By Vigilant Citizen – vigilantcitizen.com Nov 5, 2021
The occult elite loves Lil Uzi Vert for several reasons. First, his name is pronounced “lil Lucifer”, a tribute to the elite’s favorite biblical figure. Second, he embodies exactly what they want rappers to be about: Obsessed with satanism (to the point that it’s their entire act) and wearing dresses (gotta push that gender agenda). In short, they want artists who promote the “values” they want to ingrain in the new generation.
The ultimate proof that Lil Uzi Vert is loved by the elite: He was wearing a dress at the 2021 MET Gala which was a sad display of elite insanity.
Other than parading around in dresses for the enjoyment of his masters, Uzi also likes to get involved in other kinds of elite strangeness. For instance, he talked about getting “brain chips” with Grimes, Elon Musk’s ex.
They were joking. But also they weren’t joking. The “knowledge of the Gods” part is pure Luciferian doctrine.
There is undoubtedly an evil in children that never used to be there. It is now rare to seen an amiable, well-behaved child.
26 million for an unremarkable diamond. How much could that have done for some people of his supposedly downtrodden–or incredibly selfish– Race?
Another brainwashed Jig anyone who looks up to this creep deserves all they get
As insane as all the formally attired photographers pretending that they’ve really got something worthwhile in their sights.
And I say to myself, what an un-wonderful world…
You’d be better off watching the film ‘Triumph of the Will’ (1935) to see what a sane white society/culture looks like, than these videos of deranged simian scum. The Jews, Communists, Christians hate Riefenstahl’s production, because juxtaposed next to these modern Western Judeo-Christian-Communist societies, it reveals what they really are: dysfunctional multiracial mongrel garbage dumps (Gehenna).
yes the decadent scum elites want spoil the
children to satanical behavior to create a
lunatic asylum of society : remorceless
torturers + killers . like inanimal world
children follow beh avior of adults .
best example children of jews + moslems !
its easy to train innocent children into
good orevil ways .
therefore i learned to abstain from everything
what others teached me . but one rises
demons of envy then .
I have noticed the MEN IN DRESSES pre-occupation in movies and maintream media which i just do NOT understand.
If you wanted to wear a skirt as a guy, you could just put on a kilt.
Just a guess but this seems to be about PERVERTING the natural order or somewhat…too bad i can’t ask my Dad who was supposedly a mason that quit masonry but absolutely ADORED anything with cross dressers or gays.
Doubt he would tell me even if he was still alive.
Should be locked up in a secure institution, until eleven Psychiatric Doctors unanimously declare him sane to be released ? All eleven, not 6,or 10 , must be unanimous eleven…
@ Anonymous 9.19 am
“There is undoubtedly an evil in children that never used to be there.”
I haven’t heard that. If it’s true, then that’s really rather troubling. “Evil” you say? Can you provide a link?
You’re not from the village of Midwich, are you?
This biographical sketch of “Lil” pertains to immaturity but not to childhood.
I’m afraid that I don’t even know who Lil is. I haven’t heard his music and I’m not apprised of how popular he is. At 26 years old, though, he’s not a child. His audience certainly appears to be of a largely teenage demographic.
From the featured photographs, I’d say that Lil’s eyes look rueful and betray a fatigue, most likely, with all of the rigmarole he’s obligated to sustain. He appears to me, as if he’s merely motioning. Perhaps he’s automated. Or, perhaps, a climacteric looms. An endocrine flush to sluice away the ingrained artifice and unwavering pretence he forces of himself.
A sidereal clock is ticking. Four cycles of seven years near completion, as Old Father Time positions himself at the precise coordinate he occupied at your time of birth. The planetary potentate tasked with evaluations. His close considerations are with whom you are. Scrutinizing each among us, with a mind to critique, assessing progress and potential. We are held to account by the authority vouchsafed of planetary demiurges, by higher powers yet. When Saturn enters your sign of birth, between your 27th and 29th years, it’s for a stay of 18 months (retrograde hijinks notwithstanding.) A great test of threshold ensues.
Saturn is a stern educator and unsparing disciplinarian. He tutored Severus and trained the legislator, Draco. He will summarily demand the immediate correction of behaviours or of thoughts and without appeals, make void any or all friendships and associations, as he chooses. The test occupies your waking days for a year and a year and a half year again.
I’ve asked a fair few people, in such ambiences as were conducive to tangential ponderings, if they were able tell me without deceit, that the period of their lives in and around their 28th birthday, was NOT difficult. That it was not a duration of persistent turbulences and its presentiments were not trivial or of mundane import but always threating default. Not once, during all the years I’ve dangled the conjecture, has anyone, after due consideration, been able to say that it wasn’t so for them. Ask the question of yourself. It is a crisis of threshhold adulthood that we must all endure.
Legal definitions of adulthood vary, of course, from jurisdiction to jurisdiction but are, commonly, predicates of licensure; permissions to participate in certain age-proscriptive commerces.
Cosmic adulthood isn’t a registry and it isn’t a celebration. You’re not even told your score, metaphorically speaking. You’re not apprised of whether you passed the test or not. That’s left to self-discovery and may not become apparent to you for several years. “You know when you know you know,” as the purveyor of penny axioms would have it.
You either, mature spiritually, or your developmental potential troughs, as you cling to familiarities; your childhood comfort blanket of baseline accomplishments; ticks and cross-marks; vicarious biographic imaginings and personality constructions; status derived from knicker bands; soma to soothe hysterias. Bonded confection.
If you can endure the tumults of identity-reckonings and ask the better questions of yourself, you progress, moving forward, equipped of nous sufficient to the travails of the next cycle at least, for another 28 years or so, anyway.
If, however, pride intervenes and you choose to second-guess the inevitable and inexorable, you may be inadequately provisioned of a metaphysic to bring meaningfulness to your forward years. Failure won’t impede your potential for material success and it won’t indemnify you against destitution. Nor does it mitigate against your happiness, necessarily. That would depend on what your measure of happiness is.
A “fail” will, necessarily, though, stunt your emotional intelligence and inhibit expression of spiritual faculty. A “fail” portends of withering competences and incremented vulnerability. You will be less capable, when circumstance is urgent and crisis betides, than those with spiritual investiture.
I wouldn’t want to be the man wearing a bonnet with a knitted shawl over the top of it, waving a fan and affecting a lady’s manners, as the life-boats are lowered and the ship goes down.
I wouldn’t want to be Robert Vaughan, hoping to spend my purse on a reputable clinician, as Caldera’s bandidos attack.
I wouldn’t want to be Bob or Charlie Ford.
Without a spiritual rigour, you more easily concede to torments and seek relief from petty gains.
Lil and his ilk are wholly aware of this Saturnal momentousness. Celestial dynamics, rather implausibly, have market viabilites; to the hobgoblin muleteers, the vendors of trinkets; the schemers known of old, for their Knock and their Knock and thrice-times Knock.
The “27 Club” is a lucrative psy-op, in life as in death. The only requirement for membership in the “27 Club” is a pallour of lividity indicative of morbity and/ or rigor mortis. Its card-carrying elite includes; Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Richey Edwards, Amy Winehouse and many other similarly-unfortunate songsters. I’m not saying that these premature deaths were caused by the Saturn return but negotiating Saturn, obligates cold iconoclasm of us, a problematic requirement for a rock icon. Maybe the departed were stretched too thinly to simultaneously endure Saturn and all of the rock-star intrigues; those grunge-aesthetic duresses. Ringo on drums – “you’ve got no say in the matter.” Hasbara groupies, Zionist wives, fortresses built of mugwort and worse, Shylocks and Fagins at the gates. How they Knock and they Knock and thrice-times, Knock.
There’s a shortage of ever in Never Land.
I must have become entranced by one of Mr. Lil’s devilish spells. I seem to be lost in a consideration of a question that nobody has asked; versifying upon what wasn’t