Hyperion to a satyr • Hamlet and 9/11

Grubby psychopaths and their endless assassinations

London pub with flowers

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Hamlet and the Niadon

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I have of late, because of 9/11

lost all my mirth, forgone all

custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily

with my disposition that those weak and sheepish forms

that shop and eat and strut their hour

upon this goodly frame we call our earth

now seem to be no more than spectres,

a foul and pestilent conga line of suckholes

shuffling down the fodder lines

of supermarket aisles

to buy their shrink-wrap, ready-paks

of epistemologically modified

oven-ready talking points

to gorge, consume and dull their spirit-will.

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Once like angels, express, noble

resolute in form and feature—

what parody of creation are you

that leap and bark like dogs

at every passing shadow?

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Rag tops!

they hate our freedoms

rag tops! rag tops! rag tops!

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Oh Man, thou art a conspiracy theory!

For it is you who are conspired against

though by your silence, your vacant eyes

and your acquiescence 'tis clear you see it not

but play like children in the sandpits of consent

then run to mummy's tits to suck the latest psyop

from the paps of Mother-State.

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You who bleat and rail against the Truth

so turned are you against your better nature

that arguments of evidence and sound persuasion

reverse and turn upon themselves

lies are truth and Truth are lies

and Niadon prevails

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Proper gandered to the goose of villainy,

slave to television's neon screen,

to Gucci, Hollywood and stars galore

for death by chocolate and champagne

to feckless bimbos at the Golden Calf

you bow, you crave and you adore

as all the vaccine whores of Moloch

dissipate the once proud thoughts of Man

to hot and airy vapour

that whistles up the hollow core

of ancient English oak.

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To watch, to weep, to sicken

as that great oak, our native hew of state

with all its bold and hallowed beams of destiny

is hollowed out by lies

and the spineless heirs of Agincourt

bow down to Moloch

and beg for AI, implants, nano-chips

and hack me nikki-nakki iBot happi

every time the iPhone dings.

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Once was angel, noble, proud

of wit and reason well possessed

born to wear the crown with all his fellow kings

now lumpen-shackled to the internet of things.

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No. Man delights me not

Nor woman neither.

Though by your smiling

you seem to think

I'm a Conspiracy Theorist.

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Greetings y Saludos

I'm catching up with family in England.

I've hardly had a moment to myself. I missed writing about the Nine Eleven anniversary in the depth that I wanted. Instead I thought a perspective from Hamlet might be interesting.

I wrote Hamlet and Niadon a few years ago. The poem seemed appropriate for the first anniversary of the event that I have spent in England.

The Niadon refers to the tenth anniversary after the destruction of the three World Trade Towers when the Truth Movement had hoped that the extensive scientific evidence collected by Architects & Engineers for 9/11 Truth would wake up America and Europe to the reality of Controlled Demolition. To our shock and disappointment the great mass of educated liberal Americans looked the other way. I have many times said that this determined ignorance signified the epistemological collapse of Western Civilisation. I call it the Great Denial, or the Niadon.

Hamlet is the world's first conspiracy theorist.

I know, I say that about Rudolf Steiner. While I use Magical Realism to emphasise a point—in this case, two people can be 'first' at the same time—I never deviate from the underlying truth of what I'm presenting. Rudolf Steiner was the 'first' to expose the hidden origins of the First World War.

And Hamlet had the angel—they called them ghosts in those days—of his dead father telling him that the new King, Claudius, his father's brother (and Hamlet's uncle) had poisoned him. And now Prince Hamlet has to deal with the disturbing revelation from the angel.

King Hamlet was assassinated.

The Shakespeare Industrial Complex gives us many profound observations about the interlocking themes that run through the play. But they never start with the idea that Hamlet was a Truther. And that, as Hamlet struggles all alone to name the perpetrator, he has to make sure that Uncle Claudius doesn't take him out as well. (Something we are once again going through with Charlie Kirk. See below for more on this.)

Not only are we dealing with regicide but the bereaved son had to deal with the trauma that the usurper was far less qualified.

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So excellent a king, that was to this

Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Visit her face too rough

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In other words, a grubby, debauched psychopath has replaced a king who was noble, wise and majestic. How often do our current ruling classes remove these people with these qualities from public influence?

Hyperion to a satyr? How about Kennedy to Johnson?

The latter clearly was one of the co-conspirators of the assassination of a president who had realised that, instead of the permanent threat of nuclear war, getting on with the Soviets was perhaps a better idea. As we know, this was not to the liking of the CIA and the Military Industrial Complex.

I live in perpetual disgust that we have to put up the machinations of second rate people who lord it over our earth.

We live in a world of satyrs while all the Hyperions get assassinated.

This is why I write the Kionist Manifesto.

Only by removing the Anglo-American Ruling Classes will a better world be possible.

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Talking assassination and in passing. To me it was clear from the getgo that the sniper shot on Charlie Kirk was a set up. I'm sure there are lots of deconstructions. I've been following Ricky Hale and he has done some good analysis of the Official Narrative. I haven't had time to corroborate, but it seems the Charlie Kirk story is falling apart at the seams.

Dystopian Times • The FBI's "evidence" against Tyler Robinson has now reached comical levels • Ricky Hale and Council Estate Media • Sep 17, 2025

The above is Ricky's latest article. [Here] There are a couple before which are also worth reading. I have planned an article that will give context to the motives and cue bono's of the latest game plan from the Cabal. (Assuming, and hoping, I find the time!)

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On a happier note I will leave you with some photos of the late autumn glory of the English countryside seen from an English village. It's so good to be back! When my sister picked me up yesterday, we went for a brief detour into Stratford-on-Avon. I used to spend my summers in a nearby village and my mother always made sure I saw lots of Shakespeare plays. We hope to go and see Measure for Measure tomorrow.

The lush, green hills of the Cotswolds are filling me with inspiration and I am more determined than ever that the British will have to be the first to bring about their own Brevolution and then inspire Eurolution over in the continent—carefully planned and curated with boundless peace and love. And lots of joy.

After all, if we're not having fun, why bother?

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Blessings to you all

Steve

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