'To the lonely Corner, broom! Hear your doom.' The Sorcerer's Apprentice: When Cardinals and Archbishops fool themselves that they are the Master By Countess Sigrid von Galen

'To the lonely 

Corner, broom! 

Hear your doom.' 

The Sorcerer's Apprentice: When Cardinals and Archbishops fool themselves that they are the Master 

By Countess Sigrid von Galen

"To the lonely 

Corner, broom! 
Hear your doom. 
As a spirit 
When he wills, your master only 
Calls you, then 'tis time to hear it."

Once upon a time, perhaps right now, there are a Cardinal and an archbishop in a, what they call the One church, that is their shared cover for a sandcastle hierarchy built on organised child abuse and other heinous Criminality.

Each also runs in deniability their own secret society, of Templars and freemasonry, where they launder and redistribute dirty money via many a church charity.

Both think, if they the blood of child victims drink from a bewitched sorcerer's Eucharistic cup, they receive supernatural powers but in fact their drug induced smoke screen gets them into the right mood for their delusions and obsessions.

Before their regular ritual sacrificial sessions they call upon a Westminster diocese Churchhouse 

Housing and Property manageress -and in her own boasting also a dark arts sorceress-, who supplies them with children for a lamb, and provides the latest houses and empty properties for their criminal ceremonies.

As not just occasionally they end in murder and cover ups, and she has even a Rise and Shine illegal crime scene cleaning up company on call, who have cleared from DNA numerous bloody and poisoned  Judas cups!

And this manageress will bring the Cardinals and Archbishops now as their biggest liability to fall, as she herself did to power cling via blackmail, threats and poisonous treats for each the other on offshore sums regularly cheats.

She has the self-styled in tongues mumbling sorcerers with their code names in her paypocket, and holds their signatures on tiny secret blood contracts in copy in a locket.

So they gave her, what she demanded for her criminal and fascist private army and placed her as cover as a parish secretary, Sunday School teacher, legal advisor and PCC chair in an East London church, where she runs spiderwebs and covens and lodges also in the wider community.

From there she secretly enlists the mercenary structure of nuns from various priories and orders and expands her organised crime syndicate not just within parish boundaries but also internationally without borders, as her female freemasonry sisters can travel unhinderedly and abuse immunity and seals for corrupt deals.

The two Sorcerers, the Cardinal and Archbishop meanwhile beg her to draw up NDAs en Masse to silence victims and whistleblowers, 

who know only too well of this woman's man-made hell for numerous abducted children and the Popes are anxious to shut them up, as many survivors and her former allies do already the truth tell and break the silencing spell!

To cut it short to the point: The Cardinal and Archbishop should have tbought twice before they did a mercenary as their Vatican-Anglican black

magic high priestess anoint, as the result will be for the triumvirat eventually tragic!

When the real living and resurrected saints process upon the courts and point their fingers at the Sorcerers screeching singers and death threats bringers! Not to speak of their members all being under their masks with beaks also swingers! 

And then it will be too late for the three for a deal, as revoked will be immunity for these rogue double and triple agents of the papal fascist mercenary army! 

 

'To the lonely 

Corner, broom! 
Hear your doom.'

The Sorcerer's Apprentice By Goethe - Translation By Edwin Zeydel, 1955

That old sorcerer has vanished 
And for once has gone away! 
Spirits called by him, now banished, 
My commands shall soon obey. 
Every step and saying 
That he used, I know, 
And with sprites obeying 
My arts I will show.

Flow, flow onward 
Stretches many 
Spare not any 
Water rushing, 
Ever streaming fully downward 
Toward the pool in current gushing.

Come, old broomstick, you are needed, 
Take these rags and wrap them round you! 
Long my orders you have heeded, 
By my wishes now I've bound you. 
Have two legs and stand, 
And a head for you. 
Run, and in your hand 
Hold a bucket too.

Flow, flow onward 
Stretches many, 
Spare not any 
Water rushing, 
Ever streaming fully downward 
Toward the pool in current gushing.

See him, toward the shore he's racing 
There, he's at the stream already, 
Back like lightning he is chasing, 
Pouring water fast and steady. 
Once again he hastens! 
How the water spills, 
How the water basins 
Brimming full he fills!

Stop now, hear me! 
Ample measure 
Of your treasure 
We have gotten! 
Ah, I see it, dear me, dear me. 
Master's word I have forgotten!

Ah, the word with which the master 
Makes the broom a broom once more! 
Ah, he runs and fetches faster! 
Be a broomstick as before! 
Ever new the torrents 
That by him are fed, 
Ah, a hundred currents 
Pour upon my head!

No, no longer 
Can I please him, 
I will seize him! 
That is spiteful! 
My misgivings grow the stronger. 
What a mien, his eyes how frightful!

Brood of hell, you're not a mortal! 
Shall the entire house go under? 
Over threshold over portal 
Streams of water rush and thunder. 
Broom accurst and mean, 
Who will have his will, 
Stick that you have been, 
Once again stand still!

Can I never, Broom, appease you? 
I will seize you, 
Hold and whack you, 
And your ancient wood 
I'll sever, 
With a whetted axe I'll crack you.

He returns, more water dragging! 
Now I'll throw myself upon you! 
Soon, O goblin, you'll be sagging. 
Crash! The sharp axe has undone you. 
What a good blow, truly! 
There, he's split, I see. 
Hope now rises newly, 
And my breathing's free.

Woe betide me! 
Both halves scurry 
In a hurry, 
Rise like towers 
There beside me. 
Help me, help, eternal powers!

Off they run, till wet and wetter 
Hall and steps immersed are Iying. 
What a flood that naught can fetter! 
Lord and master, hear me crying! - 
Ah, he comes excited. 
Sir, my need is sore. 
Spirits that I've cited 
My commands ignore.

"To the lonely 
Corner, broom! 
Hear your doom. 
As a spirit 
When he wills, your master only 
Calls you, then 'tis time to hear it."

(The Sorcerer's Apprentice By Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe - Translation By Edwin Zeydel, 1955)

--

Sigrid Gräfin von Galen
(Countess Sigrid von Galen)


NEC LAUDIBUS NEC TIMORE

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