O Igbo arise! O Igbo arise! O Igbo arise!
Let the chains of subjugation be broken, let the yoke of slavery be shattered and let the shackles of servitude fall.
For the voices of your ancestors and your dead are calling. The voices of your slaughtered children wail, scream and screech through the night and they shed whimpering and pitiful tears through the day.
They call for justice and vengeance that their souls may be appeased and that they may find peace and eternal rest.
For they were slaughtered in their millions by the barbarians and infidels and they were butchered like cattle in the sanctity and privacy of their churches and homes.
They cry for Biafra. They cry for the land of the rising sun. They cry for the memory of the fallen and those that stood like men to defend their honor. They cry for the pitiful souls of the chidren yet unborn.
Heed their cry and honor their sacrifice. Forget not the land of the rising sun. Forget not Biafra.
Forget not the slaughtered millions and those that were cut short in the prime of their infancy.
There is no mind on earth that is more enquiring, more difficult to impress, more difficult to navigate, more difficult to comprehend, more difficult to deconstruct, more difficult to intimidate and more difficult to manipulate or sway than that of the Anago and those that the world refer to as the Yoruba. Read more…
There is a code of honor amongst the Sons of Light, a standard for the Armour Bearers of Truth and a word for the Knights of God’s Round Table. They read as follows.
Resist oppression. Confront the evil. Face down the devil. Stand up to tyranny. Speak truth to power. Defend the righteous. Despise injustice. Challenge the rich. Help the poor. Feed the hungry and break the yoke. Read more…
I am the Odum-Agu of the South: he who has the fangs, claws, heart and strength of a lion and a tiger all rolled in one.
THEY LOVE THE BLOOD !!!
The blood is life.
The blood is sweet.
They love to see it flow.
They love to see it sprinkled.
They love to see it spattered all over the walls.
They love its smell and its warmth.
They love it even more when,
It is the blood of infants and babies.
They love the blood!
There is nowhere like Londinium. The heart of the world beating right there before the warmth of an open big red faggot-popping hot log fire.
It burns cosily in the giant old halls which lie behind those ancient walls in the ice cold snow and winds of winter.
No matter how dark the night, always remember this: joy comes in the morning.
Even if the whole world hates you, turns against you and abandons you, God’s unfathomable love and the glorious radiance of his shining sun will surely see you through. Read more…
Abaddon, the prince of destruction hovers over our nation. Magog, the prince of war marches towards our shores. Asmodeus, the prince of suffering and death beats his drums over our country. Read more…
It is 3 a.m. in the morning: the time that is commonly referred to as the bewitching hour.
This is the moment that darkness and silence stalks the land.
This is the moment that is pregnant with fear, uncertainty and mystery.
“True love is very rare. If you ever find it, hold on to it, appreciate it, nurture it, express it and cherish it. Read more…