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Written by Abdun Nur   

Homeless

By Abdun Nur

 

“Why don’t you get a job, you lazy arse?” Said the fattest of a jeering group of men in their mid twenties, as they stopped to verbally abuse the man huddled under a thick blanket in the street, which was his only defense against the cold night.

 

“So I can be like you, and spend half my waking life taking orders from someone else, simply to gain certificates of debt created by a private corporation, through a monopoly granted from another corporation?

 

So I can have over two thirds of the meager product of my labours stolen from me through direct tax, and indirect taxation, fees, fines, penalties, duties, and imposed purchases such as insurance, that the dominant corporation inflicts through the threat of violence?

 

So I can make products engineered to wear out as quickly as possible beyond the warranty period, or offer services that have little value or benefit, often services that are detrimental to health or wellbeing?

 

So I can pay a mortgage, or be extorted for rent for a home I don’t have time to enjoy, or utilize well?

 

So in the small amount of free time I’m allowed as an economic slave, I can relax in front of a television, placed in pride of place in the main room of the house, that parades and implants the banal, obscene, untrue and contrived into the mind?

 

So after working in a job I hate, watching the clock day after day, I can, as a special treat, go out on the town once a week, if I’m lucky, to get drunk with other economic slaves, where the cost of the poisons required to dull the senses and make ugly women attractive, is so heavily taxed it turns a cheap drink into a luxury item?

 

Get a job?

 

Grow a brain half wit.” The homeless man replied.

 

“Says the guy sleeping on the pavement.” The fat man mocked, as his friends chuckled.

 

“Do you know the difference between you and me?” The homeless man asked.

 

“What’s that?” The fat man asked as he and his friends began to walk on.

 

“Reciprocation.” The homeless man replied.

 

As the group wandered away, the homeless man picked his book up again and continued to read.

 

He was wearing a thick winter coat with a hood, and his blankets were wrapped in a sheet of plastic to protect against the rain, he liked this spot as the streetlight illuminated the doorway he was using as a bedroom.

 

Later in the evening a group of drunken girls wander by and noticed him. “What you reading?” A thin girl asked dressed for a summer’s night in the middle of winter, her face thick with make-up.

 

“Ray Mears, hunter gatherer and survival book, wild food foraging. I got it from the library.” He said with a smile.

 

“How is it?” She asked sarcastically.

 

“I’ve read better.” He replied.

 

“That’s what you need to do, go off to the woods, instead of laying in the street like a garbage heap.” She told him as the group all laughed.

 

He sighed. “Yes it could be possible the woods may be better.

 

I’m in poverty of want, while you girls have the far greater poverties of life. Within you, you have a poverty of love, compassion and empathy, and that poverty makes, want, a poverty of virtue.

 

You must dress yourselves up as whores simply to attract brainless drunks to your beds, week after week, freezing in the winter air just to show the goods to your customers.

 

You’ve a poverty of the soul, tricked from birth you’ve been conditioned to perceive yourself, and present yourself, in a way that demonstrates society has distorted your abilities to reason, simply to conform to the stereotype of your culture, you wear the costumes, the face paint, the attitude, and the ignorance demanded.” He replied.

 

“You calling me a whore?” She said aggressively, with an angered expression.

 

“You wish to indulge in violence?

 

You violate your own bodies daily; violating the body of another is then a small trifle.

 

The mundane violence you eagerly indulge in, of toxic food, poisoned drink, and noxious air, is a violation of the covenant between you and your body.

 

Violence is the answer when you cannot face the reality of your own persona. You wish to threaten violence to restrict my free speech?” He replied politely.

 

“Come on Sandra.” Her friends said dragging her away down the street.

 

He went back to his book.

 

It was a dangerous place to be on the weekends, especially when the pubs emptied, the drunks seek out the weak to vent their frustrations.

 

He put his book away and snuggled down to sleep for the night.

 

Someone kicked his leg hard and he awoke. “Oye, scum bag, what you doing laying in the street.” A semi-literate drunk stood over him aggressively.

 

“I was sleeping.” He replied calmly.

 

“Well not anymore. Now you’re getting kicked into the sewer with all the other turds.” The drunk said aggressively in the act of inflicting a powerful kick when a group of men appeared around the corner, unnerving the cowardly drunk a little and preventing the kick from arriving.

 

“What you up to?” A very large man with the group, asked the violent drunk loudly.

 

“Just talking with my friend here.” The drunk replied wiping his nose with his hand.

 

“He was assaulting me, and will continue when you leave if you allow him.” The homeless man pleaded.

 

“Go on before you get hurt.” The large man threatened the drunk, who hurried away furtively.

 

“Thank you.” The homeless man said.

 

“What you doing sleeping rough, it’s brass monkey weather?” The large man asked.

 

“I’m, as all homeless soul, a victim of circumstance my friend.” He replied.

 

“I’ll tell you what, you come along with us, I’ll sort you out, what’s your name?” He asked.

 

Seisyll.” He answered.

 

“That’s an odd name, sounds like a girls name?” The large man asked.

 

“It’s an ancient Celtic name, my father was an archeologist, and he specialized in the Celtic period and region.” He replied.

 

“Well, Sill, get your stuff, let’s go.” The large friendly man said encouragingly.

 

“Where would we be going?” He asked.

 

“I have a little business I use guys like you for certain jobs, I have a place you can bunk down.” He told him.

 

“What sort of business are you in?” He asked.

 

“I’m a promoter.” Replied the large man.

 

“What is it you promote?” He asked.

 

“You ask a lot of questions. I promote fights, dog fights, badger fights, and cage fights with no rules, so your job would be taking bets and paying out winners, I need intelligent guys that I can trust with my money.” He replied.

 

“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline, thank you. You’re business is unhealthy for all involved, man and beast, but you know that, gambling is an enslaving addiction, a disease upon the mind of its victims, and you’re the enabler, the enticer and showman leading them through the gates of ruin and destitution upon the spectacle of the suffering of others. Thank you for running off the violent coward, but offering me a devils bargain was no generous act. How miserable my situation now, it would be considerably more perilous as a bookies whore.” Seisyll replied with a small smile.

 

“Suit yourself.” He answered looking a little confused down at him, and the group walked on. “What an arse-hole, some people just can’t be helped.” He commented to his friends.

 

As the group of men walked away, Seisyll sighed with relief, he lived a perilous life but his tongue made it very perilous, he spoke when he should be silent and he reproached himself, but he knew he couldn’t help it, his feeling just poured out.

 

It began to rain. He pulled the blankets and plastic cover in around him and snuggled down listening to the rain and wind beating down.

 

He was awoken at around 8am by a man walking his dog. “Do not forget, that by taking this you have promised me to use the money to make yourself an honest man.” The stranger said holding out a five pound note.

 

Seisyll stared up at him, he did not reach for the money. “I see, and previously I was a dishonest man, this five pound note will transform my life then?” Seisyll said condescendingly.

 

“You live on the street. I’m offering you help what sort of attitude is that?” The man replied a little taken aback as he straightened up.

 

“You have judge and convicted me in your mind before knowing anything about me, other than I’m homeless.

 

You have a pedigree dog, nice clothes, expensive shoes; I’d say a middle class man. Have you ever experienced poverty, abandonment or the horrors of destitution?” Seisyll asked.

 

“No. I didn’t mean to insult you.” The middle aged man replied.

 

“No.

 

You support the system, you vote, pay taxes, fill out forms and follow all the regulations and dictates of the State Corporation. You don’t realize what that makes you, because you do not grasp consent.” Seisyll continued.

 

“I am an honest man, and I was only trying to help you, which seems to have been a mistake.”

 

“Please let me explain.” Seisyll asked.

 

The man stood staring down without replying. “Your consent is the difference between sex and rape, one is consensual, the other a submission; or the difference between a gift and robbery; or between volunteering and slavery. To be forced to submit is an act of aggression.

 

Therefore the most violent act any soul could commit against their neighbour would be to vote a representative upon them.

 

Representative voting is an act of aggression, because it strip away consent and imposes submission.

 

To persuade a soul requires reason, to coerce a soul demands fear, and violence generates fear. Inherently unprovoked violence stands against the concept of all true freedom, which means violence is injurious physical force; action that causes fear of physical violence if conformity is not submitted to; or treatment that forces conformity, or prevents free access, passage, use or expression.” Seisyll concluded.

 

The man looked a little stunned, frowning. “So.” Continued Seisyll. “I’m an honest man, while you are a voter, a man who violently oppressors me and those around you to the monopolies, extortions, hoardings and subjugations of your masters will.” Seisyll smiled.

 

“I’ll keep my money.” The man answered and walked off tugging at his dogs chain.

 

“Thank you.” Seisyll called after him.

 

He began to pack up his bed and get ready to start the day; he was bending down engrossed in his efforts to get ready to leave when he heard a voice behind him. “You cannot sleep on the street boy.” He turned around and two costumed policy enforcers stood looking down.

 

The rain had stopped while he had slept and the day was dull and threatening more rain as he stared up at two uniformed clowns of the State Corporation.

 

One of the men grabbed his hair and lifted him painfully up to a standing position. “Right lad, we are confiscating your shit, you can’t sleep on a public pavement.” He said while he continued to hold a handful of Seisyll’s hair, if Seisyll had been a larger man he would not have done this, but a bully does as a bully does when he thinks he has power over the other. The other officer began to grab all the blankets, and possession that lay around and stuffed them into black bin bags.

 

When they’d finished robbing Seisyll the one still holding his hair leaned in, his bad breath beating into Seisyll’s face. “This is a warning, if we catch you sleeping in town again we won’t be as nice, are we clear.” He released Seisyll’s hair and wiped his hand on his jacket as if he’d touched a filthy rag, his face screwed up in disgust.

 

“You have stolen everything, my identification, my small amount of money, my spare clothes, my bed, my photographs, my food, even the library book I’d borrowed, and why?” Seisyll said angrily.

 

“Why?

 

Because we can, that’s why?” The fat officer replied.

 

“You two goons of the psychopathic elite, paid peanuts to subdue and intimidate, to maintain conformity to the policy of your masters of the pedophile class, the Estonian bum bandits and Zionist cock jockeys.

 

You’d need to double your I.Q’s to be considered half wits.” Seisyll was angry; he was being pushed into a position of desperation.

 

The costumed clowns of the corporation began to look angered as Seisyll continued. “You think the costume removes all accountability, you think you can abuse other souls without any consequences, the mask of your fictional masters protects you.

 

You’re mobsters of the legalized mafia, the very worst form of scum, even though many don’t even perceive that reality, but actions are the light of perception, and your actions are consistent.”

 

The two goons positioned themselves their intentions changed, one of them took out a chemical spray and pointed it at Seisyll’s face. “Are you sure you want to say anything else?” He asked him with the sprayer held steady.

 

Seisyll fell silent. It began to rain again. The water soaked into Seisyll’s clothes, the icy wind drained all his body heat and the anger swelled up within him.

 

He was silent; his anger was cold and still.

 

“Good, lets go Barry.” He lowered the spray and the two officers collected the bags and started to walk away, taking all Seisyll’s worldly possessions, and with them all his hope, all his power, all his capacity to survive.

 

He stood silent, wet and cold.

 

He searched his pocket and found a Chinese imitation Swiss army knife, he opened the small blade and began to run towards the two goons, he took a wide line around them as he passed, they just ignored him, running as fast as he could in the rain down the hill he headed towards the police van which was about 400 meters ahead of the goons as he ran towards it.

 

He reached the van and with his small knife he stabbed the sidewall of the back tire, it popped and air hissed out. He moved quickly to the front tire and did the same, the two cops were shouting and had abandoned the black bin bags, and were running towards him. He moved around the other side of the van and popped the other front tire, then he ran across the road, he was a good runner, he headed towards a junction that connected another road lower down that ran parallel with the road the van was parked on.

 

As he reached the lower road he ran up the hill, he was breathing hard and his determination pulsed through him in powerful resolve, he ran around five hundred meters until he reached another junction connecting the two roads at the top of the hill and turned back towards the road with the police van.

 

He turned the corner and headed back down the road, he could see the black bin bags abandoned on the pavement on the other side of the road, and no sign of the two cops who were chasing him, he ran back across the road, and when he reached the bin bags he took one in each hand. The bags slowed him down, but he was going down hill which helped, he knew the cops would have radioed for help and that other cops would be on their way, so he needed to find a place to disappear.

 

As he ran along the road he saw a shop with the lights on, as he got closer he saw it was a café, a place that did breakfasts, its windows were steamed over and it look shabby, he entered the shop out of breath and closed the door behind him just as he heard the sound of a police siren at the junction higher up the road, the siren was likely on as it was going through on red lights.

 

“Morning dear.” An old woman said, he smiled at her breathing heavily, as he court his breath. “Good… Morning.” He answered.

“What would you like?” She asked in a friendly tone.

 

He panted for a few seconds then asked. “Do you do a vegetarian breakfast?”

 

“Yes, four pounds.” The old woman answered.

 

“That’s ok, could I have one of those, thanks. Can I use your toilet?”

 

“It’s down the passage.” The old woman gestured in its direction.

 

“Could I leave my bags in the passage till I go?” He asked.

 

“Yes that’s fine.” She smiled.

 

In the passage he rummaged around in the bags and found dry clothes, after changing in the toilet he sat down at a table inside the café, it was a grimy room the paintwork had a layer of grease and nicotine, the greasy windows were misted over, he felt relief, that had been a close call.

 

“Here’s your breakfast.” The old woman said as she placed a plate of food in front of him. “Knives and forks are over there.” She gestured.

 

Seisyll smiled. “Thank you.” He tucked into his food, and didn’t look up until he’d cleaned the plate; it was a nice meal.

 

“That was lovely, thank you.” He told her as he sipped his cup of tea, for a grimy café the food was surprisingly good.

 

“What brings you out in heavy rain at ten past eight?” The old woman asked. “I don’t normally get any customers on a Sunday morning until around nine, I start at eight to set up.”

 

“My home unfortunately is the open-air.” He answered.

 

“I thought you were looking a little down on your luck.” She said as she worked busily behind the counter.

 

“You are quite elderly to still be working?” Seisyll commented.

 

“Well running a café is NOT the road to wealth, it is barely a living, and I’m still living.” She replied with a smile.

 

“Your food is very good, it’s a shame your café is looking so run down. Sorry I tend to say things without thinking about it first, I don’t mean to be insulting.” Seisyll said.

 

“It’s ok, you’re right, it’s in a sorry state, but I’m not up to doing the work it needs, getting too old.” She replied.

 

“You been running this place for a long time?” Seisyll asked.

 

“I opened this place in 1978, I was a young woman then, time has flown by, and I’m still stood here, still cooking breakfasts, still poor.” She answered.

 

“I could clean this place up, paint it, maybe we could make a little deal?” He asked.

 

“I couldn’t afford to pay anything, I barely make enough to keep going. So just the four pounds you owe me please.” She smiled.

 

“Oh yes, thank you.” He paid her the £4.

 

“I wouldn’t want paying, just a trade, if I could have a few meals, a bath, and wash and dry all my clothes and blankets, that would be a fair trade.” He said, he would have done it for free just to stay off the street for a few hours, the police would be floating around and the rain continued to pour.

 

The old woman stared at him in deep thought. “What’s your name?” She asked him.

 

“Seisyll.” He replied.

 

“Well the problem is I don’t even have the money to buy the paint. Most of my takings after costs go towards paying the landlord and the rates.” She explained.

 

“I could just clean the place. Getting the grime off will be an improvement, maybe it will attract more customers if it’s look better?” He pleaded. He really needed to stay; he was looking desperate, which puzzled the old woman.

 

“Well I’ve never come across someone so keen on cleaning up before.” She replied with a puzzled smile.

 

“Please, I promise you won’t regret it. I give you my word.” Seisyll pleaded.

 

“It’s very odd. I suppose you can start but if you are conning me, I’ll ring my son and you’d have to deal with him.” She answered.

 

“Thank you.” Seisyll smiled. The old woman, had him carry his bags upstairs, and she showed him how her washing machine worked, he placed some of his clothes in to wash. Then she showed him were all the cleaning stuff was kept, he was kitted out with hot water, bicarbonate of soda, scrubbing brush, scourers and cloths.

 

He took off his coat and set to, the old woman showed him were the step ladders were, and were to pour the dirty water, he began to work and people came in and ate as he continued to work. He started in the kitchen, which was the grimiest place, as not to disturb the customers.

 

After a couple of hours a couple of large scruffy men came in, they were wet from the rain, and looked to Seisyll like gypsies. “Two belly buster breakfasts, we’re in a rush so make it quick.” The older of the two men said abruptly.

 

“You know manners cost nothing.” Seisyll said looking around from his stepladder.

 

“Is that right, well dentists are quite expensive, open you mouth again and you’ll be needing one.” The gypsy replied.

 

“That will be £10 please.” The old woman said.

 

“We’ll pay when we’ve eaten.” The gypsy replied and he took a seat.

 

“Sorry, you have to pay in advance of service.” The old woman continued.

 

“I said, we’ll pay after.” The gypsy replied aggressively.

 

“Then you’ll have to find another café, sorry.” The old woman replied. She had dealt with gypsies before, and was wise to them; they would eat and just leave without paying.

 

“Just give us the food, now.” The gypsy persisted.

 

“Either, pay for your breakfast, or leave.” The old woman said sternly.

 

“Why won’t you give us the breakfasts, we’ll pay after.” The gypsy said intimidatingly.

 

“If you don’t leave I’ll call the police.” The fearless old woman said.

 

“What sort of men are you, trying to intimidate an old woman, in order to rob her of £10, a child can see your intentions, if you want to steal food, go to a fancy restaurant, where business is good and profits high, robbing this place is like stealing from the orphans.” Seisyll said still standing on his ladder. The two other customers in the café looked on as they ate their breakfasts.

 

“That’s it you little shite.” The older gypsy stood up and moved towards the counter.

 

One of the customers eating his breakfast spoke. “I’d leave now if I were you friend.” He said to the advancing gypsy.

 

“What?

 

What’s it got to do with you, ya facker?” The gypsy answered standing looking at the customer, Seisyll was feeling quite nervous but continued to clean the wall on his ladder.

 

“Leave, before I get annoyed.” The customer told him.

 

“Why don’t you make me, and mi friend.” The gypsies were both standing.

 

The customer put his knife and fork down, he was also a big stocky guy, heavily muscled with a lot of colourful tattoos on his exposed forearms. He stood up turning towards the two gypsies, he was a giant of a man standing at around six feet six.

 

“Shall we take this outside, I wouldn’t want to damage this lovely ladies café, I’ll pay you for my breakfast when I come back in a few minutes.” The customer told the old woman.

 

“OK dear.” The old woman replied.

 

The customer gestured with his hand for the gypsies to leave. “Shall we gentlemen?” He said in a strong calm voice.

 

“Now come on, no need to get violent.” The gypsy said. “I have the £10 here, just want some breakfast.” He held a £10 note in his hand.

 

“Leave now, find somewhere else to eat.” The customer persisted. The older gypsy scowled, and they both left knocking a table out of position as they passed.

 

“Thank you John.” The old woman said to the customer who had run off the gypsies.

 

“No problem Mary. Here’s your money.” He replied handing her a £5 note.

 

“Thank you John.” She said giving him his change.

 

“I’ll give the gypsies a few minutes to leave, they won’t wait too long in the rain to try to jump me from behind, could I have a refill on my tea Mary?” John asked with a smile.

 

“Certainly.” Mary smiled back.

 

There was a steady stream of customers all morning and the old woman was busy. At around twelve the old woman asked Seisyll what he would like to eat for dinner, and she gave him a large plateful of food, after eating he carried on, he worked as hard as he could, the old woman seemed happy with him, and kept him supplied with hot tea.

 

As it began to get dark Seisyll’s was exhausted, his hands were sore, but he’d done a miraculous job of cleaning some of the kitchen, it looked like a new room. “Thank you seisyll, you’ve done a good job, I have hung your wet clothes on the creel to dry, and put another load in to wash. I’ll show your were the bathroom is, and you can clean yourself up, then I’ll make you some food.” Mary told him.

 

“Thank you Mary.” Seisyll said.

 

He truly enjoyed the hot bath, the last bath he’d had seemed months ago, he’d been having whores baths, he did his best to stay clean but it wasn’t easy, he knew he likely smelled a bit, but living rough made personal hygiene difficult.

 

After his bath he put on clean clothes, which also felt so good, he lived in his clothes day in day out, even sleeping in them, but the luxury of clean nice smelling clothes was heaven. He was smiling, he couldn’t remember being this happy for so, so, long. Moments of happiness were all he could hope for, and he was glad of these fleeting moments.

 

“You can sleep in my sons old bedroom tonight.” Mary said as he emerged from the bathroom.

 

“Thank you, I appreciate your kindness Mary.” Seisyll said.

 

She led the way to the bedroom and he put his things on the floor. “You can come and watch the tele with me, and keep me company if you want, it gets lonely in the evenings.” She smiled.

 

The next morning Mary knocking on his door. “Morning its seven, come on down and we can have breakfast.” She said from behind the door.

 

“OK. Thank you Mary.” He replied.

 

When he arrived in the café Mary was busy cooking the breakfast. “A nice veggie breakfast again?” She asked.

 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” He replied.

 

After breakfast he started at his labour of love, degreasing the kitchen again, while Mary was busy preparing to open the café.

 

At eight a man knocked at the door, Mary’s face lit up and she smiled. She flipped the open sign and unlocked the door letting in the stranger. “Hello son, what brings you around so early?” Mary asked.

 

Her son was a thin man, with a drawn face and heavy bags under his eyes, his clothes were grey and unimaginative; he was a man of the background, tired and over worked. “Hello mum, was just passing and thought I’d call in to see you.” Her son replied.

 

“Good. Let me make you some breakfast.” Mary told him.

 

Her son noticed Seisyll. “Who’s your helper?” He asked.

 

“This is Seisyll, he’s been helping me to clean the place up. This is my son Brian.” Mary told Seisyll.

 

“Nice to meet you.” Seisyll called from his ladder, and he went back to his cleaning.

 

Her son chatted with his mum and ate breakfast, then he inspected Seisyll’s work. “You’re doing a good job, you painting the place after you get the grease off?” He asked Seisyll.

 

“No. Mary can’t afford the paint.” Seisyll replied.

 

“Is that right mum?” Brian asked.

 

“Yes.” Mary replied.

 

“I’ll sort it out, I’ll call back later with the paint, what colour do you want mum?” He asked her.

 

“I don’t know, whatever you think is best love.” She answered with a smile.

 

Her son left and the customers flowed in, it was busy most of the morning and Mary worked hard. At mid day her son arrived loaded with supplies.

 

“I got magnolia and white matt emulsion and some white gloss, some brushes, a roller set and a pole, masking tape and some plastic sheeting to cover things with. I got you some polyfiller and a scrapper as well to fill holes.” Brian said as he carried some of the supplies into the kitchen.

 

All afternoon Seisyll worked hard cleaning and preparing the walls and ceiling to be painted. He slept again over night and was up for breakfast at seven as before.

 

After he’d finished his breakfast he said. “I’ll clean the windows first and then sand down the woodwork Mary.” He worked hard on the glass, after he’d removed the grease with bicarbonate of soda, he used old newspaper and vinegar in a spray bottle and polished the glass inside and out so well it became almost invisible.

 

He sanded the woodwork, and fixed masking tape ready to paint. It was midday by the time he was done with the trims, and he stopped to eat. “It’ll make a big difference, nice white woodwork when you’ve painted Seisyll.” Said Mary smiling. “You and Brian have cheered me up no end doing this for me.

 

We’ll have to wait till we’er close today so the smell doesn’t upset the customers, just keep getting ready until then love.” She told Seisyll.

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Hijriah Date

Jamadil Akhir
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Thursday
1439 HIJRAH

Articles

Supreme Existence
God And Allah. Updated
The Meaning Of Life
Freedom Means Responsibility
Sovereignty
This Earth Is Precious
Qur'anic Caliphate
The Truth
Human Energy
Spiders
Seeds
Spiritual Evolution.
The Five Pillows Of Islam.
Salat (Desire)
Contemplation.
The Blinding Light Of Islam Extinguished.
Islam Demands Reason.
Believers.
Islamic Finance.
The Unnecessary Energy Crisis: How to Solve It Quickly.
Time Explained.
The Misanthrope.
The HIV-AIDS Question.
INDUCTION AND EXTREME OATH OF THE JESUITS
A Debate On Money.
Chaos Transduced.
The Advent Of The Muslims.
Islam A Challenge To Religion.
Sweet Poison.
The Three Given Keys Of Existence.
Divine Spark.
The Heavens The Earth And The Qur’an.
Mohammad's Awakening.
The Engines of Creation.
Dua.
Hamd.
Iblis.
Rage.
A Dying Ember
Melded Multiple Infinities.
A Sadness Within Me.
The Dichotomy of humanity; the singular unity of being both Mortal and Immortal.
Salaam.
Saum.
Shirk.
The purpose of humanities creation.
Interface With Islam
The potentials of Death.
Why the banks are failing.
The Subjugated Mind.
Allodial Earth.
THE BEGINNING OF THE LIE
CHAPTER 6 from the book "DESCENT into SLAVERY”
The Vatican.
Theft: Punishment or Relief
Love.
I’bada
Life.
The Fractional Reserve Banking System.
COSMOS WITHOUT GRAVITATION
The Symbols of Religion.
The Big Bang, a BIG lie.
The formation of a galaxy, evolving a universe.
Our Conscious Mind As An Electromagnetic Field
THE GEOMETRY OF SPACE
Hadith (part one).
Hadith Continued (part two).
Confessions Of English Spy Who Helped create Wahhabism.
The Detached.
Law of Men. (The First Crusade)
Rex Offa of Albien (Britain)
Constitution of Allah. Transfinite Consciousness.
PENTECOSTALISM.
THE REAL REASON WHY WOMEN HAVE BEEN OPPRESSED
The Human Soul Nexus.
The History of Arabic Grammar.
Why do the Innocent suffer, the answer.
A Careful Linguistic Analysis of the term Allah.
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Establishing Freedom of Evil at all Times within Bonded Community
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190 Lughaat-ul-Qur'an
Islamic Supermarket
COMPLAINTS OF CONVERTS
Car Insurance.
Islamic repository
The Skill of Discourse
The Natural Rights Clothes Shop
Meanings of Terms of law
A simple Lexicon investigation of a single verse of the Qur'an
The Nature of Ownership.
Police State: What is a police Officer?
Free Energy Plasma Engine
Riba
Part One. The Writ
Part Three: Gemot Administrators of Terrente (the peace of their mind threatened) Relief
Part Four - Wite and Surety Bound-Souls
Eight point community plan
Equitable Allodial Utilisation (overview)
Proposed Method of Allodium Witnessed Declaration
Affidavit of Allodium Witnessed Declaration
‘Bona Gestura’ Bond of Allodarii
Notice of pursuance of Allodium Witnessed Declaration
Declaration of Allodial Utilisation
Polycentric community (overview)
The Substantive Binding Surety (overview)
Reciprocated Agreement of Binding Surety
Anarchic Labour Trading
The Repository (overview)
Bonded Cooperative Occupational System
Plenary Allodium Utilisation Averment
Cooperative Assurance System
Cooperative Car Assurance
Medical Assurance
Winters slave
The Nature of War
The Nature of Democracy
The Nature of Sovereignty
The Third State of Consciousness
Inherent Power (short overview)
Part Two: How a Substantive Gemot of Axiological Inherent Power Functions through Axioms of the Land
Part Five - Terrente - Duty of Care - Outcast
The Law, Courts and Jurisdiction
Repository Securities and Advance
The Nature of Copyright
The Nature of Government
The Nature of Capitalism
Islamic Banking
The Court System versus the Witena-Gemot System
A Duty of Care
The Trivium
The Concept and Structure of Polycentric community
The Nature of Economics
The Protected Paedophiles, Child Rapists, Child Torturers, and Child Murders of the British Establis
Arbitration of Universal Accountability - Terrente Relief
Unilateral Bond of Repository Administrator
The Nature of the Hospital System
Hemp Drugs Commission Report, completed in 1894
Unlawful Killing
A Bonded Militia
Duty of Care Trading Declaration (food)
Bonded Cooperative Networks
Freedom or Slavery
Matrimonial Agreement
Part Six - Relief, Recourse and the Jury
Part Seven - Constructive versus Substantive
The Education Assurance Bond
Predator and Prey
Francis of Assisi
Possession versus Utilisation of the Land
NOTICE: No Implied or inferred right of access
Crowd Funding
The Master of the Soul
The Nature of Money
What is voting?
What is a Citizen?
Homeless
As Above so Below
Fencing (Austerity)
Jews and the Global Sex Slavery Business
Rise of Sea Levels is 'The Greatest Lie Ever Told'
The Nature of Death
The Singing Soul