01 June 2017

5.




           

One of the first things sent out in a second go around with comics, which I know now should have never undertaken, known better now and then with actual literary and fartsy arty magazines, like a daffy duck I did with a line of Tacitus on it, my first recreation of the roman Goddess, rejected then accepted seven years after 911, and a Vundergirl with a honey Ghoul, was my mad men satire, posted of before. In this satire the Romantic way, the dreary world of Madmen was suddenly Kurtz manned and in to its dry martini without a twist was suddenly seen Dick York and Elizabeth Montgomery and though it was liked by one,  it was dismissed, as the age of Frank Rich  was just starting  and so whatever the media kings said was hip as hip, and a comic book company, sorry 'company', disliking my cartoons within the Mort Drucker stulus I aped of the Bewitched cartoons of its beginning, made a point to say that they didn’t want to get cartoons  from anyone ever which had a Beetle Bailey showing up, an old  trick  of these masters, in the direfully Ben Shaw like  dismal comics, and too, they didn’t like hearing about anyone who was given accolades by Stan lee in a toilet I explained totem it isn’t god forbid Stan Lee but a dc Jewish gentleman I met at a  at school although thinking it through Toilet was, as Oscar  would say, a perfect word. 




3 MAY 17.

Every Christmas since I was a kid, my brother buys me something for the holiday. But like Clinton,  at least I still hope, we are alter boys  to Virgil’s alters more than ever or anything, and so, Its never  been a toy, ever, ever been anything silly, never childish, as that w as for my sister,  standing in for a mother already too old do all of that again, and too they never were wrapped and never came on Christmas, or  the roman sun holiday, as much as came during more literal saturnalia, a Roman holiday whose romantic qualities was openly hated by a Jewish rat on broadcast row name Medvad  who  seemed upset that the connection. As it was made by me, and later by PBS, but of course as a pejorative as they really Arab-ed it up. Ah, gals don’t lecture me I didn’t write the Bel Arabs. One year, the gift, as a teen, it was the paperbacks with Vargas like pulp harems covers and black and white Raymond Burr Perry Mason Signet Books. Once, it was when I was fifteen and fresh from the hospital with seizures, it was a hardcover of the Art of star wars, and last year it was a glossy book from Time Life about the art of Disney. Why do I think of this...because a woman was impressed that I knew what the Edda was, and as she said, it didn’t seem  to be down  my apian way as my passion seems  to be catching, like a virus. I await to see if can write some essays about Roman and Italian books of the  ancient and medieval days as would like to recall Cassis and Shylock and Lucia again before or at least so as you all get the joke.

Concurrent with an email that stopped me in my tracks, and but saying  I’m either a unreal nigger  or a true blue wop,  came one  of those Manzoni like placards  of the ratios of power, the  Italian middle ages Duchy the grave robbing Bushes are determined to return us to but without the Fonda at least the original Italian brigantine charm,  as  bring ruled over by Episcopalians is dreadfully boring and why the  merry house of Guelph, as  my father warned me, were all Nazi sympathizers. As was Pops and all the little Bushes. It is a satire of the metropolitan,  as is aw in that brilliant book. Its  been hard on the Italians lately, as now,  the campaign that keeps menstruating but that wont die as Hillary  refuses to  finish the summer stock version of Sunset Blvd, and so will keep this honing until Hubby has  had enough as George and Martha do their high school caliber Edward Albee. Actually unfair as I did a few scenes with a strawberry blond slightly chunky, who again looking back whose advances I should have accepted anything to free myself from the pedestal I placed Beatrice’s on, so take that few lesbians who have even angered by my Patty Cartoons as and thus tell me so but in goodle accounts all festooned with no faces but Bauhaus heads you know so as the fingerprints are always wiped clean.  She was a gal who wanted to be an actress, a gal before hurled out of something called scared Heart.  And did that play unabridged and unadorned, and so they have ever been that good, but then again I didn’t get to Georgetown, anyhow, but wasn’t going by way of Hot springs or a Turnip truck. Either way it’s something I have avoided. I again hope to get this assignment as would like a say in edge wise as the mediaeval here and the love of Vikings and barbarism starts to get on everyone’s nerves.

So watched Svenngoolie as I do, making art as large as I ever have, of this story really recalled from when I was twelve, and laughed uproariously at the  great  Fred  Gwynne and Schnauzer Al Lewis in a Munster Movie , watched it as I would watch Bewitched again, and had watched Lone  ranger through the summer, as my Perry Jesuitical bent mind cant believe this horse shit, as it  cuts too solely to the bone, and recalling Bill Cs fourth favorite book, Cattlines war, ah that number means something girls, as just got a thing called Book IV taken in only because sent the slightly commemorate picture of a wonder woman boys like Bill and me like, but had some much medicine in me would have laughed my way through Shindlers  list. 





11 MAY 17.

TUSCAN READ.

Saw gal who read for Wonder Woman I believe and lost the part to some Jap, who is cute enough  but no Amazon, as that was always the first thing the rabbis made sure was an  anathema to their  chosen church. The women it summed in that race where bullish enough.

So, were getting closer to Lynda CARTERISH, as this reminds me of the Wonder Woman made by the batman producers on abc not bought as a pilot, in that some average girl played wonder woman and in her mirror as a better reflection was in fact the gal who played the slave girl with Carleton Heston in planet of the apes. The kind of girl I and Bill Clinton like. I saw it in the sadly gone Goodbye to comics blog by lovely weirdo Occasional super heroine Valerie, who linked to it. But in watching the you tube clip, on loop, seeing the lovely girl who stole that movie in her loin cloth dress, I thought, as I did when saw Parker Posiey play the moll in superman returns and not Lois lane, who has this kind of gal in the payroll, and brings in someone else to play the part...always be casting.

I think as a Jesuit student boy chick forever, there are roles one must face up to and deal with a s after all it was the Italians who came up with Political science, a roman calculus, and not just as Machiavelli, a playwright said, little fairy games gloss withering into men’s  ears, a line taken later  by the great Larry Oliver, who said he relished playing Iago, the Italian Shylock not compared to a Hillary by at wits end step man Will, more than Othello, and yet, that could have been just the as hassle of the cork. As had to mention  that the cycles and times and tides of empire are always working like  a  gearing machine, a dues machina, as imperial clown  Steven Colbert went against the Roman gods again, who the gods would destroy they  first make cheap, who had the prime rib..? the Cyclops is blinded, leave it to Pinky, in the mea Culpa he  placed together to save himself, made the direful mistake of  lecturing the audience already skitzy, when it had the reaction to Comey which you’d think they were  wanting, but nice thing about the Jews being  involved, nothing ever gets too shameless,   and then he lectured and hectored the audience, only hours after the gay slurs, you’ll find out in how I got the admirations of  lesbians this last  year a lot by loving wonder woman, which they  all do and they hate old Red Sonja, SO TAKE THAT DEAR, ah the only person in Juvenal’s bestiary  who wasn’t black haired, of course, the woman. Ah, not a sorcerer’s move. As  Krusty’s says  it just means your finished. Bad  verses  hurled out dear.  Leave it to him to bring a ladle to a  knife fight. Oh ask Rachel,  its why she’s never as Scorsese did  censer me to show she  has for a  lesbian, a good heart. Ill make sure  everyone recalls what graves you soft-shoe on, you little mean fag, If you think Jesuits school don’t teach better magic than that’s hoity little wizards school where all the boychikcs  go, well, funny but after so much Bill Clinton still isn’t first lady hummmm, and you dont early see any commercials with guinea pigs who speak like Leo Goresy anymore amid the sanctimonious do You…?
                                                                                                                                
As have to come to staples to make any emails out, and check for acceptances, which fray have gotten some, but ah my Antonine hart sort of cutout there, as made a longer dissertation  think saved now for Junoalaia, the first of June, Italian mayday, as some black chick as it seems the radical as revolting again, and being ginned up, bombings over, …?, but some hag cunt said to me that it was  a shame that I wasn’t incarnated as was asked  that strangely on the form, and was asked  if I was  a person of color, too, I place Italian,  and they don’t like it, but again as the gal told me don’t  fuck with me over it neither. I did this time put down though, Tuscan red.

But this nigger broad as the black colleges  show as though like all niggers what else are we but on command and all in show business, and what leave now…why the bushes are coming  to look at their handiwork, the Aristocrats are here…stage sad thing ah piped to the woods that Hillaiepoo now troubles, boils and bubbles in, no fan of  Ovid she, no eerily, love poetry amok the dykes anger, as she makes incantations for shame and ridicule and meanness and  wonders  why they go keplock, but  again,  the closest thing to a moral to that farce, not with that Husband.  Still, send something called I  can draw faster than you can tear it up, tru dat  believe me, and this hag said to me, its shame that I wasnt incarnated, imagine that, I hadn’t done my due American diligence by not getting caught up in the Clintons  dragnet, so much like your grandpas, excepting me as an Italian to have only been decent if jailed, a libel of Metternich comes to mind, but this time, in a strange niggardly way, as if that would be my only nobility and my brother told me to tell her to suck my dick, but then they its always thought  him more a sharp  shooter  hustler Minnesota as  Jackie dancing around the table than I could  be, a romantic am I, than I am, and too, he was shocked when some cop who killed  a coon on live television as  Anderson Coopers Hullabaloo, no niggers cried for now that Mumsy cant break 61 percent, and of course showing that they all may be  becoming a crew of low rent  nothings  losing as she did as the gumbasjews are at  32 percent in their vital statistics, which within hours caused a true blue  apparatchik  Shifty to reconsider lots of things, so go Fish.



18  MAY 17.

A long time went by, I only stayed on google plus as felt it was best resort to place links to those who have recently accepted my work. The wanted poster like placard on the door was a slip of imperial paper as was seen in the Betrothed showing its still the Dark ages whether you like it or not, no matter who many shylocks are allowed in , or to be correct, Abrahams who are  wore than willing  to become Catholic for a business sense of things as he was in the original  Boccachio, as in all  dark ages,  and with all imperial dago Jews, the only red that pricks them quick is a pen that bleeds red ink. We had to the 15 of May to get out from a street quarantines die to rats only seen now, what white girls saw them now, like the opiates they discovered only after the man from  the Sacramento Bee had been dutifully destroyed by Bush acolytes. We were to show as is said the empires we  had left, decreed by the doges start the same from the 28th of  April, the first month of the Roman year fittingly enough, WHEN IT WAS HUNG ON THE GLASS DOOR. A sad swashed up wheelchair was taken to get  my mother out of this rats nest faster than it already had been, but again some white girl saw one of these awful creatures who always seems to show up with their arabesque smiles when the bull mean brats have killed off all the alley cats, something I heard a brunette hag on Beck TV laugh about which to me  seemed a mixed metaphor no signore Fortuna would allow. Within days we gathered up what we could,  having left much, the house still ours, not that ill go back, just quarantined ,a  lovely  medieval idea, I half expected to see Doctorates with stork faces, but  such is  life in the Duchy of Barry the queer as he disappoints the rabble by  continuing to tap dance but without the money shot of signing republican legislation we start to all wonder who let this fag  in and why is he still here.

In the heat wave with a few  hours left to spare, I took a bundle of unread comics, half done comics, bags of older pastels and crayons, no way most of them,  and shoved much into two bags, one being  the aip black satchel. I brought the Prince, Virgil in English, Statius, said in an essay written by me in admiration lets keep him our little secret, but then realized in the greenhouse bestiary of lesbians should be glad you aren’t desecrating his corps. as barbarians and bushes have done since the saint’s days.  Into a bag threw some do dads from buddies in art school, tickets actually fro a first attempt to get out in to that world seemingly conspired to keep me  out, but learned from a phd who  looked like Falstaff who thought me almost as smart as I thought myself to use a line used against me when was desperate for any helping hand,  timepieces of yes daring, is accoutrement and corralled and romantically ephemeral, as were Tickets to the Roman Forum covering in yellow Wisteria given  to me by admiring and touched by me Jewish yenta neurologist Audrey, a drawing done for me by buddy superior variation of  every comic book man Aaron, and too, how could I not, a ballerina figurine placed on my desk, workmanlike and  without acknowledgment,   as a quarter once was, by a silent Leslie who heard me saying I wanted the thing out  of a happy meal and never got it, as she silently did that and almost glumly walked away.

Into the expanding dusk, I was elected to walk my mother up cobble stone starts to a rather lovely little  loft  home, as saw all the negroes  of the hood as its called in bad r rated movies written by suburban Jewish sort doctors who have never seen the ghetto anywhere but Norman Lears back lot, and I escorted Ma to this wheel  chair bought at  a discount, as my brother gets everything from his buddies like Payroll, so  lest call them import exporters, Swag without the cute asides, swag as survival lets say, as my brother more sharpie and thus more or less  rough than I am.He said  to  someone at the Walgreen’s I  had to stop at as was out of breath, as walked  my Ma in her variation of grandma Moses and emperor Palpatine, as the blue cowboy hoodie I put her in was to keep her warm and wasn’t any FUBU fashion  statement or question, to some hag who kept screeching about Hillary in the oncoming twilight  of her Gods, my brother  in usual upsettedness, Bitch, Shut the Fuck up ,what  is this an Editorial reply...? He had had enough as he asked her, this white wash hag, Dont you know any  Niggers those two cunts threw jail you fucking dirt bag. As I said, more sharp then I he thinks as so do some  lesbians I have given at least one Clinton a benediction of the Jesuitical doubt. Covered in sweat, this sad pale imitation of the grapes of wrath continued until I brought her to the small wooden frame house. 

When I got to this new place, taking everything out, after believing I  had packed up for  Lonesome Dove, it all  looked rather paltry,  but made  sure I took the old copy of the Decameron, once burned in Medveds acceptable America between Crucibles  he is always  there to explain are dreadfully misunderstood. But again, to show like  Bill C am  a devotee of Signora Fortuna, and her beloved son  and her monsignor, Up here,  on a hill closer to where I grew up, received now about ten channels, including the 53s that I had a kid to watch as I recall Sergio Leone to avoid Reagin and his honors which I saw coming before all of you, as watched Felix and Oscar play poker  and too Fate and the great Leslie  in gorgeous wacky racers toys had as the boy I  am domed to be, I was gladdened to know that can say Fuck you to Cowturd and the rust of the espn niggers  and scumbuckets  connectedly beginning shown the doors, and can watch the Cowboys,  an Americana’s  team who don’t tempt fate by saying they cant find a place for their last banner as Jones can find somewhere anywhere for another one, which to  me was a spiting in the eye of football gods who already have then in notice. Like Hillary, Bellcheat keeps playing game a how much will you take, and never sees the penitent about to hurl all over them at the best wrong time. This  was a nice result as  item I ousted of laughing didn’t have to spend a dime in watching one channel out of ten  devoted to some mob mythology bullshit which, I wondered why they had done this, as  it isn’t even election year anymore,  whether Mother Macbeth knows it or just keeps seething,  whither Bills gay husband knows yet or doesn’t, as its been a  tough time formant in the rains and the fact that a house nigger like Leseter  didn’t know that means nothing more than hell be first to  go as she throws them in front of a fuming angered fate who has had enough. When she finally gives in and the parade goes  past her, tired  of her Old lady stink, do remember dear that dread  that came upon you when face planted into that van and somehow they were taking you away from the hospital, its what Livia was thinking as  she bubbled and  troubled  and gurgled  into the Tyber, and too when she is done will it be a madness because she sees the ghost of Caesar and or Monica hacking her, or  as usual will it just be a Jesuitical perpetual  boy working again the phones to his advance, as if he ever stopped.




22  may 17.

KING LEAR IN A MEAD NOTEBOOK.

The first few days here were taken up with keeping much bundled up, why I wasnt sure. There was no curtains on the walls, and someone took all the wooden poles out of the closets…?... and the nights thus were cold until could get a heating and plumber  guy here, and the sixth night finally there was heat and we could sleep. Back up on the hill I grew up upon, I was able to now get extra channels, and rook advantage of that and spent long late spring days watching the old TV of a sweeter time, when the bush patriarchy was merely a CIA apparatchik having liberals shot in the head and who would soon enough get the Jewish hack who wrote the Vomitoriums sketch, again dont call  me a bigot, I know they alas spit on your  Pantheons, to carry his water, in ways Im  sure that patrician thinks is just fine, showing again the resentments that eternally eats away at the best lied plans of such men since at least Aeneas.

I sat there and let the days go by, imbibing in this channel that was more Norman Lear than the more western centric METV, which outside of Lynda and  of course  Perry and Della this time in the morning, I  abandoned. Outside of Laugh in, and its sweet recollections of when the National Biscuit company wasn’t wholly owned literal subsidiary of War inc, I left Decades be, and allowed it to wallow in its love of the  mob and the only mythology that  Sicilians are seemingly allowed or wish to seems to take. As the worry a bit health care, the republican  con spitting on Hillary’s grave, ask your husband dear, as I had figured in the duchy left by that house’s of nigger who of course can not show a decorum in place since Brindisium, and must smile away and tap dance on the cover of magazines that once had monochrome background covers devoted to the new Superman or Valerie Bertinelli in the glory days. Showing a lack of said decorum, he calls the new president  Trump a Bullshitter, luckily for Barry his honeymoon didn’t end, the only thing he can think to put him down with  as she docent dilly dally with a couple of hello stupids, our bag man nigger is  always willing to shout bombs away. So, it takes one to  know one, as I recall again, wasn’t it Roman Bill who with dog eared  copy of the Gesta Romanorum with a touch of telling the truth we Jesuits are always encouraged to never reduce ourselves to, called his campaign of step men and peeling away niggers the biggest fairy tale he had ever seen, which w as killing two vultures  with one copy of Pliny. So, without a desk and leaving the recorded MS in the  midst of his fight with  Bob the giant Robot, suspended in  black and gray sketches of his saving Ubermenchian girl friend Vivian Vane, her name when I was a precious little kid, who sees in his creation the old days, of pulp and a Phyllis Coats past that is gone. We had to use my chipped and batten and splattered with ink wooden bared to hold up a television set, which I used as if a Onyx oracle as seen in satire, and I use the word both gingerly and correctly, called live from Golgotha. I SAT there on the swivel chair I had brought up here, in what seems like a grimms little cottage outside and inside is a empty space as seen on channels about real estate ungotten anymore, as the words of these plasma screens and Glen Glenn sound reverbs off the stucco walls.

Saw most of the day the blonds in the Capote age sense I recall as a kid, no mean spic am I, I don’t have to hate hater blonds to raise Brunettes or vice versa. Jeanie was seen as she was when I was a boy, a lovely blond woman, still had enough of a exotic look to believe she was from Baghdad, or at least Van Nye’s. After her was the beloved Samantha the witch, also made blond in the Jewish jungle of sixties tv, and she was a lovely woman mentored by as I said in am essay of two that got some traction, a mother named Endora who seemed a last Amberson, and I  notched stead there as  was with my sad and beaten down old mother on mothers day, whcih again she, Ma, refuses to acknowledge as American hokum, as to her as a Italian in full measure, every day must be Mothers day, and so feeling badly  I had brought her to this point, is at with her most that day she doesn’t see as anything but whatever May Sunday in ordinary time it is.

I left it on channel 53, sure to make  the  signal strong for the Cowboy games to come  in soon enough, as summer camp approaches, and I noted, that each time the bewitched opening cartoon came on,  each time, she looked on as she sat there tiredly, and each time the Darren was the great Dick York ,she said leave it on here, but each time it was Dick Sergeant, she said a disgusted Feh, and that somehow and me see as the auger where the anti Trump movement was headed, with Trump as Dick York an idea which has done well for me as bullshit sadists on te once as vaunted as the Roman senate Columbia Broadcasting System, which now as an big as Necropolis as the feast became when Tactitus called it basically  a bank branch to the swells as this one too has become. I saw what we had come though in watching a show I barely recall, or even remembered all, a Joey Bishop  show, starring a rather pretty gal I was sure  he would not have picked, a blond variation of Laura Petri named Abby, who showed a level of comic  timing  wasted upon this Levittown shlub, as with him was finally seen by me Corbett Monica, whose name seemed a joke and now was seen as the kind of  company wop , despite looking much like a younger version of my father,  which I had never seen. And of course there is shown here a last living STOOGE, a thuggish house Jew named Joe Besser, I believed who I recall as a boy when my father took me to see Paul Shannon and adventure time as a  boy  in these days of Cavette I remember, I recall as that boy, as Paul Shannon brought back the stooges as much as had anyone,  and recall him sneering and screeching at the crowd, no really, before put on  fake joviality, he plays into on this mess of a show, this low rent Rob Petrie show, showing that fake smile all  Jews of a certain time were always told to perfect

As now later Bishop of this horrid  time, Colbert tries to lay it on thick as the last show in color I saw was the pope himself old man Milton coming to give dispensation to the already cancelled Joey, almost with  a chipmunk toothier  revenge or at least relish, as Colbert tiers to save himself as I write this, by brining the old cast back together to again shamelessly tell us all we were  all owning him  for having been so willing to eviscerate, the favorite word of the perpetually vicious democrats whose wars are always the quality of kindness and therefore sacramental,  all those republicans when jewsey jonnie wasn’t sucking Newts dick, yyyecuuck, still a sad money shot coming when this simp called out Rachel so soon after the Dyke Drag to be a human shield, as the complaints pile up. As i said to a course of gals willing and accepting of my work, people think i am a satirist, or think i think i am, but again, am nothing close, but do know as said in more than one venue suddenly open to me as a lovely respite from being told I somehow let my forbears down by not being a convict, I think my brother telling some whitetrash cunt  in the Clineque counter to go fuck herself , after  all.




I am more of a Oh how noble were the nights of old type and if you don’t know what that means, ask Rachel, or at least Bill, but who knows anymore. But because of that, I don’t have to always  make a  joke, or a witticism and sometimes can tell the truth and nothing more than that, and that can usually shut the loudmouths up well, as once again, I say I keep and eye out for what our ace in the hole will do, old Roman Bill and I mean Ace and I mean hole, --we already miss you Kat--, as I warned in one of those moments of unvarnished truth that this royal familia bullshit is over, and was doomed from the start. By chance I knew and know and especially from the reaction of he Bush elders to the death of Cuomo mention here before and what a giant he was, tres Inherit the wind, and how bestially Bush the eldest would tell us all what he really thinks of Bill, if he has to, they are such germaphoebs for grave robbers and are perpetually over washing their hands, unabashed, I have  known how low the consider that bloated pig Clinton. And lets see if he is willing to wear that white tie and white gloves for his masters, as that family of borgias has had a hard on for Bill being the one, unlike more dignified and decent Cuomo who  let them have their republic as sandbox or den or wet bar, or Pill counter, and so I know that they have had a  hard on for that man, and wish to destroy everything about  him, from  his viceroy to  his wife all sent up as road kill, so well see if Roman Bill allows this petulant family to to replace Trapper with someone perpetually telling us about how he daces with his wife, as a gal told me she liked how I could go so artlessly from Beatrice to Mary Ann and Darren and Jeannie, it was sweet, she  said, as  im still that boy impressing the nuns with the idea that Dante said all art is pop  art, and  its  only the middlebrow who beloved in genre or strata, why Hillary was always doomed,  you cant play Meadea well  when you sound like a Neosynefrin ad, but there is  a  line from Dante about that, in the same way I  tell you no Clinton or Bush, much less their on the pad satirists  unwilling to take a bath, is my bag of shit. Destroy Trump of you’d like. So from Nixon to Payroll and Sugar Ray  and Pickie, nigger friends of my brother we are all in that Clinton dragnet, all but niggers to the scumbags who  once  put their names so gleefully on confederate flag pins  as you desecrate tombstones with the Jews as usual as   lookouts, not that it ever is held against them. I have seen this comedy of errors before and don’t much care, but know this to democrats warbling in the wings, according to the Physics of comemdia delarte, every Nixon is followed by a Carter.

The first week here was spent watching these almost forgotten shows, seeing the primadonnas once on television now lessened as the gals of 2 broke girls art sadly Gone, as is said in some  interviews that a gal told me seemed to attracter bees to her hive, Virgil Reference, the kind of gals that both me and Bill Clinton  like. Saw Jackee again after a while, and saw she was a little cute pie of this sorts I like, womanly, before we all become the kind of women a lesbian can bring home to a republican father. And saw Orson, again, remembered that early light of the 1970 sun drugs and little girls named Beatrice,  when it might  as well have not  been Pittsburgh bit the Italy that Medvead and Beck would shame us out of always thinking this new marriage was going to be weaponized correctly. There was Welles, so brilliant and Magnus like with skeevily  Cavett,  who my brother was amazed was allowed to so constantly impute people, no David Susskind he. Saw the blah blah guy, Kenneth Mars,  on Laugh in as a semi regular who would later show up with Teri in televising Superman before various Judds would make 9 11 the leitmotiv of all comic movies, before Zod became Butch Cavendish without the warmth, and was sent to sleep with the crystals. He played the Nazi playwright in the gem called the Producers with brilliant Zero sadly and sweetly shown with Ruth Buzzi, the Tomlin with a heart, in a sad new years 1970 where I have by now published 6 of the original twelve issues of rag. This burly man would also play Lex –Sorry Max Menchin in Its a bird its a  plane its Supeman, a musical encouraging the whole of my childhood dreaming of that real city out there. Is this that Coriolanus Out there I have been thinking about since1979…?  And speaking of star wars evenings, on these cable channels made me recall more a nostalgic time that will be the pull against this  attempt to replay  the tragedy of Julius Caesar AS I SAID With cuttings for drive by makeovers and Guy Fearri here to make grinders. It is the Friday of the first week here. and  have fallen asleep before my beloved Della and Perry each night,  going to bed after a channel 53 Seinfeld which again, makes me wince as this hag  bitch on here keeps apologizing for people not wanting a republic about nothing, and hope at least she or her don matron Frank Rich is Raped in a deliverance style just to make things even. I am tired out as had to carry my mother this time up the gradated steps showing again  the Jesuits were right whether  you cunts like it or not and the Virgilian is all ways there, lurking in the middlebrow sea. I thought of the jurists not scholarship, but a magazine, called Forum, focus, I can’t recall, as it was read  by red hared Father John, as Irish as Paddy’s pig and he showed me his copies of them kept in brass holders, Thought they just read Oui, whose slightly chunky, slightly less washed than Playboy showed we already shared a taste in gals or I had caught theirs, two colored, each issue, red and green or blue and gold, and the ink real cheap and the paper so cheap it looked expensive,  like the construction paper I use now. I never  bought that issue i was published in at  15 much less keep it or show to my father and mother, and still feel badly about that as our imperial hooker is out there slicing in the Tuscan verdant fields, a gal told me my silver leaves stuff is quite nice, and so buy up  now each lesbian newsletter I can crash, and the Oak clustered logoed literary editions that somehow don’t impress comic reporters who never liked Pogo as I was always suspicious of. He did have room  for a  picture of Christie as Christ walking onto water but backs of men, big talk, as heard  nothing from our valued costumers when Barry was  tap dancing over the Corpses, as the Korans  much less the wedding dresses that are burned up in Barrys constant egg whites omlettes making never bother the stomach of dear Rachel, whose guts by now, and staffing gals for a bloated pig must have by now made them  iron clad, Youd suppose. Sorry but even vulgar brudder Bill always showed much more decorum this Near the ruins of Laurentium.

Before  we left in a huff, my brother taking charge of this lonesome wop thing, took the phone we’ve had since 911 itself, and unplugged it and hurled it into the garbage, and said SHE’LL ever call Here again, and looked at me with a glare more of sadness and disappointment than anger. Of course, he said, every pretty girl worth her cunt knows--[and has known many, already a  cute mixed race girl alsa moved here  by the This marrage shall not stand aldermen of the church of ericles,  named Amber waves to him every morning, he’s like sixty but still a wiseass.] that when  a shlub falls for you, you  either accept it, use the jerk, or let him down gently. so I  don’t know, he said,  what this shit was. But I still keep the brunette Barbie, whose existence helped me make a story about toys, too winced at by a dream worker, no  Pixer in the rye, who would gay it up, a dolly kept by  me  in a strong box. I had to get four essays out to accompany my seemingly eagerly more acceptable art works, but we get home in time to watch Laugh in, as am tired out. I get when even the loaded diced become  ice old and backed away, but did have to mention I saw that Barry the fairy said he is  now in  fights with his wife over closet space, and thought, nigger I have been reading Plautus since ten like Bill, I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole.







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