22 March 2012

above: Too Subtle...? 

I keep adding and subtract pages from MS, as I always seem thirty more or less pages from completing it, as I add and then remove scenes. To this end, I found a pile of slips of paper in my purple folder which were several scenes, them themselves drawn on squares of paper cut from larger sorts, and I could Spackle images back together with Elmer's, like I was Dorothy Commingore, playing Ms Kane on the Xandadu floor with jigsaw puzzles. These images were all folded once then again then those folded to make squares and I wondered what the hell was I thinking...making more dastardly panels, that sequential shit they speak of constantly, I wasn't sure as strangely goddess and Hercules bodies were in etches without feet or heads and I was wondering  exactly what I was going for. But since them are nice older pages, most from the beginning burst of creativity of making Mister Stupendous, I taped as many as I could get back together to make recover Mosaics of my comic art, wondering if I could by mussing oil pastels make a new picture and utilize  these sadly shorn away sheets.

I got an email, perhaps showing I am sometime listened to, fwd to me from an address I really cant recall, what seems like a fake name, but fragilely familiar. Inside the email, which I stupidly click on almost everything I get if the antenna doesn't go up, I found an ad sent to me for a screenwriters contest, which I haven't in general entered in years, this one, I had never heard of. Backable scripts.com, it was called, and when I clicked on the ad, the form, Anthony came up for first name, Acri, then, then an old address, then an old email...how did this happen I thought,...? But I had feeling I was if not being watched, being read, as having just made the post of The Banker movie, I was forwarded this to me from someone who, as I had seen before and posted as much, become somewhat admired I do, by Jews and Italians, and how have literally told me not to give in and give up nor in. And, as one man named Michael at Zoetrope told me as much, and which not wanting to sound like one of those pussy politicos who blame Palling for their insufferable losing, those fat ankled white women who know not even the preening of the rat hating omerta, I made sure they knew at Zoetrope that someone there told me to continue to always "tell the truth", and not give in. So there, as a Beatrice would say.

I had received another email, this asking me, Wanna See Wendy Fiore naked...? Well who doesn't but the queers and their fat wristed beards who help to sabotage Mac Kane,...? You bet!,... I thought and clicked on it, almost busting my ...uh...thumb. And I went to a web site called Mad thumbs or something like this, which had a movie in you tube fashion, meaning I had to buffer it, of a still shot of a big fat white ass bleeding from a massive ghetto cock puncturing it. Ah, Love in the time of Terrets and PSSD. I literally was taken aback, and I have even read Boccacchio. Oh, Keith dear every day is the ides of March once you get this far into the joke, AS after all Dan Savage is  our Virgil now, as we swim through the backwash, and wade through the run off, still like this Hyman blood, soon enough a Roman Bath. Being a pussy, despite my tough guy exterior, I quickly reloaded up Wendy Fiore.com, and saw to my sighing joy that this Italian girl preeminent hadn't become another fat chick fucked by horse shlonged niggers for bang bro's perpetual fan boys, who thought that some of these women should actually be seen publicly or as close as the Internet comes. I sat back, with a strange variation of the ease and collapse I was thinking of, when clicked on as I undid  my button fly, but was glad to see that she was still the dreamily playful cock tease covering her balloons with silk and fists, as she does with Mona Lisa smirk,  that I had come to admire so, as I love a playful bitchy brunette and know deep down she understand omerta and wouldn't like a fetid blond think she could blame Palling and anyone else, and play grieved Pretorian on television, or as close as MSNBC COMES.You just know Lesser than Ezra will be on tonight explaining to us in that rabbinical drawl, that being for a pipeline you were against as recently as Monday is sheer political genius. Or maybe dying a thousandth time, which is all from the same well anyway, and close enough for a rounding error, heheheheh....is South Park on yet...?

I felt bad I polluted my lovely HP with that slop, that porno shit. I saw that someone, a well wisher had somehow fwd this screenwriter contest to me, which I have had more of than I do admit to, me playing the role of last angry Roman as I do. Still I was sent this, and with bank account ballooning to 137 dollars from my various squirreling, I clicked in and sent my debit card number. I uploaded my play RM. Not hoping to win the peanut 1000 bucks, although it more than I have now, but in the same way I saw on Amazon .com that I have sold 7 copies of AR. If that seems a pittance, still, it is a point of pride to me that I have done so, as each copy sold sent, read, each image posted, each clip of Cattiline I may make and edit with a canon T2-1reble which I am negotiating to buy...uh...used it fell off an areoplane in Latrobe and was found...and now my buddy Cha-cha wants 400 dollars for it-which is a fucking bargain I know...see, each page I write, each cartoon sent and each set design I do, everything I do, is that Paulo Milano moral imperative I speak of. As, in every PAGE I MAKE, every mark on every wall, as well meaning and smirking Falvia told me once, every sign and every scratch on every imperial facade is s a site to  behold, and truth not bought and paid for like corned beef at the local deli. Fuck off Jewry Jonnie and Boston Charley and their demanding of silence from Newt, or anyone else...My man, Michael Steele, --Otis my mahn, was on some show where the cunt in question sneered about Newt LEAVING THE RACE, and bra-man said with a lilt, does it bother you...? This motherfucker, Shaft, he will take you out. Its sad as men on TV each day, like the secret storm or password when I was kid, these hacks and knivers and smilers, demanding silence  of others is well, too unjesuit for me, and too much like what the women think...I read Sallust bitch, and like him, and unlike HBO, I don't take dictation neither.

20 March 2012


March 15, 2012

1.Some cable station is running the Godfather of a loop, it seems, and Rudy isn't even in the race...The whole mispuka Coppolla and their golden doors is quite a strange artifact when seen by me now, its overkill Shakespearean Father dynamic of the sorts even a Dowdy can think through, its lush Last emperor Botticelli orange glows, its Detroit when chrome was thick devotion to the car as modern chariot, its cold war American consumerism, its misplaced Amacord Nino Rota carnival music over the necklaces...its all Italian in that worst Television commercialized I remember mama sort of way which I have tried to avoid, or at least do all more correctly since 1977, when I was a boy meant to be remade by it, by our Tookie, Francis, with his delusions of grandeur like our Sicily Brotherhood among the Jews.

2. I always admired both Studs Turkel and John Leonard  if for nothing else, having perhaps seen the outfit wasn't worthy of a Verdi approximation, they both were the first to be disquieted by its overture mentality and its misapplied artiness to what was a silly  bunch of thugs, with a panache of Virgil stickled to it, which again I am not as political minded as I preen, when I said that, thinking it was a compliment, made me persona non grata at Zoetrope and the lovers of movies amid the kegs and dregs, as to an American Plastic, if not Plastique astute user and fraud like FF, even he is smart enough to know that the word Virgil, unless in Dante and not even so much then, is Toxic to the land where Beowulf is art, literature, cartoon and video game. Since, now, after all, such is they have made Dante in our Koran scarifies by writ of the sacrament of dynamite world. I say with Roman Aplomb, to my Arab friends, as after all I took it on the chin for saying that the Arabs circumnavigated the earth in 800 BC, and then heard a man on John Batchelor admit that vessels have been found in Mesopotamia with Atlantic sea barnacles on their hulls, showing the mud always hides what the Greeks, Jews and their white trash in law Germans hope was burned away. Don't let the Saint Joan women and the Whitey of Boston politics pretend they admire the holy book of yours, they admire nothing, not even the little red book, and so, you'd be better off to forgo the riots, their admiration is as it always is with the stupid, is strictly defensive and utilitarian.

3. But, in 2000, still on a brother word processor, I took Coppolla at his word and since he has made such a show of proportions  and rationalization that the Godfather wasn't a ostentatious minstrel show, and so, instead of taking the Mafia drama to an even more sulfurous level, so deep and dark and dank that even its creators Score-easy and Francis Ford Crabapple were eventually made to feel as my father was, by their vulgar work some time before, I wrote a continuation of their ethos, called Roman Mythology. The Title was props, even an insult, as to good Sicilians like them, the word Roman, though an honorific as opposed  to the Jews and the white women who own them as dancing slaves, still reach towards it , as it did for a nice black woman who liked my work of Kemeter and Turan, the word is important as golden eagles, it still has a magic, as does the word Peckinpah, or Chayefsky.

The white trash like Obamalaa have always been torn between a hatred of the last Trojan's brood, the Romans, and too, a need for collecting every laurel they left in the soot, down to the word senator, or Diva or a tsunami of whirring other oak leaves the barbarism have been festooning upon their red heads since the great fires, and knowing this, I took, if I might, their precarious Godfather to a logical conclusion that the HBO crowd of Jews they did miss, proudly on purpose. In the screenplay, RM, was a criminal of the Italian worst kind, a Banker no less, is squaring debts with what I had been hearing about even then, bundling and packaging and  political influence, to destroy the local mob for no better treasons than it was Fun, along with a big black cousin of his, written for a Tony Syragusa or Ray Ray Lewis sort, --Michael Irvin shows up in Big Bertha as The Shah, --, as with Roman aplomb, the two boyish bankers show that the vileness of shotgun and deed are in fact, as have been since Manzoni, intertwined. And then, as events unfold towards October 12th, 2001-- and didn't that date end up different than we thought it would be when chosen by me in 1999--Hillary would be at the Patavium, NY sons of Italy, on Columbus day parade, and asking for money from Brutus, and as all this drama went on, he has taken a liking to a young Italian Girl named Clementine, this before that name was destroyed by all the Sundance creeps I had to deal with, who is the step daughter of a local thug named Phillip Macedonia, who like here in my little town, was after all Greek, or Sicilian, or as Roman haughty Brutus said, what after all is the difference...?

As in the film, alone on a Upstate day, at night, as the last summer of America as I called it with Prescience then, Brutus stands next to the Roman wall he has had stolen from a museum, as his biggest crime, the crime that would matter would be trafficking in Italian antiquities, that you hate anyway, sometimes giving them away or selling them to Italians who work for Copolla and must wash their souls. There, Brutus alone and unwinding, as 'The she', the everything girl, the thudnerbolt goddess, played in my minds moviola by the then immaculate Angelina Jolie, before the closeted golden boy made her a stepford starlet, he starts to sing under his breath, while futzing with his Baretta Gun. That's nice, a Jew movie broker named Jack Rosen told me, but then I was the one once told by another Jewish procurer, who told me to look into DIY everything back in 2003 as nobody would be caught dead making this, not the gonnifs he knew who kissed white trash ass all day--oh yes they are often above board and honest with Big Tony it is my gift. I think of those Jews who told me the truth when I am called anti Semitic for not giggling along with Jewry Jonnie as he rolls his eyes and etiquette's between apologies to dead racist Ghosts of the lefty Pantheon.

And Brutus, a banker's heir, without the sloppy overlay of Copolla who still tries to convince our white mezzanine that his cartoons was some sort of corrective on IBM, like 2001 was, usuries the true weapon of the new Judea, the fountain pen, to astutely and Romanly crush the proud, who as much as anything we always find out, are never much more than nigger's and Sicilians always are, paid jailhouse snitches. Ah But Brutus was a paragon of the American dream, and so, as he made sure he bought up the town of Pattavium New York, down to the local Italian American  club where Phillip, written for an even then spiralling out of control, but Brilliant, Tom Sizemore, very admired by me, was now paying rent to imperial Brutus, as crime does pay, after all, more than anyone would like to think. Simulus for everyone....!, but shrink Social Security, famine it, so people buy just enough crap so this nigger tap dances and hand jives to the rrright... So while so many were so laughing at their little sopranos game show puppetry farce, I smelt out what was the urine of the empire, as people like me have been doing from Juvenal to Pirandello, and I could sense  that this house of marked cards  now one which Obamalaa uses to play solitaire wasn't going to hold, as an Italian after all, I know the differed between the Romans and the dirty filthy Sicilians, unlike Copolla, or maybe not,  has always been of course the size of their crimes. The fact that Brutus to his own Roman name was seen as an anathema  to the white women who have built their church of middlebrow like Saloon.com  on the bones of those left in aids quilts, as opposed  to the laughter and good feelings felicity by fatso Gandolfini at that same time, told me all I needed to know, which, as Machiavelli said, is sometimes good enough. The fact that, like PECKINPAH, AND ONLY IN BLACK AND WHITE TEXT, could get that same reaction to Brutus that he got with his perfectly named Wild Bunch, down to Di Nero's Jewish handler that they give out as Virgil guides to the house nigger ethnics, saying to me that Italians don't fall in Love, well, what more needs be known in our Salons where yakking women race to the toilet lest a menstrual leakage be the ultimate bad taste  affront to myopic dithering faggots. Alas, that preordinated Jew acceptable imagery of Gandolofini at the Colossus of Jersey looking backwards, it was a insult to be sure, just not one they ever enacted to see fulfilled too well. I currently saw again the masterwork, 'Ride the high country', and am glad to know this perfect pike of filmmaking defeated the egrious 8 1/2, Italians the way you wish they were, as later to his own detriments the evil little Fellini would admit to the dandys of his white mezzanine it were all lies, and suddenly his name,, like Machiavelli became a prejoriotive , as white folks don't like being the butts of jokes, that what the Jewish guard is there for.

And to be fair say they say at GE Theatre, the scene which got some static even from well wishing and kind Jewish procurers was the scene called Savetti, in which as the new owner of the town, practically having foreclosed on the little Italay called Verona, in Pattavium, on Columbus day, Brutus is given a gala in his owner's tribute, which despite the word Triumph the once stoic Romans maybe aint that keen on. After he has killed a few American Indians who have come to this parade, as he noted as they never show up at cindo de mayo, having like Saturnalia incorporated that as their imperious and indigenous own, still, he is given a dinner, as Red Buttons would say, at which hopeful singer Clementine, whose name is some drafts is changed to Gina--more Italian the white woman think, you know, as opposed  to the feminine for the Roman name Clement which means mercy---eeeeeehhhhh--She is noted by the now sad and forlorn Brutus, she who sings with the five Corvares, a do wop group, and during the singing of Color my world by Chicago, he realizes that he, the ultimate human weapon, defender of the republic, champion of his race, art dealer Fens, is in love with this lovely woman, who when I wrote the original in 1999, was meant for a young actress named Angelina Jolie, as she was viewed through the bakery window by a lardy, beefy, growling Gumba- Jew named Harvey Fire-steiiine. That idea of perfect casting didn't go over well, not a bit...

Leaving the SOI hall, he walks through foreclosed upon Pattavium, --I am the Auger, what more must I say to convince you...?--he sees an older gentleman from his youth as his father Augustus has been making an American dream business from long shore man to owner of a small SANDL to the Empire Bank now owned by he, as he bought it from Mellon, as they divested their nearby Granite bank here in 2000. This is Salvetti, a man at wits end who like as many as 5000 others was packed in jail so a house fag closet everything named J Edger could preen he was actually law and order which of course as has been since Caesar, the faggots never are, they are just repressive, see SANCTORUM. And Salvetti the name of an actual man, who was in jail from 1974 until 2004, comes back to Laurentium, sorry, Patavium, the Roman names abound!-- his life ruined in our Scosrese game of minstrelsy, and in the Tony- Verse, he went at the Irish Whitey who culled him, an innocent man, there while their own button men were unmolested, and Salvetti blows his brains out on the Buffalo rail road tracks. Then, after having written this all, I saw a man who had been placed in jail like Salvetti, for thirty years, as the Hurricane winds of co ed justice never blow for them, came back to Newark and did just that , blew the brains out of a mobster who lived his spilt level Medici hood, and I can only hope somewhere along the line someone had heard of My own 'lil RM' and it gave them a reaction to it, as your Jason Strathem movies have taught the white trash how to pretend they are bad asses. Once in querying as I have stopped now, I sent the idea of BIG BERTHA as a serialized fiction to printed in the pages of a new magazine then out looking for true crimes, Capotes crush on us all, called Mob Candy Magazine. The editor reading my query, was moved to answer, never with a check, but more bullshit as I have hit the rotten tooth with such as he, and he asked me, what kind of an Italian I was. This coming from a wop mob hanger on who shuffles on command  without even Roman ironical title like Obamaluch. I am, I re: back in one line, showing I can be pithy if in is in my interest, The Roman Kind. That word still leaves the Medusa flagged--can you imagine-- thugs as Speechless. 

4. The anti hero who is Brutus though, eventually gets away with everything, as he tells Phillip Macedonia, who cant play tough guy with the Bank, Banker Brutus not so much as gangster emeritus, but instead, our true Sheriff, and that his life has been ruined by a man wielding not a Glock, a pimps gun, but as always, a fountain pen. So, once Brutus is shot, the only thing Phillip can think of doing, and survives, every Mafia clan is the gang who couldn't shoot straight, as they are deemed to be, he returns to his ancestral home, my mothers city of Regium, Italy, from where he shall return to Pattavium and fuck them, all over. Like Newt. But even I couldn't have come up with tarp, as even I, a Roman at heart, couldn't conceive of the bald facedenss of Jews and Irishmen, as there should at least be a pretense of capitalism here and yes, you can lose your shirt, or at least your Mink, as to do this raid on and of the Fisca, recreated a strata of Passavante as I warned even then. So this is why we must have Obama at least for the foreseeable future, because as Brutus tells Phillip when he knows the Greek is doomed, This is America, ...only the poor are criminals. A line I pilfered ironically from Petronius, who may or may not have been joking, not did it matter which is why the Romans make the black and white ever so noble and decent clowns and white women itch.

This is why the Godfather played on a loop as it is, is rather quaint. You see, in Dodd- Frank, the bill cobbled by our war and boy loving Democrats--there is no escape from Devils Island--they, passsingly, as I heard on John Batchelor, capped the statute of limitations for the financial crimes of the new millennium century at--SEVEN YEARS FROM WHEN THEY HAPPENED. WOW! Even Brutus Ballerina had to escape to his fathers ancestor home, a lovely intermezzo that Puzo like me stole from Virgil as a lovely aside and wayward romance from the dread white wasp Diane Keaton and her swelling Carmine Copolla signature music each time she came as Astronaut wifely into the scenes as the kind of woman Al Pachino is susposta to like, as even Copoola, he recalls Beatrice, the Beatrice, The She, the Her, the Juliet that white girls dispense with, she of the thunderbolt, of the love affair they wish to never have happen as they sell their asses worse than silly romantic moon loving queers as our Danny Savagely pied pipers the wifely queers to and at and among the shit, and shit for all and shit for everyone, as Beatrice, the Beatrice which even the worst, well, perhaps not the worst, Gangland wop must think of ruminate forever, keep in their heart of hearts as I do dearest desirable dippy and dangerous and devoted to Lesley, always there as Saint-whore witch goddess, bitch goddess, to make it palatable to his Episcopal wife and who see their hanging on closeted wife beater wearing gumbas Jews, from Canal street to The Vineyard where the men of the people, somewhere out there, if were lucky, do holiday, as Beatrice must, --she was in the blew up car, as even Copolla knew that Much.

The bankers are now fronting and floating bad campaigns with the money Tyberius gave them, well, have to have this nigger tap dance for at least three more years, as he hasn't looked into this crime once, as I predicted a good blowhard like Michael Moore, who is perpetually lecturing the sub urba, like Sanctorum is there not to know when to speak, but when to shut up, and his anger amazingly like his precious Occupy crap Diaspora once Saturnalia came up in the city, and the tinsel Replaced all anger, as you cant tell the truth, especially in one of these Julian leap years.

5. All this shows I was prescient with Brutus, but they must have someone, Greek Jew money Wizard Sorsos admits either Obama or Romney is fine, anyone who will keep the bankers and their draperies from the perp walk, as the left shall wake up should it not be a gonniff like Obamalaa as Imperator, and they will demand justice, until the two timing two faced Pattavium Senator Gonniff Shmuah says knock it qwff guys, cummon, were serious dis tiome, -- whereas  now, the 99 percent, --did I mention the Passavante kids...?,  now they are quite pleased that GM is doing well, green shoots for all, what's good for the drone army is good for GE and thus America, we bring good things to take, must be quite or like fatso Mike Moore , or at least be at the red carpet,  laughing. They must keep mommas boy in pace to do nothing, he again is paid for his stillness and his lack of actions, and all the rest is a paratenzsa, as you can call this nigger anything but a democrat. At that he gets his back up. Once the seven year itch is done, then, they will dispose of Onmabala. And perhaps pay off the Italians, whose Columbus day they invade, with a imitative wop like Mario Cuomo Jr, as the great and powerful Obama is cast asides as the Hershey bar whore he always was. The script I wrote didn't last on Zoetrope for five days, and yet I saw something coming all the mob daughters and  killer fruits and jeepper creepers bullshit didn't even know there was a horizon in the far distance much less what was gaining on us all.

And in an contemporaneous posting of the time, called Roman Beer, I said that in the grasping of the Fisca, where we get the word, as barbaric words like Tree and Ax and brick don't do it when airs are being placed up, like Tyberius had, that Obamaluch had made a class of Passavante, or worse had given free reigns to them, but who listens to me. You see, in 2000 or So, I was waiting to catch the Penn state game at night, and so was sitting there watching the NBC nightly news I think, and I heard that Batavia New York was the foreclosure capital of America, and it, the name Batavia, like Saint Francis and anything else too Italian was fair game in the tower of Shearer, or at least the cell of Shearer in the tower of Murdoch. Now, I thought, why would Batavia New York, punch line as it be, be the number one foreclosure capital of the world...and it dawned on me,...why not where the niggers and the filth are...? Oh, well, cause one doesn't foreclose upon a slum or a barrio, as Tyberius could tell you, those are merely raised to the ground when the nigger filth, or Roman sludge has made the pipes burst. Again, sorry, but despite niggers on GE theatre, race is nothing, as Hillary proved and still does. It donned on me, Jesuit stipend but still a little slow on the uplink, foreclosure as a weapon --against who, niggers, or no, they are keen intellects as the Roman filth always is, to a point and know their barely warm place  to sleep will always be sacrosanct unless Dollar Bill Clinton needs to sign a welfare reform bill to keep the mantle, and then as usual, all debts are off. I knew it as I watched Pens State, in an America before house faggots could drive Joe Paterno into the grave despite, or because, he was called by John Thompson the most important racial coach in NCAA history, because unlike movies about Texas tech and movies starting the dread Denzel, the idea that State College Pennsylvania had to be desegregated is something laughing Jews don't like to talk about. 

And then, that night of the Penn state game in that December, no fooling, Lesley called me with her hang ups, in more ways than one, and then, it all came together,... Patavium, Brutus, Gina, sons of Italy, the whole Mispucka of Roman tragedy. And when I saw Lady Pollozzi show up, as the first woman, Catholic and Italian to be speaker, and acidly none of the above, I knew what was up. In RM, at the Columbus day Parade, a blond haired, pants suited wearing, senator from the Empire state of mind comes by Brutus table, and he gives her an envelope full of bundled foreclosures cash, this 2003-4, but little did I know back benchers and low level leg breaker Jews, still smarting from Madam President in ova's disdained, were doing this in this Second city to a degree which made Hillary alas look noble. Newt had to go the moment he ferreted too many filthy angry souls to the polls. Ah but, kids, after Cattiline was dead, there were three weeks of rioting of the filth in Roman slums, to the point the welfare state was born, there are always some who make Newt and Cattiline look positively Romantic, and one cant stay in GE tower forever, though Larry would just adore it and man the barricades as he spoke of the filth so delightfully. And Cicero was vengefully placed in a treason trial, if not worse, for not gracing to have shown enough 'give' to his Republican horse shit. Can do, can do, He said that the horse can do...Requiem for Tinhorns.

In 2000, still up late at night catching the public affairs dull programming politics was, like Jesuit class McLaughlin before GE brought good things to bribery and gave us passavante television where the human spittoon Matthews now calls My Cousin Ricky heroic, and Obama is as Spartan warrior, even gayer than Frank Miller, I saw Ben Wattenburg, a Jewish intellectual. And he asked why was it Italian Americans were unlike his own race, the other trash and the Germans and all the others who came to the new coliseums and the golden door and became pimps first as they all do, why did the Italian have to be stuck there. Then, a producer girl at Dreamworks, or, Zoetrope with cash on hand, who tole me she was an Italian, though blond, told me that Spielberg was at the Palms I think they call it and when Bride of Frankenstein and all the low rent Sopranos came in an acted like it was Raos, or worse, and he made a point of walking out, no fan was he of them. I saw suddenly the affection for the sopranos wane at that very moment, in the imperial yeshiva high school of Hollywood, and always liked Steven more for it. And there was a scene in the first draft, like my toy stories, hard and cold and sarcastic and mean, but sweet too, as at the Roman walls in the yard he has made himself, Brutus, sat at a porch swing in Patavium stillness in a Buffalo new York night, is swimming and dizzy with admiration for the brunette -- a word deemed verboten by Word, by the way--, girl in a white and gold dress, as opposed his black suit and purple tie, my every Jesuit trickster artlessness was as exspoed as my cock, both full out in love, and Brutus starts to sing to himself among the crickets,... Oh my darling, oh my darling oh my darling, Clementine....A Jewish producer named Jack Roseman found this jarring, a level of humanity not seen in the usual gangster crap. Why Clementine, he asked...?, well, when I was five or so my dad and me stayed up and we  watched My darling Clementine, in an America where John Ford was still Virgil, before we got the sorts of Movie Roger Ebert calls Vomitoriums, as we live out our imperial creed.

The Month of Mars, which started with a marathon of Godfather, by its middle had a marathon over days too, of Harry Potter, which I could be a bitch and call a bigger marring of the patria. Poor little Hippogriff, she has fallen so far from them Ariostian  Moonlit nights, but then haven't we all...? Its all here, books that wrote themselves, writing in blood, stolen all, walls which turn on whispered kisses, its all basically Ovid without an Italian spring  thaw's warmth. I never really watch this, but too tired to find the remote, see a parallel between Tom Riddle, the star if you'd ask me, and Kemeter, but again, foolish English school marms cant get too close to the Tuscan's Lucifer, he who no ice can hold, who always retains a sympathy among men, when he says that God is a prick, if not not the number four. And I spent the month reading Calvino, Cosmicomics, and his misplaced masterwork, which shows what would happen if the ideals of magic realism could be saved to their golden italic roots, and taken away from the spics and their harsh vinegar. One hundred years of human fertilizer. On the third of March, I announced that I could sense a Clinton vendetta campaign, a purge at its beginning, at which I am scoffed at. By March 11th, CBS news, of course, in the tank for no one, annotated that Dido is fallen again to 41 percent, the copula of the Milvian bridge under which he stays. And now, Rachel dearest thinks there may be a rich man component to the dread Romeny campaign, and now I think, perhaps it wasn't Romeny, but Obama who was the sucker not given, like us all, like Romulus the gate emperor who let the gate crash, an even Break. Or, God knows 5.579 percent interest, compounded daily, or at least Free Checking. 

01 March 2012


February 25, 2012

1. A white woman asked me by electric letter, how could it be that I admired both Newt Gingrish can Bill Clinton at the same time. Ah, this is  the age of hardball, or at least spit ball, and we must always sectoring ourselves into various groupings and teams, as to allow the master to serve you all the better. Who doesn't like raid bread everyone! WELL, it could be that I like both Roman Boys, Newt and Bill, in the same way I can dislike both Sanctorum and fagged Dan Savage. Sorry, the Franciscans  did a number on me, worse than femme fat bloated men sucking me we wee to use Paillin eloquence, and where do I go to gate a cash settlement because the Jesuits  made  me tread Titus Livy in 1975....? All I know is that even Praetorian for life and overfed white girls and incompetent Donna  Brazille, and Andy Pooh Copper had to last night after that sorry performance by Romney and his pulling guards, had to say that Newt again did a good job, as they didn't have to lie,  this time, thinking him finished....but...

And to show how low we have stumbled, during a debate even CNN queers and praetorians for life like Gergan could give to Gingrish he had the best line of the night, in saying he was "cheerful", a perfectly pointed Gore Vidalia word, showing his Jesuit mind at play while the Monsignor was, as Glenn Beck said "honestly explaining his lack of ethics". And of course, this could not be let go or even admired by our always on call Jewish Sejanus and his equal the always spittoon making Mathews, who are never so happy as when they can ridicule for fun and profit. This show of wit botched them up, both intensely, as what doesn't’ the smearing stooges, though Obamalaa concerns them, as he seems capable of losing to the rich white republicans that both despise , fear, me too to,  and wish to be , as the opera is the same as when Livy wrote it. This as much too much, and I have tired of this circus, as I even a Roman can, as the hard sell of Jews and Irishmen is beyond even me, and after a while, even I must say enough already, as the Machiavellian question asserts itself, or maybe it was Groucho, who are you trying to convince me or yourself….? The days of Bill and Newt talking about Marcus Aurelius while musing scotch are gone, and we are in a day of foreordaining, with television Jews as our long island Hee Haw, never quite sure if the joke is on them, or not. Ah the true believers are all out as Machiavelli would note, looking for the holes in the hull, if need be. Well, I am still waiting for Bill to say half as many nice things about this Yids beloved nigger queen as he does unprompted about Newt.

But Newt is our Clinton's Turnus, and he wishes to not share him with no Romneyamuck or else, nor any Roman hating Stymie. Its a Barbie age, kids, and the Jews are lining up and waiting for the yard crumbs, but do recall, as our careful Juvenal was quick to explain the night Hillary big footed on, and she scantly sneered at as a wild yenta dreaming of Scipio, which Jewry jonnie had never even heard of, No George Lucas willing to strip mine Italy for fun and prophet he, as he is always willing to tell a whooping cough audience, you know, you can laugh at him, you know...

2. And yet, Billy, and this is WHY I ADORE HIM, AND NEWTON, AGAIN IN LOVE WITH GALILEO'S ARIOSTO MOON , AND WHY INTERESTINGLY I HATE BOTH SANCTORUM AND DANNY SAVAGE, MICHEAL SAVAGE LATELY ISN'T SO HIGH ON MY LIST EITHER, IS THAT AGAIN, I WAS TAUGHT BY WOMAN NUNS TOO, BE SUSPICIOUS OF FAGS WAY BACK WHEN THE PRIESTS TOLD ME I WAS TAUGHT TO NEVER THINK LIKE A  WOMAN, IT IS TO A NUN, NO LESS,  A GRATING VICE OF STUPIDITY AND LAZINESS. I WAS WARNED OF THE GIGGLING MEN LONG BEFORE OUR JEWISH SEJANUS. Ah, but all of creation is but the movement of wheel and ball, as roman lawyers said millenniums before the jdl anti defamation league cartoon named Einstein, --I prefer the later brilliant Einstein who would be lost in America,  who was alas more then willing to set fire to the sky if It meant destroying Germans, ah but when it was the gooks who got cooked, like Fermi suddenly eh wasn't so down with it all, proving he maybe have flunked ethics, as he did Math before he could saddle up and make it up as he went along.

I was taught way back when to never write, think, act like a woman, and this as by men who well, did something's like a woman after all, just not that pastiche was Aquinas important, and so, I have wrote my own Creation, my Selected Discourses, of those Italian peoples  these Jews who cast the mob wives never want  anyone to think of. The same middlebrows who just love Spartacus cant abide noble and yet vice riddled--Bill is that you...?, like Wade in Dallas we miss you, buddy!, Cattiline, and smear him as that loveliest word Demagogue, as his being a senator makes them itch and wayward and makes them shifty. Like how he didn't like the sopranos now I hear that Scorsese   isn't a big fan of Mob Wives, ah, but its far too late for you, Mister Penut, as Human action has meaning, although I have an inkling he hates these cable TV minstrel  shows because it means no one will actually pay to see his meager arts anymore as he has to reduce himself to puppet show television, anyway. How long did It take our Pittsburgh Savonarola, to drag us into the piss stained Urania of love, from the moon to the diarrhea guns is perfect, and into the seas of biology fluids where he and Danny boy and the closeted and the flamming live their meager, horrid lives...Oh the Franciscans fucked me good without even so much as a pulling at my underroos, they made me, as they do, one of them, Georgetown or not, it didn't matter a damn.

3. But I had to note, there are small victories, more important and decent than this nigger and his perpetual triumphal parades, that only a goon and a madman or an Arab can take when you are literally underwater, and with the ides of march coming quickly, this year with perchance five dollar gas amid the cherry blossoms. Ah, but who was calling this 1980, way back last June….? Like how, in just watching Rachel, while I was eating a delayed carnival dinner of thick flour pasta smoothed in a sauce made with paprika and fat back --its better than it sounds--I saw Rachel dear, exasperatedly say, Would that the Democrats be as Machiavellian, and thereby winners, or at least combatants as they preen and are said to be, and though I wasn’t going to mention it still, do watch and see what the assembly of queens does should there be four dollar a gallon gas this year, I have a hunch Pollozzi will be first to retire to the vineyard, still, I found that minute of truth within the mechanized ridicule just fucking great.


4. What is sad about the detruncating of Newt's War, was that one, it proved Machiavelli was again correct that politics is a rancid banquet, but which  a food he could only eat, in that a perverted calculus is at the  heart of everything and usually, it is almost always wrong. The world is run by d students if we are lucky if not by drop outs, as was after all Caesar, who was I believe admitted to the university of Both Naples and Rhodes, and took off for his army calling both times, saying to Brutus once, universities only teach tragedy and tragedy is for losers. Irony abounds.

What was sad in this was that again The Roman aphorism was again the correct one, and that the voice of God is the view of the people, and the people were smelling a rat in Romney, and his step men, and the filth flocked to anyone else, they went to Newt as champion as they had in Cattiline, both dismayed and poo pooed by the bald Sejanuses of the war theaters, to make Rastus Nigger Jim, actually take a fucking stand. We all knew you had to be president, Dido, to in your second term re up the Bush tax cuts again, and wont that come as a shock to Rachel, despite the wife beater like persuasion that he wont do that--again--still, even the red necks  and the filth, whose suffering these last five years have been treated as little more than Political shoe pebble by Princes of Foxes, still, the filth wanted to see you go up against Newt. At least take a stand, at least tell us what you are capitulatin from every so often, as you tap dancing,  coon botching coward dying a thousand times--the Caesarians were the Jesuits book of true virtues-- and explain as you never have and Romney cant why you want to be Prince, of course, besides the boyhood dreams of an abandoned child, who like Kaiser, an Etrsucans name by the way, who yet again, wishes to replace  his mother with the world.

5. The people wanted that scene and they had to be trashed as was Newt by slimy little translator men who look the part of Pilate in a Scorsese movie, with dead stupid eyes, whose admonition, unlike Newt and Bill are not longed for, as like their hero and their captain of the guard the dreaded David Foster Brooks, they think themselves grand from the get go. Where imperceptibly local gas is already risen to 3.87 cents a gallon, issuing again, maybe he was right and Tragedians is for eventual losers. The people deserved someone able to at least make Onama Sweat for it, at least make a fucking argument beyond hope and glory, and his cans of marshmallow fluff now tinted with blood, or worse now, GM is alive and Ben Lauding is dead, and that says nothing more eloquent, whether giggling plebeian lesbians, or dutiful Jews know they say it when they lie the most like that, is that, Lefties fuck's, whatever you thought we said before, nigger's, womanish, faggots and the rest, we certainly didn't mean a word of it. I do avoid house Jews who vocationally smear Obamalaa when the ratings go down because people think you are in the tank, on the pad, or the golden child nigger has just signed a authorization bill saying he can put Americans in jail without Miranda and incarcerated indefinitely, Fuck you Magna Carta, as he would say as he doesn't know who Justinian even was.

So, on this show was a pervious Rabbi from the Liberman school of political nudging, Russ,- Mister Speaker I vote yea on impeachment of Clinton-- Fiennnngollllld, who said that there was a president who crushed public financing of at least the Presidency, and when Jonnie poo asked who that was, thinking it must have been Bush, when Finegold, who would the next day become the chairman of CREEP 2, said it was Obamalaa, well, that cassocked him, the human pout, and he emitted a rare and delicious solemn from Sejanus of motza balls, as Glory be, he had nothing to say,....My my, his wit left him on command, his eclectic leashes and fence went into command Prompt, and he shut up, did our lil Yeshiva Juvenal, as he proves  his worth, if not Roman salt,  to his masters coming not by his committee wits, but by imbuing us the silence Dante said was the basis of all poetry, not to mention mere boilerplate, as this is the land that likes calling Virgil Propaganda amid the hagiography of leftist racists Klansmen pols who are thankfully dead and still, Jonnie shall always genuflect, on command.

Newt may have lost, but then where was this Caesarian love of victory at all costs when you shoved the Janus priest doomed Mac Kane down all throats, where was your clever emasculation when everyone knew he was loser, that even before he was making faces behind the first legitimate black man nominee's back, like a befuddled old fool. Ah, but this election has to be, as they say Close, and that bulge of filth coming out for Newt in South Carolina, a state Obamalaa won by the way as opposed  to Ohio and Pennsylvania now officially Toss ups--Xerxes is here--was too much for our Praetorian hacks to bear, but again the Nicene part of this whole mess as that the longer it goes on the worse it is for Obamalaa. What with him not having read the Romans back in that Jew admired first grade, as house Jonnie admires, as he has skipped Machiavelli as distasteful too, one can sense, and after all, Obamalaa his new beloved in our Roman good year, --believe me the dispassionate disappointment shall come later as it always does top our imperial mommas boy--I guess that boy Obamalaa came by his Caesarian  naturally, a need to leverage the earth now that pop was MIA. And it took these GE nothings until now, to realize that the republican nomination fight has had a deleterious effect upon Obamalaa, in ways the smiling Greek queer never saw coming. Did I ever explain my Bill/Newt axis to you...?

6. This nasty Ciceronian destruction of Newt so as to make the flub machine an easy tomato can of imperial boxing was smelt out, and isn't, heavens to Betsy!, the boon to him that middlebrows who think in 72 picas type would have figured.  As he is supposed to be accruing to glory, but when looking they see that when his numbers go down in all the states Newt has campaigned in, that sword is cruel bitch, like a Roman cutlass and can chop a tree or man or a Tuscan  sword in half as Lucian said, and also that all these Praetorians on parade are losing needed audience to auction shows, and to shows about Pawn shops, is fittingly enough in our foreclosed empire of the sun. And there is Roman Bill in the Cowboy hat, suing a thing called staccato to double down on what was his enemies greatest and first non capitulation, the pipeline, as I warned, the Jesuits said, when you do nothing but capitulation when you MAYBE don't, well, its an insult to your counting upon masters. I made another fifty doing art design for some guerrilla filmmaker, who said I did better work for him than he could pay for more from some, and sent out some duckets. This including ten bucks to Newt, as that means more to Signora Fortuna than a crack whore Howard Stern plagiarizing clown issuing a pledge like at a friar club roast, as another of his incessant pr stunts, and I don't think you know, just like Cattiline, what you did when you destroyed Newt, you left us with nothing but gonnifs like Pollozzi literally spilling rancid beef. Let there be four dollar a gallon gas, a pebble in the shoe of a white house amazingly arrogant for  a man under water for three years, but, still, let there be high gas prices then, and you'll see why the Sicilian admiration of a witch like Pollozzi isn't worth a damn. Toto est Conditia.

Someday Rachel, I, the Roman Auger, will tell you where we get the word 'capitulate' and what it really means, although even a girl at Oxford, --yecchhh there's a two bagger, should  have some inkling. As with like everything I bring up, I always get a glimmer of recognition from the Ezra bullied Olbie wan circus, that in fact, like Kemeter and Turan and clay birdies, people deep down seem to recall something ever so faint of a recollection that I am bringing in, like whispers of elegant 7up commercials, or Beanie And Cecil, all is something they kind of recall. And that is enough for now, as I fade out of dullsville, man, too hep fer this Square dream, daddio...