The secrets of the opening ceremony of the 33d Olympic Games unveiled.  

Imagine a life of peeking behind mirrors, maneuvering through snake pits, swinging little lanterns through the deepest of rabbit holes; skipping and jumping in dusty boots, over the face of the dark side of a two dimensional moon. 

It’s great to be a complonaut. 

Never a dull moment. 

But the job is not for the faint of heart, as it can also become rather messy.

Because, sometimes a complonaut needs to scour the very depths of hell and stare right into the hideous faces of Azzazel, Baäl and Apollyon, grasping at bloody razor sharp straws, looking for clues and  breadcrumbs, that were missed by the millions of muggles, who were simply ‘enjoying the view”. Unraveling crime scenes that are being scrubbed and dissolved right under our eyes.

Recently there have been many of those unfortunate scenes, that required my complonaut services. There was poor Kate, In Rosemary’s dress, behind Rosemary’s pram, who was clearly Tiffany Dovered and replaced. 

There was that cheerful portrait of old “sausage fingers” and the bloodied stallions of the Apocalyps, racing through London to the carefully misplaced “bangs” of Big Ben. There was Donald Trumps “ketchup ear”, that magically healed in a jiffy and the muffled murder of old Joe Biden. Who some say, can still be heard screaming “I’m not fucking dead yet” from a potato sack behind the barn of the White House in Vatican’s little colony Washington D.C. 

But the richest, most elaborate, sheer Satanic ritual I recently had to behold, the one that twisted and turned my well trained stomach, must be the opening ceremony of the 33d degree, Olympic Gayms. 

It felt like taking a firehose spewing rainbow spiders to the mouth. A satori in Paris. A never ending queer witches Sabbath.

I put on my welding goggles, to keep the old eyes from burning up in poisonous rainbow goo, and watched the whole bloody thing, from beginning to the very end. 

I did it for you. So you did not have to. 

This is the, very elaborate, walk through as I perceived it. 

I found some nasty easter eggs. 

The four hour long ceremony starts innocently enough, with football star Zidane, who takes the olympic flame out of the sunny Stade de France and into the Cité de Paris.

But soon enough the scene turns questionable.

Like a pied piper Zinédine lures three young children, into the underworld, carrying the olympic torch in a strange cylindrical vessel that faintly resembles a silver Monarch pupa or an Assyrian archers hat.

He jumped into the Metro, leaving the three baffled kids behind. But the metro stops, before it enters the tunnel. The door opens and he hands them the Olympic torch. 

The kids do not return to their innocent games in the sun though, but stay behind in a red lit underworld, wandering through the catacombs, the Parisian city of the dead, filled with skulls and bones and a Crocodile. Sobek. The violent Egyptian god who creates order in the universe. 

The kids now reach a broad underground canal. And there is a Charon character. The ferryman of the Styx, masked and dressed up as, assassin Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad, the main character in the Templar owned “simulation in a game called Assassin’s Creed”. who takes them on board. Charon, by the way, is a character in that very game.

It’s this complex character, we will simply call him “Charon”, who ferries the old France right into the underworld, throughout the whole ceremony.

We move on and in a new scene we saw the podium on Place Trocadero. The sun from the prerecorded scenes is gone. It’s clouded and it, artificially, rains for the rest of the evening.

Curiously there was this one huge magic raincloud hovering exactly over Paris, showing their unbridled might over earth ánd heaven.

On the podium, which carried the most distinguished guests, we now could see the statue of Baäl, the golden calf on the left and a golden Pegasus, born from the blood of Medusa and seawater on the right. All while “Charon” and the kids sailed into the light. 

A basic gnostic principle of deception.

Next we saw the first hint of a “French Revolution” The letters “ça ira” are superimposed on screen. A French revolutionary theme, which means. “It will be good.” 

“Ca ira”, in the context of a French queervolution, was definitely the main theme, a revolution, forced and carried by and over water. Le deluge, the drowning of the old. 

Now the masked and hooded ferryman and the three kids, appear outside on the Seine and behold; France itself, symbolized by its colors, promptly went up in smoke over a golden bridge. 

The crowd cheered but it did not know, they clapped to celebrate their own demise. 

We now see a guy in a traditional French costume with a harmonica and angel wings, sitting on the bridge, a symbol for the imminent death of the old France. The bridge, the recurring symbol of transition.

Next the camera turned to classic stone steps, next to the Seine, where a remarkably fat “Lady” Gaga, covered in a pyramide of pink pom pom’s, sang a skanky tune. “Mon truc en plume”.

The whole highly sexualized choreography revolved, like so much this evening around replacement of the old for the new, as Lady Gaga clearly shows in “her” mating dance with the strong and virile black and brown dancers, while a clearly gay white dancer, prances happily around them. 

A theme that will be repeated even more strongly, soon.

Now we see the kids and Charon overwhelmed by a sea of pink dressed people, one dressed as a rat. 

It’s the brown, strong kid, carrying the torch.

White people, who are not queer, are very, very seldomly seen in this ceremony, except of course for the old grey rulers on the main podium.

Now we see Charon, carrying the torch, skillfully doing parcours on the tin roofs of Paris, following the boats with the athletes that sail past a “can can” performed by eighty Moulin Rouge dancers in pink dress. 

Charon is now seen flying through the air.  

The word Synchronicité is put on screen, as he lands right at Notre Dame. To me clearly showing a “synchronicity” between the deliberately burned down Cathedral and the queer revolution, he is part of.

Charon runs on over the roofs, while on the banks of the Seine a group of dancers, standing in water, perform their frantic moves, in front of a golden background. Probably symbolizing greed, the eternal human quest for money. 

Charon now slips inside the atelier of Louis Vuitton. 

Next to a door there is a poster with a code. SS18, which stands for Satan, the Russian all devastating, nucleair rocket. 

After which we see Charon behind a huge trunk. And multiple Louis Vuitton trunks on hotel trolleys. I suggest, this is a symbol for human trafficking, the hidden trade in children and slaves. A thought enhanced by the “humping moves” the accompanying dancers make, while they hide their eyes behind their hands. The trunks end up at the Seine. Than the trail runs dead.

Charon now runs towards Monnaie de Paris, the place the Olympic medals are forged in fire.

Dancers, pied dans l’eau, again show us the worship of gold. 

We see the frantic, wildly moving dancers and one black guy in a skirt, on a golden platform, performing classic ballerina moves and positions. A clear symbol for the replacement of all that is holy feminine, naturally beautiful and graceful. 

Now Charon climbs through the stage of the musical “Les Miserables”. Another in your face symbol for a French revolution. 

And then we arrive at an old prison, Le Conciergerie. Behind every window we see a decapitated Marie Antoinette, dressed like the whore of Babylon. The Red Queen. 

In a chilling ghostly voice she cries out: 

“Ah! Ça Ira!’ and some more bloodthirsty anti establishment lyrics from Roger Waters Opera, that caries the same name.

Les aristocrates à la lanterne!
Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira,

Les aristocrates, on les pendra!
Le despotisme expirera,
La liberté triomphera,
Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira,

Nous n’avions plus ni nobles, ni prêtres,
Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira,
L’égalité partout régnera.
L’esclave autrichien le suivra,
Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira,

Et leur infernale clique
Au diable s’envolera.

The tune is now taken over by metal band Gojira, before Marina Viotti takes the stage; an opera singer, who loves her horned hand signs. Probably just a coincidence. 

Now we see a ship with golden sails, the symbol for Paris, sailing through a blood mist, while Marina Viotti sings the theme from Carmen. Then we pan to an intermezzo of floating women in big skirts, floating toward a figure suspended in air.

Next scene. We are in an old library and witness the clearest promotion of queerness and promiscuity in this Olympic ceremony that has so little to do with sports.

We see a beautiful girl, dressed in rainbow colors and hearts, flirting with a black guy. Their whole communication takes place in book titles.

She reads “Romance sans paroles” by Verlaine. A book about sex between people who do not speak each other’s languages. 

The guy answers with Alfred de Missets “l Amour, ne badine pas.” 

Then a clearly gay guy, turns up at the scene, who also eyes the black guy. He hands him the book “Bel- Ami” by Guy de Maupassant.

Wink, wink.

Their three way interaction continues, with book titles like “Passion simple” and “Sexe e mensonges” which is about the complexity of sex in the Arab world.

While happily running through the library, the threesome now start tearing up books like “Diable au corps”. Culture, be gone!

And then it all ends in a predictable “menage a trois”. Female, Gay and Black.

White heterosexual men are excluded from the party of course. 

Poor me.

A huge pink heart appears over Paris to celebrate their “love”.

We now see the Institute de France symbolically torched and the old France, symbolized by a uniformed, musical band, playing “Formidable” by Aznavour, meeting the new France half way. Rappers dressed in gold and bling, doing a modern dance, like Lou Reed would say.  The old France now quickly starts moving to the tune of the new France. Another sign of transition. The main mechanism of Queer theory. 

Now we are back with Charon.

He is in the Louvre, followed by anxious “oil painted eyes”, as he stops and stares at a painting of a shipwreck. Remember the shield of armor of Paris is a ship?

We are now outside again and see a procession of boats, while on the background, pictures of historical people are drowning in the Seine.  The old France must go.

And then we saw the hole in the Louvre floor. 

The Mona Lisa is gone. And with her beauty and femininity, female mystery disappeared from France.

Now we hear Jeu d’eau by Ravel, being played in the rain. 

What a coincidence. 

Another water theme. 

Water! The ultimate Biblical change agent. 

The sum of all Queers.

We now find ourselves with Charon at Musee D’Orsay. We see its huge clock. 

I said clock.

Outside it is ten to nine? Maar inside its twenty to nine. Time is fluid now.  

We see the train of time and Charon taking a course to the past using an ancient ship’s transmission. 

He steps through time and space and ends up in a balloon, sailing past Jules Verne’s moon, with a capsule like a bullet in its eye and a damaged statue of Liberty, that stands for Sol Invictus, the invincible sun. 

The Sun and the moon, Gods luminary creations, both wounded. 

Man, the new light, the new God.

Suddenly we are under the Seine in a cartoon submarine, amongst erratically behaving yellow pilled mignons or “minions”. One of which shoots an arrow through the heart of an “I love France” T shirt.

How symbolic.

Wé are those minions, the oblivious traditional peasants,  and it is us who are drowned in the murky waters of the Seine. 

Then the drowned Mona Lisa floats up, and surfaces as we hear the Marseillaise being sung bij a black woman. 

And after that Fraternité, a key word, taken from the revolutionary Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité slogan, is replaced and becomes Sororité.

Next we saw women as golden calfs. And a Polish singer dancer in white, called Orlinksi, who sang an aubade to everybody not from Europe. ‘Les Indes galantes’. 

And after being treated to a mumbling French Algerian rapper, we finally ended up as dinner guests at the infamous “last supper” scene on the bridge, symbolizing transition, like anything else in this ceremony. From Christianity into Queerness. From one bank to the other. While the water flows under it, to devour the old.

Jezus is portrayed by an obnoxious fat Parisian lesbian, Barbara Butch, dressed in blue with a diamond halo. She has a tattoo of the skull of Sol Invictus on her arm.

Above the table hang three times six lamps. Someone pointed that out to me on twitter. *

The most disturbing element for me, however, was the presence of a little girl, or a boy in “transition”, who was given the role of the bride, Mary Magdalene, amongst a company of high heeled transsexuals and drag queen disciples, of which one, the one standing closest to the “yellow dressed girl” -remember the minions- had his junk pontifically hanging out. This “disciple” even made “the throat cut” gesture. Just like in the masterpiece by Da Vinci!

After that the holy “table” of the last supper was trampled, used to put up an eerie fashion show full of human aberrations. Like in the paintings by Jheronimus Bosch. 

And then the Dutch boat, in the form of an “all seeing eye” passed. Followed by the Olympic flame, being carried, eerily dancing, by Charon, to the table of the queer disciples and lesbian Jezus Christ.

Still recovering from all that the poor viewer, was treated to Europe’s, The Final Countdown. A song spelling incoming doom. As we saw the EU flag displayed on the dance floor and draped around the Tour d’ Eiffel. 

Is war in Europe imminent? Between us and Russia. Or between us and them, the new masters they portray?

Whatever the answer, we were not done yet with the queer theme.

Because we now had to witness a particularly vile looking, yellow bearded “drag queen” dancing all over the red lighted bridge, which is remotely formed like an eye, the same bridge that was used for the last supper scene. Ending in a queer dance fest with the little girl dead center. 

Again we are treated to men in high heels doing ballerina steps, mocking women. And then some more erratic dancing on a masonic checkerboard floor for good measure. 

The kid is now swallowed by the crowd of bearded dragqueens. 

Hellish enough. 

But there is more. 

Because now a naked man, looking like Dionysus, named Philippe Katherine, was served up, like a spirit cooking terrine. Symbolizing human flesh as a delicacy. 

He started to sing in a little eerie mocking voice. 

His color? Blue, probably symbolizing storm kelpies, men of the Minch, mythical figures looking for sailors to drown.

Water. The queer element. The master of transition.

After this we saw another erratic dance in blood red hell and all dancers suddenly dropping dead like flies with myocarditis.

Whereafter the surviving viewers, were treated to Imagine, the communist world anthem, performed on a burning piano.

After which we have finally arrived at “La piece de resistance”. 

Under the “one word slogan” Solidarité, we could see the first horseman of the Apocalypse galloping towards us, over de waters of the Seine. 

A white horse carrying the false Messiah. 

Right under an angel winged bridge. 

As we saw those angel wings now also appearing on the gates of the Eiffel Tower.

The white horse like Pegasus. The creation of Neptune. God of the seas. 

Water. 

The horseman dressed in metal, presents the Olympic flag. Which was promptly hung upside down, by military men. 

A clear sign of distress. 

Then the word Sollenité is keyed in. 

As Baäl comes into view.

And Emanuel Macron opens the 33d Olympic Games. A very special number indeed. 

After that we saw Zidane on the red carpet and Charon who hands him the Olympic flame.

We see the Tour d’Eiffel as a giant fallus and a lightshow emerging from it, in which the Sigil of Satan is clearly hidden. 

The Eiffel Tower lights up red. The Olympic torch is finally lit, after a run along the pyramide of the Louvre.

A fiery balloon rises like the sun at midnight or the first millisecond of a nucleair blast.

And then to end it all. 

Celine Dion sang. 

The mother of kid clothing brand “New Order”.

But this ceremony was all about the disorder of queerness. 

The eternal transition from the old to an ever evolving new reality with its own, ever fluid gods, laws, colors and realities. 

The old France with its old white straight people, its history, its old perceptions of beauty and love together with all its traditions must be drowned in the Seine and the country must be taken across the bridge to the other side of the Styx.

To the queer underworld that lays beyond the technicolored rainbow. 

You were shocked?

That is what queer artist, Thomas Jolly, meant you to be. 

This was an orgy of transitions. From you into something else.

This was a declaration of war to all that is anchored.

In faith.

In tradition.

In culture.

In family.

In sex. 

Vive Al ecnarF!

Watching this endless shitshow, and writing about it, was a horrible task. But somebody had to do it.  If you would like to help me do my work, please help me and click here!

* The logo for #openingceremony on Twitter was a dark brown Olympic flame.