16 January 2009


this is how Plutarch, not a favorite of mine anyway, how he described the first ever ‘’Inauguration’’ which would be a scene re staged , a bit lackluster at times, down the millennium ever after.

'' life of Numa. chapter 7.

Numa therefore decided to yield, and after sacrificing to the gods, set out for Rome. The senate and people met him on his way, filled with a wondrous love of the man; women welcomed him with fitting cries of joy; sacrifices were offered in the temples, and joy was universal, as if the city were receiving, not a king, but a kingdom. When they were come down into the forum, Spurius Vettius, whose lot it was to be "interrex" at that hour, called for a vote of the citizens, and all voted for Numa. But when the insignia of royalty were brought to him, he bade the people pause, and said his authority must first be ratified by Heaven.

2. Then taking with him the augurs and priests, he ascended the Capitol, which the Romans of that time called the Tarpeian hill. There the chief of the augurs turned the veiled head of Numa towards the south, while he himself, standing behind him, and laying the right hand on his head, prayed aloud, and turned his eyes in all directions to observe whatever birds or other omens might be sent from the gods. Then an incredible silence fell upon the vast multitude in the forum, who watched in eager suspense for the issue, until at last auspicious birds appeared and approached the scene on the right. Then Numa put on his royal robes and went down from the citadel to the multitude, where he was received with glad cries of welcome as the most pious of men and most beloved of the gods.''

The more things change...I remember talking to Alan, a phd who loved the Romans almost as much as I, when he told me, the Greeks may have made literature, but the Romans were Literature, and later I did read that many of the stories of ancient Rome, were actually true.

I woke up this morning and put on the tv and was amazed to see that on cnn, Wolfie and Andie ''the autumn wind is a raider'' Pooper were masquerading and news vouging outside, waiting for the triumph before even the first wind up people had been bused in. The laudable Negroes will be bused in by multitudes of course, utilizing a technique beyond the government when cities were falling into the sea, as no one had any spare buses then. And of course, there is our Sejanus of the Beltway, our fleshy praetorian stooge, ''Mumbles Gergan'', now amazingly after having so serenely and boringly carried Hilary's water all year, has now been struck by the open history of a black president in his whitey lifetime, and not so much by the fact that Rufus the king has not one drop of blood in him which can be traced back to any middle passages , or not being spilled in Tara like plantations. Oh and of course, there is the anti-Campbell, there is near Mumbles the princess of Pangaea, that shrew, that melotto wench, Soledad O' brien , --that’s miss nigger to you, bitch,-- twittering away , infuriatingly yelling at anyone who will listen, possibly a benumbed Anderson, possibly teamsters building the Numaless triumphal stages, that she is the result of a mixed marriage. So am I dear...I am an Italian. When I see her dutifully using this race ace of spades, caried with her lunkhead Maury like husband I think back to a book I was forced to read in school called ‘’Mythology’’ by a dread lesbian named Edith Hamilton. I think as I have said, she was more akin to Margret Hamilton, without the warmth. In it, she continued dutifully her racist Ebert minded ideals that there was nothing in Italy before Greek settlers, eschewing the Villanova culture of Turks and even China, who came to Italy in the bronzest age, and seemingly might have created wine before even arabs did on the island of Sardinia. But that is unhallowed, as that would mean both Italy and Arabia were civilized before her precious Greeks, and that was all too much to take, as look at how civilized people like Maria callas and Onassis were between drunken brawls. Well, in her now discredited tome,--it turns out no, the Greeks weren’t the first to make gods like men, Jeiwshly unallowed in atheist Rome, funny enough, but that Isis and other arabesque deities were in these shape of humans beings millennia before the first Greek had had urine burn. And she called the Italian, and the Romans especially, a mongrel race, which had been contorted out of its Greek superiority, so, happy Columbus day, everyone.

[...I do find it interesting that though jews and arabs were always mommie faggot boys of God and such, and that Rome was built by a rapist named Rumulo, or Romulus, actually allowing beggers, murderers, thieves and other criminals from all over Italia and the ancient world to begin a new life in the plains of Rome called then and now as the ''Asylum'', --ACTUALLY meaning where the donkeys roam free--, that both had the similar law that nary a dog nor the image of a human being would ever desecrate the temples built to the italic gods, like Venus and Janus, until, of course, the interior decorators of terra, the Greeks, showed up and made them make blond herculeses for the vestibules. Interesting... ]

I will avoid this marathon of the press issuing Erkle to suck their own cocks as much as I can, and say to them what I believed I read that Flaminius said to Hannibal, I think, on books given to me by my priests, or siblings, or my Italian adoring mother, or my not abandoning father--some cantos from my father, perhaps, Soledad,-- as when first he tried to buy off Rome, and then, after having tried to sue for peace as Africans always do, then brought his massive elephants into the city gates. Flaminius said, to Hannibal’s eventual admiration I believe, ''Your monsters today impress me as much as your gold did yesterday.’’Again, with that auger spirit, the words of a roman encapsulate my feelings perfectly.

02 January 2009


This is the picture I did in art school, a quick cheap echo job of a Neal Adams cartoon, to which i added my own va va va voom, which I believe was based on promotional art of Shazam , or on a series of cards which were in wonder bread packages when I was kid.

My dad, god bless the stoic old peasant, I think now too late, knew I liked comics books, to his distatse. But, outside of shazam and Popeye, which he dutifully read, he hated them, but would turn the loaves of bread around looking at the card sometimes viable under the stagnant, awful, bread which my mother refused to touch, calling it semi warmed paste. He would look at the bottom, and the visible dc card, and bring home ones where he could see there was a caricature I liked, like Captain Marvel, or Superman at his Neal Adams smiling herculean bests, or Wonder woman, as I started drawing dames early, and he'd place back Robin, green arrow, green lantern , anyone ''green'' I said, or the egregious, even to me then, Batman. It made me smile recalling this, that my father, a man in his seventies then, would look at the bottom of bread loafs in plastic for me, throwing aside any one green or batty, and bring me home bread in which there were cards of Captain marvel or Superman---the latter whom he hated as a piece of Germanic lore, or would bring back loaves with cards with busty women in flag one pieces, with thick thighs then, like Diana or Black canary. Back then, as the Oprah age was just starting in gestation, and the i'm okay your okay , chariot of the gods, bullshitter's creed was just starting, I thought my father didn't give me ''enough'' because he didn't just bleed all over himself and me like Marlo Thomas, as many of the more touchy feely wop parents did with their brats and preciousness creeps...but then, most of those dirt bags now are either drug addicts or in the local outfit now....so,.... Too late sharp...too soon....[a note: It turns out through exhaustive reshurch this was not the picture which instigated this story with goatee boy. I figured that out, no shlouch I, by turning it over and seeing aa-jun. 97 written on the back of it. Great story though.]

I actually started to rage in the room at art school, already with a repute for such, when that thin, smirking, goteed fuck, who my buddy to this day still wont mention, seemed to be impressed by this marvelous work, which I did in a matter of moments to the interest of the new class I had been shuttled off to after a previous bit of hanging off a trapeze in the circus of rage of which I , Roman blooded, have always been fond.

It literally bothered me, this sudden quiet appreciation by this dimwit, causing some in this A list room, including the gal I shall refer to now as Inominata, thus now, as she who can not be named, and later to become buddies of mine saw and noted me seething. My hands balled up at this despicable creep, with his friends, Blue Duck, Green Hair, and Hef the pipe smoker looking on, to which the Virgilio guide, Flavia, took a look at me as the strangers to me, but not to my repute began onlooking at each other and she said, ''Woah, big fellow....'', with a laugh. I thought I destroyed this page, but found it in another folder, along with a placard I made for myself , signaling as I being no less than ''The Pin Ball wizard''. Like I would ten years later tell off the first conic creeps I had stupidly attempted to be friendly to, who was an exemplar to me of the comic inferno, where the Kirbies learned to stop worrying, or drawing for that matter, and start to love his bombs, I was copying Romita, the only Marvellette I liked, when I was ten, bitch. I was showing that I had the wherewithal to be in their Valhalla of peanuts and where all the Aryans again are mythological, and thought the better of it. So Fuck yew.

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