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Nov. 5, 2023 - David Icke
17:54
Gay poet Simon Welsh on how 'Pride' isn't 'pride' at all. Brilliant. Every Woke mind should see this
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The veil is lifted, clear for all to see.
The deception, the lies, the inverted reality.
The time has come to create a new reality.
One in reverence to divinity and its natural wisdom.
Energy goes where attention flows.
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Hello, I'm Simon Welsh.
Hello, I'm Simon Welsh.
Oh And this is Reflections of Pride Month 2023, narrated for your pleasure now by Rex Denial.
That's me.
Listen to this homo.
Listen when I say that I never ever signed up for the gay scene of today.
In fact, I didn't even sign in 97 when I came out and ecstasy was all the rage at heaven.
I always found it odd that I had to love Madonna, that I had to almost wear her music like a badge of honour.
The rhythm was incessant and the music was so loud, we had to shout our greetings to be heard above the crowd.
Pride was very sexy and exciting, very bright, but it always shone like neon, not like real love and light.
And I danced in shorts I did not care for.
Shirts I didn't want.
All to be accepted at the Rainbow Water Font.
I didn't think it poisonous.
I thought it was my lot.
That I should just be grateful for the freedoms I have got.
That I should thank my lucky stars these weren't the days of AIDS.
So I tried to smile while I blew my whistle at parades, but I didn't shag in bushes, or in toilets, or the park.
My mum had once explained to me, if he does it in the dark, then he doesn't want to see you, doesn't want to see your face.
This is not the man for you.
You need a man with grace.
So I carried on for years, hoping one day I would meet a man of stature, masculinity, who'd sweep me off my feet.
But I had so much trauma from the changing rooms at school, I couldn't take my shirt off without feeling like a fool.
Imagine that!
A gay man who is horny all day long, but who cannot sexually explore because it feels wrong.
I wanted just to date and get to know a guy before I saw what both our clothes would look like strewn and crumpled on the floor.
And I had body issues.
I was paralysed by fear.
Every time a guy I fancied steered even slightly near, my stomach knotted up and my groin grew red with rage.
I didn't feel free.
I felt the whole world was my cage.
When the dating apps took over, I was almost 35, and I didn't mourn the loss of clubs.
Writing's where I thrive.
No more shouting over music, downing shots of indecision.
Finally, I could be heard.
and bring men to my vision with the chat ups that I texted and the things I now could say so that I would be a lighthouse for a hunky chunky gay with a soul I could connect with who knew real man to man and not on sweaty mattresses stacked up in his van And by these means, I lay with both the angels and the thugs.
I found my rainbow's end, my gold, and often, lots of drugs.
The sex was almost telepathic, lovemaking, extreme, and such a hearty far cry from that loud, obnoxious scene.
But the drugs?
They cost me dear, and the demons made their deal for the parts of me they took till I could hardly think or feel.
And days before my spirit's execution in the dark, I was whisked away by angels to recover by a park with a river running through it and a coastline just beside.
And in this place, I slowly learnt I've not won.
Ounce of pride for the carousel on which the horses slowly eat the riders.
Do flies take pride in being caught in webs by massive spiders?
The gay scene.
What's it for?
I asked, as seaside life remade me.
Was there something here beyond things to addict and to degrade me?
I couldn't see the truth till now.
But now I saw it clear.
I love men, but I do not identify as queer.
I never did, but buried it.
Where else could I go?
If the gay scene's all we've got, perhaps it's better not to know.
That the real world's not plastic, neon, eyeliner and varnish, or a cabaret of characters who never seem to tarnish as we whirl around that carousel in makeup, chaps, stilettos, like a troupe of rainbow puppets on the strings of great Geppettos.
I cut my strings and left that circus.
Now I see what's true.
And I'll tell you all about it if you stay for Chapter Two.
Back when I was 20, it was LGB.
That's it!
And now it's LGBTQ2... I don't give a shit!
The pride of 20 years ago was not like pride today.
We had gender binary back then, so gay was really gay.
Now there's just this sea of genders.
Dive in.
Take your pick.
What you say is what you are.
That's you.
No, you're not sick.
You identify as what you want.
And that's your gender.
Fact.
And everyone must validate it.
If they don't, they're sacked.
You can be a man today, and tomorrow, be a lady.
So that when you go to prison, it's a women's prison.
Shady.
You can rape your fellow inmates if you get them on their backs.
And if they grass you up, they must say these are lesbian attacks.
Gender has been under this assault for many years.
They've been doing this to us since long before they called us queers.
There were many, many stages that were carried out with care, and that is how we managed to get all this way from there.
Sexuality and gender aren't identity.
It's when we think they are that we are stuck and can't be free.
But how to find out who you are if you are not your gender, or your sexuality, or the time since your last bender?
You have to cast these things away.
These things you thought were true, until you are identity-less.
Now you can be you.
It's like a foreign language you've not yet the mouth to speak.
But this wasn't ever mastered in a day or in a week.
I'm on this path myself.
I've been on it for a while.
I learnt to take good care of me.
Cause myself to smile.
Buy myself a birthday present.
Make myself a meal.
Be kind and patient with myself at each Achilles heel.
My gayness took a nosedive.
My libido self-corrected.
And I claimed my inner orphan, who had been so disconnected.
Who had cried out for a daddy all those windy, scary nights.
A daddy who would keep him safe from getting hurt in fights.
A daddy who'd protect him from addiction and from shame.
And has I just allowed myself to be with all this pain?
I found that I was giving form to something new inside.
A massive, hearted daddy bear with bear arms open wide to receive and love that little orphan.
Such a precious chap, who just adores to be adored and cuddled, snuggled on my lap.
I killed his little voice and shut him down for many years, never realising I could heal by listening to his fears.
And not long after this, you'll never guess who I should meet.
Yes, the very man whose fate it was to sweep me off my feet.
That's right, this knight in shining armour scooped me from the shelf.
But this was only possible because I'd saved myself.
And now he is my husband.
We got hitched under a pine.
And our lives are both inspired by the hands of the divine.
And gay goes on without us with its new pink, white and blue.
And folks are like I was back then.
They haven't got a clue that this entire movement is inverted.
It's not real.
It's just another ruse to tell us what to think and feel.
I know it's scary letting go of something huge like pride, but pride has never been concerned with who you are inside.
And if you tell me this is you, this glamour and this glitz, if you think that your identity is leggings and the splits, then you have been so moulded by the boxes and the labels.
The gate is open now, but maybe you can't leave the stables.
I'm calling out with all my heart.
It's time to bolt, my friends.
This carousel is cannibal, and I've seen where it ends.
With mentally unhinged adults having kids themselves, I'm teaching them that they can change from girls to boys to elves!
And then those girl boy elves grow into hairy men with boobs.
And on their breast are baby suckles.
Watch it on the tubes.
The diabolic image of a man with boobies laden is an absolute inversion of the image of the maiden who was born of goddess Earth to be the mother of tomorrow.
She knows how to sing her child into sleep without a sorrow.
But the man with hairy milk boobs cannot sing or keep a note.
His lullabies get lost and drown inside his manly throat.
He used to have a voice, back when he was she in choir.
In fact, she'd sung soprano and her voice was holy fire.
But the world said God was dead.
And she slowly lost her way.
And for a while she thought maybe she was simply gay.
But the truth was that she'd lost her love for women and for men.
And then she saw a TV show and learnt the phrase, they them.
Michelle Obama says it's good.
Agenda right for me.
But here we have to leave this tale.
It's time for Chapter Three.
I didn't think I'd be a dad, or marry, or be straight.
And though I often fantasized that I'd be simply great at the parent thing and being daddy, father in a son, if I wasn't straight enough to do it with his mum, I had no business having children.
Children need things stable.
They don't need dad's new boyfriends and waste breaking bread at table.
They need to see the masculine and feminine aligned, not as sexual beings.
But as parents who are kind.
And now it's really happening.
Does it come as a surprise that our kids are coming home with rainbows burnt into their eyes?
They are mimicking the gay scene and its gender-fluid memes, learning how to twerk from crusty cocaine-addled queens.
It may sound mad to you that this is coming from a man who agrees, at least in schools, with the LGBT ban, and then cuddles with his husband and helps to raise a child who is ADHD, just like me.
His brain is vast and wild.
I didn't think I'd meet a man who had a son already.
It's been two years now, and we take it slow and steady.
The boy is pleased I met his dad.
He trusts me, and he likes me.
But if he thinks I'm being unfair, he digs in and he fights me.
Do I support gay marriage?
Yeah, I suppose I have to, right?
I am married to a man who reflects my love and light.
But gay is not a lifestyle that goes with raising babies.
I would rather stick my head in Cujo's mouth and then get rabies.
But having babies isn't what's the real issue here.
The issues when the parent makes their child's whole world queer.
So the infant is surrounded, trapped by pronouns, rainbows, pride.
Inclusive language conjured up by agencies that lied so you'd carry on forever looking everywhere for truth while your mental health goes up and up and up right through the roof!
The real you's inside you.
And it's not your gender, race, nor your sexuality, nor the colour of your face.
Your spirit is the truth, you see.
Your body's just a vessel.
It's such a simple truth.
But a truth with which we wrestle.
And that is what they cashed in on all those years ago when they gave me my first whistle and said, ready, steady, blow!
The LGBT transromantic rainbow leads to hell.
It can't tell you who you are.
It's a dream, a trick, a spell.
I know you can wake up from this.
Remember who you are.
Your spirit is the driver and your body's just a car.
When you go shopping in your Golf, you get behind the wheel, and when you drive that Golf, you're you!
You're not now made of steel.
When people see you driving, do they think you are your car, just because you're driving it?
Now that would be bizarre.
You thought you were your body, even though your spirit's driving.
You got the willy fanny switch and now you think you're thriving.
But if I stuck a fanny on the bonnet of my car and then made you call me Barbara, would you think I'd gone too far?
It's very clever, really, when you think of how they made such Dark and nasty plan into a colourful parade.
They tricked us into thinking spirit's not a real thing.
And now you think your body's you.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!
God is home, and home is here, rumbling in my heart, where my inner child lives in peace, surrounded by my art and by the things that make him happy, while I run a grown-up life, with a husband and two step-sons sometimes.
Obviously no wife.
We talk to God and we make do with all the tools we've got.
It isn't always perfect but we get it right a lot.
And God has blessed our marriage and he blesses each endeavour because he is our alchemy in love that lasts forever.
I have to thank the gay scene for my baptism of fire.
It took years.
It was gruelling, but it pushed my spirit higher.
So thank you to the nightclubs, drugs, the saunas and the bars.
Without you, I would never know that drivers are not cars.
There's a lot of things that I've said over the years which were perceived to be crazy
Bye.
and then suddenly they start to move mainstream.
I'm waiting for someone to convince me that we don't live in a simulation.
What is real?
How do you define real?
If you're talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, taste and see, then real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain.
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