On Independence Day, in this first year of America’s full subjugation by the New World Order of  London (“the City”), an  excerpt from William Blake, “A Prophecy” seems apt:

“The Terror answer’d: `I am Orc, wreath’d round the accursèd tree:
The times are ended; shadows pass, the morning ‘gins to break;
The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands,
What night he led the starry hosts thro’ the wide wilderness,
That stony Law I stamp to dust; and scatter Religion abroad
To the four winds as a torn book, and none shall gather the leaves;
But they shall rot on desert sands, and consume in bottomless deeps,
To make the deserts blossom, and the deeps shrink to their fountains,
And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof;
That pale religious lechery, seeking Virginity,
May find it in a harlot, and in coarse?clad honesty
The undefil’d, tho’ ravish’d in her cradle night and morn;
For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life;
Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil’d.
Fires enwrap the earthly globe, yet Man is not consum’d;
Amidst the lustful fires he walks; his feet become like brass,
His knees and thighs like silver, and his breast and head like gold.

`Sound! sound! my loud war?trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels!
Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail!
America is dark’ned; and my punishing Demons, terrifièd,
Crouch howling before their caverns deep, like skins dry’d in the wind.
They cannot smite the wheat, nor quench the fatness of the earth;
They cannot smite with sorrows, nor subdue the plough and spade;
They cannot wall the city, nor moat round the castle of princes;
They cannot bring the stubbèd oak to overgrow the hills;
For terrible men stand on the shores, and in their robes I see
Children take shelter from the lightnings: there stands Washington,
And Paine, and Warren, with their foreheads rear’d toward the East.
But clouds obscure my agèd sight. A vision from afar!
Sound! sound! my loud war?trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels!
Ah, vision from afar! Ah, rebel form that rent the ancient
Heavens! Eternal Viper self?renew’d, rolling in clouds,
I see thee in thick clouds and darkness on America’s shore,
Writhing in pangs of abhorrèd birth; red flames the crest rebellious
And eyes of death; the harlot womb, oft openèd in vain,
Heaves in enormous circles: now the times are return’d upon thee,
Devourer of thy parent, now thy unutterable torment renews.
Sound! sound! my loud war?trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels!
Ah, terrible birth! a young one bursting! Where is the weeping mouth,
And where the mother’s milk? Instead, those ever?hissing jaws
And parchèd lips drop with fresh gore: now roll thou in the clouds;
Thy mother lays her length outstretch’d upon the shore beneath.
Sound! sound! my loud war?trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels!
Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail!’

For an explication of the symbolism of this profoundly significant poem, indispensable to understanding such terms as “empire,” “elites,” and “illuminati,” see here.

At this blog I’m both too lazy and too discreet to say everything I want – or need- to say….

You readers out there will have to put two and two together at least once in a while.