23 June 2007


Despite the fact that I have spent a month obsessing about a bunch of Gumbas proving the Roman aphorism that epics should be long and that Farces are supposed to be written as mercifully short, and have been busily paring pages and recollecting them for a forced march and pitch as a hoped for contest winner to someone in geek land, I received an email today from a Hollywood producer that they will get back in touch with me imminently concerning if or if not a filmed satire of comic books movies they wish to make will include my creation, Captain Magnus.

I completely forgot to send in five movie posters of the supposed cliffhanger like parts of the satirical film, which they had asked for in may, but am being considered anyway. Why would I spent a month worrying about poppa gumba...?


22 June 2007


This picture exemplifies what I concede to be my approach at art. The body is a captain marvel done by Beck, with the face drawn almost exactly as a roman centurion I have appropriated off of a Tuscan Roman wall, and Have trained myself to marry the two divergent arts into a cohesive totality of a whole, where the body and face has some tie together, and didn't look like a collage. I can do no better than this, nor do I want to.


20 June 2007


I wanted to do something which was like those great Carmine Infantino covers I saw and liked as a kid. I don’t mean to sound like a chauvinist, but Carmine was a favorite of mine, as was the great Dick Giordiano, and both to me are infinitely better than the seemingly sanctified foolishness of Kirby, who I have grown to hate.

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15 June 2007

Echo from a less than golden age.

I received a blue priority envelope in the mail today. The fates seem to be curling and whosshing and spinning in the very winds, which I hope means I will be taking a free trip to San Diego soon. Someone from a new york comic outlet sent me back work from 2005!, ...and apologized for taking so long. I received another rejection letter which said, great work, but cant use it. Oh, which I am used to, and frankly tired of. I am now out for nothing more or less than cash. I am an American at heart.


13 June 2007


How not to get ahead in comics without even trying.

I sent my work into someone looking for, uh, comix which dealt with curvy women. Its called something Japanese - Caliente. Just to bring goofy art damnation another ethic group as now little more prevaricators of cartoons while we iz at it. Well, hell, I can ace this, I figured. I sent it in, and was asked by this low level Charles foster Kane of newsprint, if I had anything Other than superheroes or heroines. Sure, I said, I have ten scripts on my computer and more on disks. But I taint gonna waste them on comic books. SLAM!!!! Suddenly I received the usual responce to things I say not even meaning to bother people, the letter in all caps. Look, I said, I am sorry, but I have scripts written Chere about everything from Mars to the Etruscans city of gold, Laurentium, which predates Eldorado by three thousand years, and Italian cops hunting down crooked cops dressed as Chaucer. But I aint making comic books out of them.

We , he said, Dont make comic books, we make graphic novels, and could see all of that you mentioned as done in graphic form.

Well, I dont. Actually, I like the term comic book better than graphic novel, sweetheart, I wasn't looking down on comics, which I have loved, I was looking down on people who think Palestine, or my etruscans can easily be made to fit in funny books. I know the difference between them, omic books and literature, and thus like that difference and dont have to mush them together.

What do you have on Mars,...?, he emailed me back. Ah, Comix.

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11 June 2007

Or Comedy Tonight!

It was so gratifying to me to see the mess which the heinous sopranos have left in their wake, it has renewed my faith in the idea of two faced roman gods who demand a certain level of piety and virtue which semitic gods never even speak of, which pretty much explains their less than noble, chiseling histories.

How wonderful was it that after ten years of these jew rat bastards[ again, I am told by some that jews officially hated the sopranos, as they felt a disquiet about that show from the beginning, and it was why when forced to make a decision bewteen its blaoted czar and a blond sleazy all-American lawyer, that lawyer actor always won], who ran that show as a compendium of every Italian and even other diminution of wops, that they eventually fell into a trap allied by their own lesser angels, and they have seemed to now eviscerated their own champion , as jews are want to do. As late as Friday, I was told, the big gollum was dead. But hurried phone calls from hbo's exacerbated clerks convinced the always at arms length recalcitrant Chase to keep his bloated brademenete tin suit burping alive. And being a good observant Jew, being prompted by money did show his devotion to his arts, and the dirt bag showed the Roman aphorism that you create that which you are, and the man who dwelt in stereotypes , at the end, was hisself a stereotype. All that bullshit about art, all that caterwauling about arc and story and shit, it was all easily and eagerly changed when an hbo clerk promised perhaps a series of television movies, now based on grandpa soprano himself. Wonderful, now the tar brush turns to an un understood, denouncer's, un known of or about, damned, and unspecific Italy. Watch it, fellas, thats how HBO lost its shirt on Rome, as no one wanted to hear it as fenses go up in less than Roman Palestine.

But, the Roman gods were at work, and unlike name changed once yid gods who seem enthralled with the collection plate and tithing of a more money like sacristies, demand piety again, and some sacrifice must be made. The rat who ran that show didn't get that, or how perfect his black arts were. The crowd in the stadium hated Tony Soprano, but then, why would this pollock know or underatnd any Roman theraters whiech were ponunded into me sicne fourth garde by happy go lucky faggot facsists...? They had been fueled and went with secret, sometimes open hatreds, and the Jew-pollock of all people didn't get that. Or did and cleverly thought he was absolved. He might have known this had that rat read some of the works of Machiavelli, or as he sneeringly called it, Machibelli, who was actually a better play write than even a political thinker.

Machiavelli was a writer of Fantasia, as my dad would call it, and he knew in a book I read called How to Write a Roman Farce, that in farce, there is more law at work than in drama. Comedy is hard, but satire is diamond , and The punchline predominates. Thats why to this day we call it slapsticks, which is the sound made by the fake stick used by actors in farce, not as hbo tried to make it that blood gushed on play stages. Blood was saved for those who the Roamers hated, just like last night, as Americium wanted to see that fat pig die. They wanted their pounds of Flesh, and unlike venetian barristers, the sight of blood didnt anyhow bother them. And, now, even Woody knows and believes comedy is hardest to write. The punchline was dropped, and the angry mob who wanted blood didnt think Davids thumb was imperial enough to care, or drop their collected anger. In minutes , according to Drudge, the hbo website and soprano.com went down and stayed down, as 3,ooo poeple did as Italians I have known and dropped their service , for opposite reasons.

They hated Tony all along and wanted him dead, as they hated the Italians he stood in for all along, and now as they hate and speak of the money grubbing david chase, and he must be struck by that. Despite blue eyes, they didn't like Tony, he wasn't an anti hero, he wasn't a robin hood, and they wanted him dead.AS MY FATHER WARNED ME, PEOPLE HATE THE MAFIA, THOUGH, EVEN THOUGH THEY BELABOR THE POINT OF BEING AMERICAN GESTAPO, and how they ethnically cleanse the streets for their white masters who can then feel good about their having to shop between the nigger and the cunt as shadow praetor, the whites do have to work for a living, after all. And they hate the silly, smarmy, lazy little bandillero wearing cunts from messina so. AND I LOVE IT. This angry vile show was based upon hate, for Sicilians, Italians, for Jews for others, for immigrants, for the them, the they, the those, the others, all along, and the stupid yid this time, didn't know what many Italians had known since farces were much better written than this. It was based on hate all along, despite the ramblings of fag boys in print who saw art, and now that hate had to go in some direction, and hbo is left in ashes, and many italians who have actually read things like machiavelli, think it is absolutely wonderful.

Life is a mediocre written farce, with a terrible third act.--Cicero.

The singing of the birds of st Francis and the shine of brother sun seems energetically bright and sweet today as a bloated cunt named Gandolfini angrily and ironically holds onto a tattered coat.

10 June 2007

Not to be mean. Above, Mister Stupendous stands before a real swiped image of Aeneas. I had to do something Roman today, as the piggish operetta ends its minstrelsy run. And like in the words of This Jennifer, I see diminishes everywhere, which they had in mind when they first mixed that poison to start with.


08 June 2007

Older works.
Tawny Peaks, and Virgil.


01 June 2007

I really feel, deep down that I have lost something, and cant quite place my chubby pink olive finger on it. A friend told me, nicely, I am being a big bitch again, but I am still not so sure. As, Going to romita websites to copy tarzans dont help. I feel a irritating compitance starting to ooze into my works.

This is a picture I did in art school, right after a year of that awful grind about circle squares and spheres, ect. I had been given a copy of Michealangelo's Roman Dialogs which was bought for me for Christmas, at pennies on the dollar at a nearby used book store. Here I learned from a true master, as opposed to Kirby, what art meant. I took many of the items to heart, including the use of wax crayons, as the early Romans had not paint, but plenty of dripping bees wax colored with pigment, causing roman works to be as bright today as when painted and later italic work disintegrates. There were no rulers, deep focus and halos, black thick lines, and frozen poses. I showed it to Ciotti and some buddies as if I had found a tresure chest brought up from a shipwreck only I had known was there on grant street, not far from the Ides, a sadly roman named comic book emporium filled with boys in t shirts who smelled of prideful sweat as they fingered all the old mads.

I did this picture of a gal , who actually I was head over heels about, and who was stand in for quite a number of people who used models for their hopefully heavy metal like work. She appeared in several grandiose paintings by people all hoping to become the next Dorian, who I wet to school with, who was hoping to be the next olivia or even vargas, and so, this image did not please her. She saw the tuscan coloring, the sad face, and especially the long tree limbs in crooked angels to her body,as a snide joke, even an insult. Flavia, a large woman who was both benefactor to me and suspicous critic, took her aside when she started to bitch and told her she would never be drawn as well as this ever.

But, I saw the pout on the girl which did, I must say, hurt me a bit. She was used to being the occasional dale arden chick in these middling works of sci fi fan boy shit. But, I wasnt going to try out my Tuscan artworks on a cute chunky blond who danced in beerhalls for boys, and who was more interested in standing in for me in all manners of things, even as a student film never completed. This other girl, in fact, almost every other girl around, seemed more affable to me and some were more than willing to see what they would have possibly looked like as fixture of a Neapolitan wall, rather than as a image in marvel comics. Of course, I could have drawn this fat blond, a sweet chick, and whom I even sometimes dream of in strangely unsexual dreams. But it wouldnt have been ...tuscan, or sad, or worth it.

I tore it off a larger instillation, and Flavia herself went into the gousche smelling refuse of the class, and tore it off a giant box it had been glued to, and gave it back to me. I have to say I am glad I still have it. I wanted to make it up to Lesley and drew a large Dorian like piece of her as cleopatra, a sly in joke, and it had the bloated look, though she was thin, of a face of painted charicature one could often see on us news and world report when I was a kid and nelson rockerfeller would be in cartoonish dismay on the cover. She dutifully liked it, and placed it carefully in a backpack, but no way did I think it was any good.