she could dominate, by being able to "look down on" my ute, therefore adding to her pernicious intentions of further hexing my possessions, and thus, my soul.

Why would she do this?

Well, who's gonna admit that I'm bred to be a Christian savior, under utterly false and undemocratic global plans?

Who's gonna admit that the Catholic American rock singer, Jim Morrison, of the famous and fantastic 1960s rock group "The Doors" had a hit song, singing about "the rain man" (...is coming to town...., etc), and, in that, he was telling the fans that this puppet of the world's Zionist cults, was here to play savoir, mainly to their special white, middle-upper classhole wealthy Christian flockers?

And, now some 40 years after his death, who's gonna re-open an inquiry into who actually caused his alleged “overdose” that killed him?

Now, since connecting The Door's song about the rain man, to my horrid tale, it's not beyond possibility that Morrison was murdered for the lyrics, and thus for what he and others around him knew, about 1, the rain man, and 2, about the conspiracy behind the fabrication of that person?

Ie., me?

As he was Catholic, the finger naturally points at the Freemasons. But, the Freemasons are as in deep in this plan to make a false prophet, as the Zionist Jews and Catholics? But, as things seem always to go, these types of cults, split over different opinions about plans and beliefs. So Morrison's death could have been effected by anyone of them.

Another possibility, is that as he sang with quite some power about magic, it's possible that any or all of the more powerful cults who then, and now run the world, were intent on keeping the knowledge of witchcraft out of the awareness of the already longtime hypnotised masses, as they've done with me until the last 7 or so years. It may be worth noting that the Eternal Jimi Hendrix overdosed and died also, around the same time. One of his Immortal songs “Voodoo Child” sang unashamedly about magic.

But that's beside the point of this blog post......

When, in 1999, just prior to the December state election in Victoria, Australia, where the extreme right wing Jeff Kennett-led Liberal/National Parties held power, I drove to the Gordon Street ABC television studios to tell them that the coppers were using witchcraft on the masses, the ABC made the relevant inquiries, and established that I was correct.

I'd deduced this from the ABC 7pm news bulletin the night before, when a NSW police detective (who I remember as distinctly similar in looks to one NSW copper, now much higher up the chain of corrupt command, Bruce “Bluey” Lyons), was interviewed about a cocaine importing bust. The cop, told the reporter that “we....(pause) ...got into their heads”, talking about the culprits on a yacht that had sailed from South America loaded with coke.

What added to my interest, and as it turned out correct deduction, was the motions the cop went through as he said those few words. He waved his hands around his head, and lowered his head as well. Seeing it would convince watchers that he was trying to say more than he could.

Yer! Witchcraft!

[ If it was Bluey Lyons, then, years later I met him at the Nimbin police station. I'd heard he was coming to the station from his base 30kms away in Lismore station area command, and I like a dill, wanted to have a chat with him about corruption, as he was spoken of by the Catholic and Protestant stoner marijuana growers in favourable tones. (It was after this meet, that I recalled the TV interview, and that the two coppers looked similar.)

After my little monologue, which he listened attentively to, as we were walking to the front door of the Nimbin cop shop, he threw the title “commander” at me, with distinct inferences that he was saying that I was, am, “a commander”. Being the dupe and unawares as I was of it, the spirit in me, more or less brushed this off, but I have since wished I'd taken the bait, and at least asked him “of which command?” Hohoho! ]

Nevertheless...., after I'd told the ABC news reporter about the cops using magic, and with the “left-leaning” Australian Labor Party (ALP) facing certain defeat in that coming election, the Catholic forces behind the scenes running the ABC, as well as the ALP, went into overdrive, and spread the word across the state and the nation that the Lib/Nats were being evil black magicians.

This was the “game-changer” the ALP needed. Kennett and covens were trounced at the election.

But this had yet another dimension to it! Watching the political affairs as I had for over a decade by then, it was clear that the Vic ALP was behind the 8-ball, what with the electorate's upper classes “coming online” as-it-were, with magic, and with that were racing ahead in wealth-creation, albeit at the terrible expense of the “forgotten classes” below the private-school sets. As well, Kennett was ferociously charismatic, and the ALP had a humble, fairly intelligent and quite sincere and diligent John Brumby leading. He was no match for the drive and verve Kennett exuded.

About a month before the election, I'd been doing my thing and going to public libraries to read the dailies, jump on the internet and get interesting books and stuff. One day I happened to be in the outer eastern suburb library at Ringwood. I was sitting, I think, at a newspaper reading table, and a Worker appeared wearing new “bib-and-brace” blue working class overalls, hobnail boots, etc. He dropped the day's paper on the table in front of me - could have been The Australian, or The Age, both “broadsheets” - while at once looking me fair in the eyes, as if asking for a response.

The banner headline across the front page went to opinion polling or such, saying something about the prospects for Labor.

Everyone knew the ALP were in deep shit. I since deduced, which doesn't matter, that the Worker was told to do as he did, and to induce a response from me.

So I gave him my humble opinion, in 6 words. “Get rid of Brumby, I reckon!” I said.

The Worker said nothing and was gone as quick as he'd appeared.

Resigned to ALP defeat, and further harassment and terrorism from the fascist government and coppers, I didn't think more about that moment in the library.

But a week or more later, still in the lead-up to the election, the news came that at the ALP state campaign launch, as John Brumby was giving the opening address to the gathering of the Unions and the Faithful, a mass of the Militant Victorian Unions, who I think had strategically claimed the front rows of seats, all stood up in unison, turned their backs on Brumby, and walked out!


Labor of course went into labour, into panic mode, and correctly read the act as their urgent need to dump Brumby from the leadership for someone, anyone, who could equal Kennett's charisma, etc.

And in days, I think, they came up with O! another Catholic Christian Brother's College boy, Steve Bracks. The son of a Lebanese immigrant I think, he was tall and confident, and had the banter and hootzpa to take on Kennett and his evil dog MPs.

I happened to be at a Socialist Left house in Coburg the night of the election. It was all pretty gloomy, expecting a Labor defeat, if not a stomping. But by the end of the night, things showed the opposite, and the ALP looked as if they were on the way to VICTORY!!!!!!

I didn't know anyone at the house, so drifted off after a while, back to my car and some hidy-hole away from the throng. About all I recall is that I was stunned, as if in a trance (which I had been in for 44 years, of course).

But on the outer, as I was back then as well, I was fighting for my life against the Lib/Nat's henchmen and weomen, who were harassing me to the most serious extents. The Vic police were all, it felt, only too happy to follow the fascists orders, and stomp on any “lefties”, such as myself. I was set-up time and again by them, having been forced out of a nice apartment in Bulleen, once they came and bought off the other tenants and the owner.

Then, while knowing nothing about my own destiny, nor about by how much I was actually controlled by mum and her coven of deluded witches, I had figured out that witchcraft was being used to fuck with my head, by the coppers and by anyone I'd come in contact with, from the taxi companies I was reduced to work with/for, through all my “friends”, to any retailer I went to, even to laundromat staff.

But also, in my endless quest to improve my mind, my intellect and my knowledge, I'd attended a few sessions at a Jesuit centre in Parkville, just north of Melbourne city, inquiring, mad as I now realise it was, into joining the Catholic order. However, rather than just becoming a puppet, I openly expressed my interest in reforming the church! What fool me!!!?

As said, I had no idea of the manipulation I was victim of, so now claim absolution, hoho, and innocence as to those foolish thoughts.

Nevertheless, it was around that time, already living in my 1978 Holden Gemini station wagon, and out of an apartment block ground-floor garage in upper class Doncaster, that I began to know I was being squashed psychically, by Catholics, and, no doubt, by their, and my, enemies.

Leading up to the said 1999 election, I went through Hell being subject to the most horrible witchcraft. Then, I assumed it was coming in the main from the utterly corrupt Catholics. But it became clear, the government, and their coppers were chasing me everywhere, day and night, and that I was on the list to be eliminated.

But, having gone to the ABC to inform them of the evil being executed on all Victorians, by the Protestant, extreme right wing Liberal regime and coppers, I'd yet to bring myself up to speed on the extent of abuses of witchcraft the Catholics had been playing with. Not just on myself, but on everyone they cast their gaze upon, since the 4th century CE!

So, them using me, to tell Australia's mainstream Catholics that the Proddies were black witches, was but a rouse, because the Catholics have been setting such scenarios up for centuries!


Now, as for a number of years, I realise that that whole business of me driving to the ABC Elsternwick TV studios, to inform, to blow the whistle on the right wing Protestant/Freemason fascists, was just more of the same manipulation by the fucking Catholics in my head, to keep building me up as the savior.

And..., that day in the Ringwood library, if only by the silent, and I reckon, somewhat unconvinced look on the face of the unionist, on relfection convinces me that it cannot be any other possibility, because, the Catholics have been at war with the Freemasons since the 12th century or so, when the original Freemasons, Robert the Bruce and his Scottish Clans, were warring with the invading Roman Catholics who were set on claiming all the lands of Britain.

The 1st Freemasons and all since have had their secret occult groups, purely to counter the Catholics' abuses of magic.

While I lived in that garage, under a lot of pressure, but studiously attending weekly night classes in the city at the School of Philosophy, so practicing all the best exercises to keep my mood and spirits up, I'd play the wooden recorders a lot. I noticed that the occult spirits and their influence on my glands would abate when I hit the high notes on the descant recorder. But one day I was stopped in my musical tracks, when I was playing the descant. It was raining, and again, when I hit the high notes, the rain would stop!

It was a while before I was able to stop the rain on my wish, and to this day I only know that this is all related to my 2nd or “water” gland, in my groin, and, to my 3rd chakra in the belly, the “fire” chakra. But how, why and other than the gut-wrenching struggles I've endured since childhood, if not since conception, I don't know what combines to make these things so?

But more to the point, of disgustingly corrupt Astraylair, the female land owner is never gonna admit she knows full-well of this sad reputation I've been cursed with, since my conception in July 1954, to a demonic Catholic witch of a mother, and that of the last 10 to 15 years, I've come to find that my energy centres, my “glands” my “chakras” are so manipulated by mum's witches coven, as to be powerful enough to "tap-into" the world's weather systems, such that I can either bring extreme heat, or extreme rain storms.

If you look back through this same blog, to around 2004, you might find that then I wrote extensively about this mysterious power I have, and that after some deep thought on it, I figured that it was best employed to force our land-destroying, seriously out-of-order farming, agricultural landholders and industries to correct their evil ways. Hence, I claim, the 10 year drought the whole of Australia experienced during the 1st decade of the 2000s.

Back then, I had pretty much no idea of the extent to which I was a puppet of mum and her Catholics. Mainly, because mum never made mention of these horrible plans, or, especially, that she and her cult as well as innumerable others throughout my life, were deploying witchcraft upon my mind, heart, body and soul, to effect the aforementioned plan of building a Zionist messiah.

This is gone into extensively in previous blog posts here, as well. And even now, some 7 years after starting to investigate and learn about myself, and about what the Theosophical Society of Catholic and Freemason witches has planned for me, over something like the last 120 years, I'm still finding stuff which just stuns me, and shocks me beyond what I think is repair.

Another series of events of a few years ago, can be connected to my “ability” to bring rain, when I had driven my latest ute from northern NSW to Victoria, and then across to South Australia, north up the Stuart highway to Alice, then Darwin, back to Tennant Creek in the Northern Territory, and finally back to northern NSW.

In the weeks following that round trip, the same regions I'd passed through, all the way from Victoria, around and back to NSW, all had flooding rains.

So.., go figure!

My interpretation of it all, is, as said, that I'm a puppet of the Zionists witchcraft.


After yesserday's encounter with a lying witch who reckons she has the right to lie to me, falsely accuse me of things I didn't do, purely so she could drive her witches bones into me some more, with threats of eviction and no doubt if she and her local parochial “farmers” (HAHAHAHAHAHA!), to keep me on edge, so she can force open my water chakra, because, she and all of them know, that I am convinced that it's my Duty to DEFY! all calls to open my 3rd eye, to become a witch-king for the evil, dumb-as cults who have built and put so much effort into making me, and, because their unquestionably evil land laws, keep me homeless, and so extremely uncomfortable in the wet, I do what I can to hold back the rain.


But higher powers are behind her, and the rest of the country's hexing my glands and soul. Some of them, I guess, are Catholic woemen, who persist in forcing me to become their witch king. To that, again, I DEFY!

Therefore, the most Honorable and simple remedy to their dry water tanks and gardens, is simply to offer me a suitable house, or even large, rural shed to rent! With that weather-security, I'd not stop the rain, and they could get all the water they need.

Like the saying goes...... “Only the truth will set you free!”

The same applies to my mum.

However, these words coming down from my 6th chakra this morning to now, after 3pm Friday 28th December, last night, after I was smitten by what Kathleen Turner came and accused me of yesserday, I was once more utterly disgusted at the ease at which she blatantly lied to me.

False, indeed therefore, evil words just flow out of the mouths of Australians like water over the Niagara Falls. We really are a busted, sub-human nation.

So, at 1am this morning, I fired up the laptop, and scribed this little piece, about words........

121228 Early, he wrote...,

Alas! The Magik of (1282) Words!”

Kingdoms have risen, and have been felled, by these ephemeral marks, some, before the scribe, but sounds.

Prior to the progressive ideas of pictographs, leading in other parts to text, to words, to tomes, to this days' maxing-out on fiction, on “spin”....., words, graphics, hieroglyphs, told Sacred stories, recorded the essences of Spiritual Masters, and Madames, of speech, of oral tales, of forefathers, and mothers, of worthy tales, of divine directions, from higher levels of mind and of it's potential existence, than the most of the nation even knew existed.

Such retelling, stories, records, “spoke” of the paths Man knew as best to follow, to seek, to attain to, for the freedom from the earthly pains.

These were Sacred.

Well before any records, any written words, hieroglyphs, pictures, or records, lived language, Sacred, Pure, Divine.

Few remain today, that are not corrupted, that have not been assumed into the colloquial, into the profane, into the advertising industry's lexicons of diseased minds, lusts, mere material produce and gain.

And extremely few, are known.

Lesser still, are spoken, or scribed, without minds of lesser, corrupted beings.

And even less, without any awareness of sub-human corruption, perversion, of minds so corrupt as having never known, what it is to be Pure, uncorrupted, True, in mind, body, soul, and Way.

How many know this fact? How many care?

Few. Extremely few.

But...., some!

High, on a mountain, where the Sun still shines...”

...and the waters run, a little lazy...”

(Thanks, Blood, Sweat & Tears' Lords!)

Where tourrorists are not....

Away from the throng, on desert plains. In forests deep...


But who wants to know?

Argh! We have our skis strapped to the roof! Credit cards (of heinous inheritances) wash away our fears, our sins, our blues, our consciences, our Intellects! What for the incorruptible?”


See it differently.

Some! Watch in silent despair. In control of desires, in control of anger, in control of any “Turet” in them.

Yet... Quiet, resigned, above the throng, still..., their quietly nurtured, Reverently-Respected “sense”, Knowledge, of Honor, kindled by their disquiet at the common loss, burns, keeps alight and alive, the Value of few words.

The Value of as few words as possible, such that they are only always True. Pure.

And....., Powerful.

There, these few Know, are where words, are Most Powerful.

There..., words are not prosaic.

There..., words don't fall to ads, into table-chatter, into triviality.

Yet..., there..., when the voice is engaged, or the pen scripting, the words take on new measure, and carry force, as only very very few common folk remember as myth, enough to “move mountains”... literally!

Below.., in amongst the throng, white noise fills the air, from the folly of noisome banter, chatter, paranoid expressions of and responses to, not being heard!

To fear of the Silence.

O! The Sacred Silence!

And.., away from that... desultory insult to Being Human, the noisome rabble, Some! Dwell, resting, floating, unfettered, and Powerful beyond measure.

So quiet are they, that, in this day, in this epoch of psychic chaos, the vast majority of the fallen, have never known the Quiet, exist.

Nor, that the Quiet, watch. Listen. Consider. And Meditate.

Never have the vast majority come near to knowing of them, let alone of the Power within their Silence.

However. Some, who were born into and who dwell amongst the fallen, who have tried, tried, tried to escape the madness of the throng, for “fate”, for “fortune”, for their Sincere Determination, for their Courage, came to comprehend some Sacred thing, visited upon their mind.

Some Sacred thing, which possessed so much power, that they knew at once, that this was for them to follow.


Some, who had known for years, for decades, and more, of the falsity and wrong of the culture, of the custom, of the trends, of the loathsome “urbanity”, of the mind-numbing noisomeness of political-correctness, and of the lure of pleasant chatter, of the weakness in offensive exaggeration, of the joke, to win friends, to win accolades of..., the throng.

Yet when some Sacred thing rang out to their ears, to their souls, from above the throng, they stopped, and turned, and followed that precious sound, vibration, feeling, sense, and came back to something Silent.

Something Sacred. Something so attractive that could never again be ignored, mocked, disparaged, diminished.

Some Sacred Thing.

From their solitary moment, shared by no-one they knew existed, an understanding of more than they had ever contemplated bloomed inside them.

Planning was at-once known to be folly, unnecessary, and off they began on their new journey, out of time, out of place, out of relationship, even meaning.

And, as if, at-once, they were amongst compadres, fellow minds, travelers, Comrades, climbing the peaks of Wisdom together, leaving the terra firma, ascending up up up through the pristine and ever-increasing divinity, never known by, the throng.

Knowledge, Wisdom, Truth, Fire, Light and Power was their diet.

And Rightmindedness their simple, Pure Pleasure.

Together they listened, heard, learned, imbibed, quaffed, Wisdom, Truth, and Mighty Power.

Yet, feet still firmly on the ground, they found, that they had become, The Advocates!

No Fear. No qualms. No doubt.


In Groups. In Tribes. In Gangs.


In pairs.



They performed the work they found they knew had to be done.

Mountains moved. Walls were shaken to dust. Oceans rose up and washed down whole cities, whole coastlines.

Tyrants, whole organizations of them, shook in fear, ran for the hills, hid in bunkers, amassed weapons and armies, navies and air forces around them, went mad defending the indefensible.

The Advocates Meditated, and rode, and walked, and moved mountains of ignorance in front, behind, on left and right, but mostly, below.

Demons deep below, shuddered, attacked each other, tore apart their masters, destroyed their habitats, hoping for escape, for mercy, for release from what they knew was coming.

The Advocates Tutored, Meditated, rested. Waited..... Rode, walked, drew nearer, and chanted, words.

Sacred words. Sacred words not heard for thousands of years.

And mountains shook, crumbled, erupted. Cities and nations shook, crumbled, cease to exist.

The throngssssssz...., ran, fell to their knees, encrazed, into the mash of their own mentations, and were drowned, to become shark tucker.

The Avocates disappeared, into the mists.

All that was heard as they dissolved, was the Sacred Sound of their chant.

So, dispensed of the madness, some, having earned more than crazymind, sought, and found, in the refreshed dawn, the Ancient Purity, of Being Truly Human.

The Sacred Orb of Eartha kept turning, and a new phase of our True, Pure, “Man the Wise”, began.

This channel has no ads.

This planet has no prisons.

Tribes, growing into Nations of Advocates propagated.

Music, poetry and song were the common shapes of communication.

No blaspheming. No cursing. No deceiving. No insincerity.

No rush. No panic. No fear.

Time saw visits from distant planets, solar systems, galaxies and even alternate universes. And on arriving, dark intentions were dispelled, Respect for the orb and it's peoples stood ahead of all else.

The Purity was infectious, attracting high and low emotions, which balanced themselves out, making energies calm, happy, giving.

Law was, is, always will be, God.

Pure Physics.

Words had again become Sacred. And in that they became again, few and Powerful.

When voiced, people listened and understood. No arguments. No quibbling. No divisive perversion of their uses.

The Law of Words was Government.

The Magik of Words Ruled, Pure, Honest, Bright and more Powerful than ever.

And the Honest Silence was again, “....the Natural Condition of the Mind”.

All Praise the Immortals!
All Praise the Warriors who have fallen
Fighting for a Just World!

from the Travelling 4x4 Tent of


Bleck - Green - Red
Wisdom - Intelligence - Honor

Education &