TOP NAZIS

QUEENS AND ROYAL MISTRESSES  

I discovered that she was a great reader. She liked history, but only history of a certain kind, the lives of queens and of mistresses of royal personages; and she would tell me with a childlike wonder of the strange things she read. She had a wide acquaintance with the six consorts of King Henry VIII and there was little she did not know about Mrs Fitzherbert [Maria Ann Fitzherbert, mistress of George IV] and Lady Hamilton [Emma, the mistress of Lord Nelson]. Her appetite was prodigious and she ranged from Lucrezia Borgia to the wives of Philip of Spain; then there was the long list of the royal mistresses of France. She knew them all, and all about them.

'I like to read about real things,' she said.

(p. 93-94)

(From Cakes and Ale by Somerset Maugham, in Ruskin Bond: "Love among the Bookshelves", Penguin/ Viking, ₹ 299)

I am not trying to sell dreams. ("Oh, are You not? Really?")

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

ROSIE 

Our way back to Rosie's led through Vincent Square and as we passed my house I asked her:

'Won't you come in for a minute? You've never seen my rooms.'

'What about your landlady? I don't want to get you into trouble.'

'Oh, she sleeps like a rock.'

'I'll come in for a little.'

I slipped my key into the lock and, because the passage was dark, took Rosie's hand to lead her in. I lit the gas in my sitting room. She took off her hat. Then she looked for a glass [mirror]. 

'Come into my bedroom,' I said. 'There's a glass [mirror] there.'

I opened the door and lit the candle. Rosie followed me in and I held it up so that she should be able to see herself [in the mirror]. I looked at her in the glass as she arranged her hair. She took two or three pins out, which she put in her mouth, and taking one of my brushes, brushed her hair up from the nape of her neck. She twisted it, patted it, and put back the pins, and as she was intent on this her eyes caught mine in the glass and she smiled at me. When she had replaced the last pin she turned and faced me; she did not say anything; she looked at me with that little friendly smile in her blue eyes. I put down the candle. The room was very small and the dressing table was by the bed. She raised her hand and softly stroked my cheek.

A sob broke from my tight throat. I do not know whether it was because I was shy and lonely or because my desire was so great, but I began to cry. I felt terribly ashamed of myself; I tried to control myself, I couldn't; the tears welled up in my eyes and poured down my cheeks. Rosie saw them and gave a little gasp. 

'Oh, honey, what is it? What's the matter? Don't. Don't!' 

She put her arms round my neck and began to cry too, and she kissed my lips and my eyes and my wet cheeks. She undid her bodice and lowered my head till it rested on her bosom. She stroked my smooth face. She rocked me back and forth as though I were a child in her arms. I kissed her breasts and I kissed the white column of her neck; and she slipped out of her bodice and out of her skirt and her petticoats and I held her for a moment by her corseted waist; then she undid it, holding her breath for an instant to enable her to do do, and stood before me in her shift. 

'Blow out the candle,' she whispered.

It was she who awoke me when the dawn peering through the curtains revealed the shape of the bed. She woke me by kissing me on the mouth and her hair falling over my face tickled me.

'I must get up,' she said. 'I don't want your landlady to see me.'

'There's plenty of time.'

Her breasts when she leaned over me were heavy on my chest. In a little while she got out of bed. I lit the candle. She turned to the glass and tied up her hair and then she looked for a moment at her naked body. It was a body made for the act of love. In the light of the candle, it was all silvery gold; and the only colour was the rosy pink of the hard nipples.

We dressed in silence. We tiptoed along the passage and when I opened the door and we stepped out into the street the dawn ran to meet us. I felt as young as the day. We walked arm in arm till we came to the corner of Limpus Road.

'Leave me here,' said Rosie. 'One never knows.'

I kissed her and I watched her walk away.

(p. 102-109) 

(From Cakes and Ale by Somerset Maugham, in Ruskin Bond: "Love among the Bookshelves", Penguin/ Viking, ₹ 299)

Weird.

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

OBVIOUS 

It is obvious to Me that all scared s. sweet gals want to have unlimited s. with Him indefinitely for eternity and all scared male humans want a lazy life without having to work too much if this is ensured by acting as pimps permitting sweet s. females allied to them to have as much joyful s. with Him as the loose females want. 

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 25, 2020 

RADIO 

Radio has such awesome potential that I think even God Himself would be tempted to give regular national and international radio broadcasts in His own voice. I think personal radio broadcasting facilities are available in today's awesome high-tech world. I remember noticing some tutorial videos on YouTube a few years ago about how One can make personal radio broadcasts but I did not watch those tutorial videos seriously at that time. Of course, I have no desire to make money from My broadcasts. I understand that I can use YouTube to upload audio talks and readings from books (but I don't like the idea of number of followers popping up) or I can add audio files to My Blogger blog; both of these methods would be the equivalent of My talks on the radio. I would be very glad to have radio conversations with men and women (!) of the calibre/caliber of Professor Norman Lewis. I am fluent in English, Bengali, Assamese, Hindi, and Bishnupriya Manipuri, but I plan to learn other Indian languages and French, Spanish, German, Russian, Italian, Greek, Chinese, Japanese etc. (Frankly, I see no difference between Urdu and Hindi. The differences are artificial, not real.)

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 26, 2020 

I DO NOT WANT TO ENJOY 

I do not really (really?) want to enjoy watching and hearing poor sweet s. loose females suffering from illicit heartbreak over Him but I cannot resist the temptation of shedding Crocodile tears over the sad plight of these poor sweet s. girls. (All sweet s. females are "girls" compared with the infinite age of eternal God.)

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

OUTBREAK 

I am afraid the worldwide epidemic of hate against Nazis will wipe out all Nazis including all male and female Nazi politicians Angela Merkel etc., all Nazi fake news male and female TV staff Arnab etc., all Nazi male and female Nazi "doctors" etc. etc.

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

DOCTORS TARGETED IN INDIA 

"AIIMS DOCTORS STRANDED ON ROADS" - evicted by their landlords (TIMES NOW) - DOCTORS BEATEN UP IN HOSPITAL BY MLA AND HIS GANG (TIMES NOW) - 50 doctors quarantined (TIMES NOW) - doctors are being targeted in India. This is a panicky situation prevailing in India. Tragic. This way, doctors in all other countries will also be getting beaten up by unruly rowdies. And politicians and TV journalists in all countries will also be beaten up indiscriminately by goons.

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 26, 2020 

हँसी 

अनैतिक दर्द में डूबी हुई औरों को (औरतों को?) real or artificial सहानुभूति दिखाना चाहिए, हँसना ठीक नहीं । 

(Is this a genuine comment or a cruel heartless remark on foolish illiterate helpless chamchees who are tired of waiting ...?)

Kishalay Sinha किशलय सिन्हा जी [G] 

LOVE 

The sentence I love you may reasonably lay claim to be the most beautiful sentence in the English language. It is also one of the most tragically ambiguous. For 'I love you' may mean anything from 'I value your personality so much that I would like to do all I could to help it to grow and be happy' [just as God wants females to grow intellectually and be happy] to 'I want you all to myself and you must never feel any affection or desire for anyone else', and even to 'I want to kiss you so much that it is cruel of you not to let me.'

(p. 15)

(From Marjorie Boulton: THE ANATOMY OF LANGUAGE, Kalyani Publishers, New Delhi - Ludhiana)

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

PSYCHO WOMEN 

Gray appeared, wearing dark glasses. He was long and lean and looked somewhat undernourished. He was an artist and lived in the West Village, where he worked for months on intricate, beautifully done paintings. He managed to survive, though barely, if he sold two a year. And like Charlie, he had never married, nor had kids. He was respected in the art world, but had never been a commercial success. He didn't care. Money meant nothing to him. As he told them frequently, all he cared about was the integrity of his work.

Gray had never taken care of himself, slept little, ate less, and lived for his work. He spent long hours standing in front of his easel, and did nothing but think, dream, and breathe art. The women he met thought him beautiful and gentle, for a while at least, until they moved on.

Unlike Charlie and Adam, Gray never thought about pursuing women, and he made little effort, if any, in that direction. He moved obliviously in the art world, and like homing pigeons the women he wound up with found him, and always had. He was a magnet to what Adam referred to as psycho women, and Gray never disagreed. The women he went out with had always recently stopped taking their medication, or did so immediately after becoming involved with him. They had always been abused by their previous boyfriend or husband, who was still calling them, after throwing the woman in question out into the street. Gray never failed to rescue them, and even if they were unattractive or problematic for him, long before he slept with them, he offered them a place to live, "just for a few weeks till they got on their feet." And eventually the feet they got on were his. He wound up cooking for them, housing them, taking care of them, finding doctors and therapists for them, putting them in rehab, or drying them out himself [?]. He gave them money, leaving himself even more destitute than he had been before they met. He offered them a safe haven, kindness, and comfort. He did just about anything he had to, and that they needed, as long as they didn't have kids. Kids were the one thing that Gray couldn't deal with. They terrified him, and always had.

The women Gray got involved with didn't appear to be mean at first, and they claimed they didn't want to hurt him. They were disorganized, dysfunctional, more often than not hysterical, and their lives were a total mess. The affairs he had with them lasted anywhere from a month to a year. He got jobs for them, cleaned them up, introduced them to people who were helpful to them, and without fail, if they didn't wind up hospitalized or institutionalized somewhere, they left him for someone else. He had never had a desire to marry any of them, but he got used to them, and it disappointed him for a while when they moved on. He expected it. He was the ultimate caretaker, and like all devoted parents, he expected his chicks to fly the nest. Much to his amazement each time, their departures were almost always awkward and traumatic. They rarely left Gray's life with grace. They stole things from him, got into screaming fights that caused the neighbors to call the police, would have slashed his tires if he'd had a car, tossed his belongings out the window, or caused some kind of ruckus that turned out to be embarrassing or painful to him. They rarely if ever thanked him for the time, effort, money, and affection he had lavished on them. And in the end, it made it a blissful relief when they left. Unlike Adam and Charlie, Gray was never attracted to young girls**. The women who appealed to him were usually somewhere in their forties, and always seriously deranged. He said he liked their vulnerability, and felt sorry for them. Adam had suggested he work for the Red Cross, or a crisis center, which would let him caretake to his heart's content, instead of turning his love life into a suicide hotline for the mentally ill and middle-aged. 

"I can't help it," Gray said sheepishly. "I always figured that if I don't help them, no one else will."

"Yeah, right. You're lucky one of those wackos hasn't tried to kill you in your sleep." Over the years, one or two had tried, but fortunately, had failed. Gray had an overwhelming and irresistible need to save the world, and to rescue women in dire need. Eventually those needs always included someone other than Gray. Almost every one of the women he had dated had left him for another man. And after they left, another woman in a state of total disaster would turn up, and turn his life upside down again. It was a roller-coaster ride he had gotten used to over the years. He had never lived any other way. 

(p. 15 - 20)

[**This is not My attitude. By the way, I think Ms. Z etc. may look like young girls in their present "reincarnations". Of course, MANY clones of different age can exist, all clones being made from the original female (and male); I believe that all clones remember the entire past of the original body from which clones are manufactured. (See Aldous Huxley: BRAVE NEW WORLD.) The numerical age can be speeded up OR reversed. This sounds weird, but it is true. - G]

- Danielle Steel: TOXIC BACHELORS, A Dell Book, Bantam Dell / Random House, New York  

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 26, 2020 

CIVIL UNREST 

In his interview with ace interviewer Larry King on RT, Dr. Drew Pinsky predicts [massive worldwide] civil unrest [violence]. I concur. Violent extermination of Satan/"Arnab" and his gang of male and female Nazis will soon occur throughout the world, I am sure. The gang of Nazi male and female staff criminal cheats on Nazi fake news TV channels are at the top of the hit list. R.I.P. after violence.

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 27, 2020   

Nazis v. Humans 

Nazis are followers of Satan.

Humans are followers of God.

What about the male and female offspring of Nazis and humans? Hybrids may be followers of Satan or followers of God.

Nazis living on Earth and inside Earth will become extinct very soon.

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 27, 2020 

Ayn Rand 

Ayn Rand (pen name) experts miss the point. Actually, Ayn Rand's ideal man is God in human form she heard or saw or met. Terrific novelist Ayn Rand (pen name of a female author who now lives in a younger form in her present reincarnation, I believe) is the author of powerful idealistic novels FOUNTAINHEAD and ATLAS SHRUGGED and entertaining mystery plays and provocative essays. (I do not write about books that I have not purchased. I have about 3000 books in My personal library, bought over a long period of time. "Little drops of water, little grains of sand, make a mighty ocean, and a desert land." My richly stocked personal library is not a desert land but a wonderful Oasis. I have been able to buy books month after month, year after year, steadily building up a rich personal library, by explaining to My consort the value of plain living and high thinking and so reducing our unnecessary expenses. I also avoid wasting time and money on time-consuming useless things: I do not smoke, I do not drink, I do not take drugs, I do not gamble, I do not run after s. girls, I do not visit pr.) 

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 27, 2020 

TOP NAZIS 

WF/"Arnab"

PF/BM "Suraj"

NL/BM "Biswadev"

VISH/BM "Kr."

SHIV/SW. VIV./BM "Sudhir"

Each has thousands of clones in all countries. All of them and all of their female partners* are being audio and video recorded continuouly. ALL are under continuous surveillance. None can escape. (*e.g. Mata Hari in Paulo Coelho: THE SPY - honeytrap double agent - her "hanging" was fake - she is continuing her role as a Jezebel in her present reincarnation - compare Eva Braun and her numerous clones.)

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 27, 2020