Wednesday, March 04, 2015

In the Belly of St Paul's not even the porky pies of Rosecrucian lies are digestable on a version due to its olympic proportions perversion, anymore for the telly! And more than one shore is under arrest for fabricating about organised criminality and about the truth a rotten unbegotten fable! As Jesus Christ banged His fist on His table! And lost their speech have the druids and witches, when He showed them the proof, what was plotted under the whispering gallery's roof in a cable that came to catch up even with one, who trainspotted! By Mother Sigrid Eliora Anat

In the Belly of St Paul's not even the porky pies of Rosecrucian lies are digestable on a version due to its olympic proportions perversion, anymore  for the telly! And more than one shore is under arrest for fabricating about organised criminality and about the truth a rotten unbegotten fable! As Jesus Christ banged His fist on His table! And lost their speech have the druids and witches, when He showed them the proof, what was plotted under the whispering gallery's roof in a cable that came to catch up even with one, who trainspotted!

By Mother Sigrid Eliora Anat
Sigrid Eliora Anat's profile photo
Sigrid Eliora Anat
In the Belly of St Pauls 
Publisher, Underworld Print, Tomato


Red and blue rays of light can be healing but not, when a tomato underworld with a werewolf band in disguise of a lamb is to mankind spiritual Eastern lighting warfare dealing in secret society facilities under abuse of former MI6 and Japanese and Tibetan agents turned mercenaries, who hijacked with the blessings of a former Anglican archbishop turned druid under abuse of authority under diplomatic immunity and impunity even military facilities accordingly to whistleblowers, who had enough of light gone wrong into deafening sound showers and other, more bloody messings! And of death threats and black magic curses paid for by public purses and of serving as slaves even the secret property and arty-farty and clerical churchhouse community witches on Sunday afternoon, when they play priestesses in their little village coven naves! They rather report now all crimes and bring out the truth from hidden caves, and tell all, what the secret societies via Drury lane headquarters in the belly of St Paul's did and hid, for one, killing as sports! And suddenly the concert halls are empty, as all keyplayers are afraid of being arrested in a raid! And even hairdresser's appointments cancelled for a Nazi-style braid! As fascist lore seems not cool anymore, when back to each rotten unbegotten dark shore of one Karl and Andy and Lou comes their every stone thrown under a druid's cone! 
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