The books I have written do not only tell the story of my life, so they entertain the reader through the Great American Novel.
The books I have written do not only tell the story of our world, so they inform the reader through a great work of history.
And the books I have written do not only have more than one hundred thousand downloads, after four years, while you can take as many copies as you like, without registration, for free.
The MK-Ultra Series celebrates so many amazing places, plants, animals, and people—along with the stars, the sky, the sea, and the earth—to record their stories, so we all may grow in renown.
As an epic poet, I sing of the beauty, trials, and achievements of the amazing women who posed for Playboy.
While I expose sexual programming, I make no apologies for healthy relations between consenting adults.
My books have a visual component, through which I will sometimes describe the geometrical composition, the color palette, and the wholesome effect of an iconic, erotic, and historic photograph, showing a beautiful naked woman, embodied in Playboy.
And, so, as a proper incentive to read my books, and to explain this literary device, which might else lie hidden, I wish to share another artistic example.
Every one is different, while some recall particular works of art or poetry.
Some inspire me through practical advice, embodied in their lives, while they themselves are authors.
Others inspire me through their fight, and their martyrdom, as I avenge their deaths.
It all started with the awesome women in whose company I grew up.
Deborah Driggs is one of many inspirational ladies.
And she’s also the sexy subject of the passage below, which you can read, in a different form, when you meet her in my books.
The sensuous lady stretched luxuriant, her cat-green eyes signalling mischief under their bushy brows, scarlet lips parted in sensual snarl, to reveal shining white teeth, in a perfectly palletted picture.
There the figure-skater lay, ready to be taken, on an empire sofa, whose lilac silk highlit the pink and white tones of her tanlined body, covered only by an open gold jacket, which threw the violet color into relief, and a pair of thigh-length stockings, topped with lace, whose shades of translucent black and underlying pink competed only with the jet hair, silkier and silkier, that covered her rosy vulva.
And so we mated, as my woman’s back arched, long, her hips squirming, twisting, thrusting to meet me, her elbows pushing against the arm, the seat, lifting her exquisite physique, her body rising in waves, climax after climax, after climax, losing ourselves in ἔκστασις.
Here’s the picture that inspired that scene when I studied at Cambridge.
Playboy was not just an enemy operation.
It was art.
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Our enemy depends on silence.
Fighting Monarch 
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