It takes no big scramble of the anagrammatic logos to ascertain that the name Blue Ivy, initial product of Jay Z and Beyoncé’s Rosemary’s Baby–like melding, really stands for “Born Living Under Evil Illuminati’s Very Youngest.” Everyone knows that. What we want to hear is what we don’t know, a hitherto undisclosed item about the mysterious Illuminati controllers. Therein lies the problem, because whether you identify them as the descendants of the Knights Templar; the keepers of the Federal Reserve with their 33rd-degree, Pyramid-meets-the-Eye mammon; or the shape-shifting reptile agents of Lucifer himself, one thing about the Illuminati always remains the same: The more you know about them, the more unknowable they become.
Everything about the Illuminati is a cover story, a misdirection. From the supposed 1776 founding of the group, then named “the Order of Perfectibilists” by the Jesuit-educated rationalist philosopher Adam Weishaupht in the Bavarian town of Ingolstadt (where Mary Shelley set her 1818 novel Frankenstein), onward to the fulminations of John Birch Society–era playwright Myron C. Fagan, who tracked the group’s mendacious path through the House of Rothschild, the philosophies of the American Freemason–Confederate general Albert Pike, and Woodrow Wilson to the United Nations. Little of what is said about Illuminati can be relied upon. This is even more true today, with Internet’s Babel-like, phantasmagoric capability to link dark kitchen-sink connectives of Trilateralist–Bohemian Grove–Bilderbergian symbology. In a world gone wrong, people look for someone to blame, but who exactly can the finger be pointed at? This, of course, is exactly the way the Illuminati masters, sitting on their golden Skull and Bone thrones, want it. But everyone knows that.