07 December 2014

KARTINA RICHARDSON, YOU HAVE BEEN MENTIONED IN A POST BY NAME....

Haven't seen the dear Kartina Richardson, as much as before and there was that unpleasantness at Facebook...still, I had to get somehow in touch as thought about our zaftig little sweetheart, i don't know why you bother your pretty lil head about such weighty matters, as had to say to her what I have seen. A commercial in which a pretty English brunette was in a lab coat and making the sort of double meaning jokes the Romans loved in Plautus an such, was torn off the air, while at the same time, for the same industry,  there is a commercial with a bloated fat bumbling rippling Bellona of a cunt in the mist of the medieval Tolkien Nazi adored warfare we will all be headed towards, just as soon as Barry can use his niggeralia cover to, less Oberon than Flash Gorden each Saturday going to spaceship war against Ming, he shows his willingness to back down, his best asset all along. But I have some effect, as I was the only one who mentioned a commercial in which a guinea pig spoke like a Scorsese player and it is gone torn off itself. I was talking about the awfulness of the praetorian guard battering this poor dumb nigger to death over cigarettes,and sorry to the apology machine,  but cigarettes is what gives it is Roman oomph, like Caesar's men on Cato amid the woman and the dice players and the pimps and the stooges, the whole point is they are criminals, Jonnie. I heard nothing all summer and fall , Oh that was when you were trying to pull Grimey across the finish line as you all loved guns and the cops in ways the Italian worth their salt



never would. , oh well, looking for Romance here is a fool serenade. And soon enough occupy hags and fat jerks and Guy Marx mask wearing under grads will back down. You didn't have to make up a rape story doll,...Jameis was right there, but you'd never be bold...why you'll lose every time. I have written plays and books where the cops were becoming an occupation force in 2004 and had white women tell me... paranoid much...? So I have to cry on cue now...? hell, no it is a happy Saturnalia, hunnie, to the lesbians and the fags who aren't the ones I recall as  a little boy, we who adored Roman Feast and I who was given a copy of TAOIR, hows that for an initialed Epigram  kids,...?, which I read amid the tinsel  and wax and lead old balls and painted perceppios you all, like your grandpas, dutifully hate. As a boy, Barbie Batman Marvel and other heinous things were going bankrupt, but Regan, now the heir to Disney according to Beck, boy did you just say a mouthful pal, saved you all in time. Catiline and Don Meredith forever.

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02 December 2014

AW, HUNNIE TRAMPS LIKE US...






24 October 2014.

BARRY'S WAR PART 5.


1. I WAS ASKED, ANGRILY, what was I trying to say in WLM, by sue of Wendy, black and white daily news photos of mob hits, Cattiline and Salieri, all I guess hated by the women who shepard our fall. God help you, I responded back, when I am the one being Subtle, as you are lousily with hypocrites. Helooo.....hello...?

How could I sue Wendy, a woman asked, as some image of Italian woman hood unloved as a new bloated fat blond and her baseball closeted boyfriend in ‘stolen’ pictures make us all sick, though the day of the bombshell seems over and done with, we use drones now Bunnie, not an Trojan goddess pawned on a any one. Well, I said, proudly, as a Jesuit would, in public domain, when you release publicity stills on your own, they  are, I said proudly pre law, these are seen as in the public domain and thus can be sued by anyone until Gorge Lucas changes 3000 years Roman old law showing his layaway toy guns for all  credo. Now now, she said, what right did I have to sue Wendy as a symbol of something bigger than she , which is hard to imagine, but still, she was dodging two bit feminism shit, like how we are all devoted to a minimum wage as am American dream when the drones in suits are somehow bribing 93 cents out of every dollar to plutocrats about to send jobs to Canada this making the press stop in mid screech, what evader is all avoiding is dues for all along. But since Barry Hit 36 percent, even smiling Jack and other afforded have moved on, like Dante away from the seething demon demanding notice.

Oh, I see, Wendy cant be seen as a kind of bikini clad Beatrice anymore, but I don’t hear any anger when one fat chick after another does her dago shtick, or again, some again hipper than thou show on bag-man channels about to girls does her mustash jokes proving her bonifides, and don’t shoot I’m unarmed, as all Italians must do to be allowed in. No one seems upset by one fat Italian woman after the next on gumbas minstrel shows, and this busty bathing beauty bothers you...? I am not shocked, but then I can see around those walls you packed up, as we hare now in the late calendar year, without a single epithet seen as unseemly hurled by Keith and without a measure of sacristy or goodness, that the friends and family account at has been suspended on television, anew from the ad agency where it was without any humor or mad man era aplomb taken away, and recapped with a merest running of numbers on a written screen. That's right, Wendy, the girls says in the overtire alas, the guinea pig with the Scorsese accent has been terminated, along within the blond wives and children, they are gone, so is the painted faced weirdo, as that Jewish nightmare never caught hold, much like Blond piggish women who aren’t so much bellaformata as is Wendy, but juts Mexico city suburb meatball fat, where to which we are all headed. 



Quietly, Ritchie Incognito has been dehumanized and stricken out to play by the nfl, as the party of righteous which danced upon him, how many demons can dance on the head of a moron, the world may never know, seem unseemly as the baulk parade of felons seemed to spill forth from the coven closets of epsn and sports, with black minions telling us of their admiration for the wife beater and not even well, doing the speech all vulgarism have as a given in their calculating heads. personally I would have said f you to Gödel, and I wurldt have shown dear Gödel and his lts, the magic of litigation, but then, Ritchie has always seemed to me to be the sort of wop willing to do anything for his masters, which as the jurists warned me was always a raid to ruins. I would show Gödel that being cleared by his closet gay minions and Dan Patrick gay wad stooges  still suing his name as good guy recriminations never would he get his cock sucked by water barracker Supremes and name dropper emeritus, meant nothing to me as my say, if not  a cash award for defamation was always my steak, but then I  had been gifted with the lil bastard magic kit given by priests called The Prince and selected discourses, should I ever be stupid enough to believe a word you had to say to clever me. I would gave made Gödel pay through that beak of his, ice buckets as good pr be damned, as I have never been willing to be the kind of Wop who would allowed himself to do shtick for Olbermann after one of his homilies about the deerskin's named. I wonder still why it is that Jews at a cable station may make money off the Sopranos, alas Jew baby Snyder has the gummnit come in, remember when that was a saving grace...?, and he cant make money off something as benign as a nickel headed Indian, but then our redo isn’t Latin, its some pigs are mere equal than others. We have perpetual co eds telling us of saving Christian Arabs from slaughter as the Palestinian Styx is up to a Cumea like 2000 bodies, but then, for that matter when is the last time you heard in our empire of the offended anyone bring up Cumae...? John Batchelor maybe.

There are rumblings of race riots of which I have been waiting, but alas as in all things in America; they lack the decency of their Roman precursors, as the Jesuits warned me. No mere race riots here, nor is Cicero being pelted by garbage by the discounted pit upon Romans, as we don’t have Cicero we have St. Clair and other democrats going, if showing up on aquanaut cable at all talking about sexual harassment in the haze of swat team America. Don’t bitch at me, kids, I was horrified when heard John, see above, do play by play about how Tsarnvev was shot while kneeling in surrender, how Aeneas can one get…?, but of course, Arabs, not quite the big mothers Negros are, can have anything done to them, immunizes Christians where then they get the Augustine marines to fly in and see nothing much despite fox news seems to be ever going on. But as we are apprized for more Kuwaiti incubators while Viking in law yeshiva, that’s Jesuit without the warmth, boys and their republican elephants dance with bodies of dead children in tel Aviv unseen by cameras like Mandela’s hammer and sickle, and tres if I may say, Canniolinus, but then I get what I deserve I guess. As could smell the curtain and greasepaint of it all, and knew they were fraudulent. Ah ha, our first sighting of the Guy Marx mask from poor misunderstood Alan's comics, he who will never get an even break from those whose art form he saved. It did take until the imperial guard killed its oh fifth man of the summer to get the kabuki Negros advancing, feh, I say, and thank God some stations have took to showing several marathons of my youth. I watched three days of Simpson’s with my brother, who is sharp enough for the hijacks of Bart, one of his four names Ma gave us all,  to elicited a laugh is high praise, as I said, I had all my Lil Bastard tool kits after he had bought then earlier, like America bugged out when they hit 2000 and suddenly all sarcasm was directed at Italians and no one else, and saw as must say, and don’t mean as a pejorative but largely as honest, that that shop lost something when Conan and later Brad Bird left, as they took a heart from it which I call pulling a Larry David. Batman too is on each day in camp mod glory and I imbibe in its psychedelic sheen as it was placed on as an answer to that thuggish sissy prick and his valued customers naming batman into every fag wet dream that was also hit by Himmler and Mussolini but without the winks. Sheesh! Though on one of these bright computer-less days, in the warm air, festooned in Vivaldi concerto colors, one can always eye when the impotent and the bag-men think themselves Machiavellian, Barry came out as we gin up for war since before he hit 35 percent approval and Rachel dear still has to trash Nate Silver as number do figure or liars never matter or some such black art, and Barry admitted in garments all red in one way, what was true. Place Machiavellian  line here, kids, about truth of  liars and overburden’s and subterfuge, but he admitted for all to hear, that he has no real strategy for the Isis Rolex devoted, who all seemed to come out of a US training base, on cue, as war is our best business, the extra savings passed on to you. he admitted what we all knew alas true, no clever boy he, and still twelve hours later we were hearing damage control with praetorian for life Mumbles Gergen coming out to re double the cult of imperiumata, how these lawyers are better men than those lawyers, hopefully to anyone was utilized better in tenements under Caesar that caught fire, occasionally if not wind. 





2. This month both Italian varitypes, icons, and strangely images of a long dead Italay and ironically, America too, Borgnine and Sophia will get a day’s tribute at that movie station, which brought a quiet bittersweet feeling to me, as that station usually just puts  hacks on there telling us of the heinousness of Charley Chan and John Ford, while of course, putting the wild bunch at early morning. We have no room for Marty at this dance, Anderson Cooper’s Hullabaloo American bandstand, and Wendy shows that the busty Italian is an anathema to the non midday sun kissed boys of the band, whose hatred for gays is palpable now none is in their mists, and how they whistle past the ruins of bathhouses recalled by suburban acres, the inner turmoil becomes rancid and vicious,  becomes even more virus, melt with each skip down the aisle, as I have said always a Jesuit studied feh to being so admired by the truth givers. Remember redskins, the latest censored word by the coven, is an issue that comes up when talk of concussions makes you look like the blood sporting empire you are, a trick I figured out when I got silence from Ebert land hacks who just loved Scorsese and my first amendment rights as an Italian are always fungible, as they are for all of you by now, when I, cleverly, compared their beloved goodfellas  and other horse shit to imperial farce like Terence, which got silence from them all, as I had hit the bull’s-eye, and knew then what the ESPN and NBC boys and wives will never allow themselves to think they are.

You can have Lisa Simpson compare football to an Inca game, all you want, this somehow baptizes it from mere blood sport…hoooo boy!, but like so much here, it is Roman, and not even done as well, or was as honestly, and again say to Keith if its so important of an issue, while the new Etruscans live in squallier, and don’t have running water, place Guy Marx joke here, sorry, it’s the Roman in me, get behind my argument that we start calling them the Washington Centurions, and then you’ll hear it, since silence is all you all really have, the pauses that refresh have different weights, and the reason you good white folks don’t want any Team named for Indians is different than why you don’t want to mention the Romans at all, as we steep in decline and fall, and the differences’ in quiet is as close to a belief system as you have. I say a roman name for the new Roma city team, to be true to the faux roman mausoleums you clawed up and that cracked colossus to Mlk, lets go Roman here, and finally free ourselves of the jewy inclination to make sacraments of all our vices and sacrifices of all our victims. I say for all the shit that Italians have had to take here, without a Sharptoon as self appointed champion, as they showed him as the prison snitch rat he intrinsically is, I say a Roman name for the team of blood sport from the new imperial city, even Tuskins say, again seeing, as I blue sky here, a man in shining amour, as again all Grimm’s comes from a  book of Italian fairy tales, which you may not say, a Curtis in golden knight amour, the feathers are alas the same, and he comes out and hurls a flaming , no not mere stick, or bow, but cutlass,  the knife of imperialism, which we aren’t, we hear over and over, as we look for a way to lurch back to the Tigris, mark my words kids, a cult that broke the sabers of Tuscans like twigs, and that goes into the turf, while perfect Roman patrician goofball Jerry Jones looks on, as his later paltry mythology gas been upstaged. It would be as they say, Epic, and Godell would be fielding calls of protest, making this redskin shit look like nothing, as the injuns get to be fierce for never having thrown Jews and Germans out of their early colonies of Italay. Turnabout in new Judea, is never fair play. To good Ronan Tony, it is the only virtue.


I think what I wanted all along really was my say. It was the holy grail to me, toddle oo, toodle ooo, as it was everything to blowhard me. I could have made a carrier easily as a journeyman, cobbler a crafter, a maker, so important to some wops to be made house idiots by the art firms they delve into, as they place on Robert Dinero type airs becoming that wicker man all over again. I could have put my nose to the grindstone as they say still in the dark ages of post Rome, a middle ages with Rockets, but a dark middle ages still as Italian writer Petrarch called it, so take that Amazon dot com, and your thinking the Italians will eschew Dante somehow for closet queer Laurence, sorry Laura, loving Petrarch, you middlebrows thinking that all your darkies and bend at your suburban will. AH HOW they hate middlebrow, like chicken hawk and both are father Gores refining of hated ancient Roman sonnets. I wanted my say amid the gumabs and their blond bloated jail bait soon to be wives, again we are not all Jewish, I wanted my say. So, this summer I felt  an coyly curve to say to hell with it all and go about as one of Cornelius Porch monkeys, enjoying the circuses and the dancing girls and the strong men competitions, now that have devolved into police blotters, as that spasm against Richie Incognito someone from all the heritage to do it to no less, is being repealed back in men falling out of closets less platis and with beaten wives as victims for which they couldn’t cry amusingly as they did for bad linemen who cant play, while Negros nervously twitch and hum in shining little boxes in the making copies guy afternoon game show, all all is quiet. No one notes that a lien in which the victim of bullying has come has left Keapernick without an inch to run, and of course it must be his fault as the sacks mount up, as it just can’t be Jonathan Martins fault. I wanted my say, as to me, already competent at a young age, there seemed to be nothing else.

3. When Francis Ford Copula made a point at some fawning interview about his artisan-ship, he said what I hurled at the polish starlets of zoetrope, in that he said he’d make a movie on a I phone camera if need be and hurl it at the stratosphere where Cath does rides his boyish sun ship. This as cant, of course, but told me much, in that when I said it as with almost a Frank Gorshin like riddleresque glee it means some thing as I had never given in. He, on the other hand had given in spectacularly, and gave in as the Italian poet would say, for life, a greatest refusal, probably burning in hell as we speak, as the  trash bed reenactments of Constantine, also in hell at arms length of equal God Muhammad, was beneath our Roman contempt. And he a Tuscan no less, so take that Oneida nation, maybe I think seeing that Rome has heckled on all comers, and is till there is Italay, and that the Greek beginners of germ warfare to Percales, to mad god Hannibal to Caesar and his apostate relatives couldn’t ever shoo these people completely onto reservations where they fumed about the name of teams within the nonworking sinks, maybe, just maybe you just lost and had nothing stolen from you as much as you dropped it, as noble savages have never been high on my list of roman fairy tales, as opposed to said Francis who once loved Tacitus, until I opened my big mouth about how Cornelius despised Jews and their hidden want to start wars they didn’t fight in and how they hid their money in clay jars from not only the tax man but everybody else. 





As I have alluded before , this time of year is hard for me, a starting in September 15th or so, I am accosted by memories of epileptic seizures amid the trash of wanton oversexed Italians at sacred  hearten schools demanding me out, recollections of boyish cartoons somehow a sin against German nuns who deep down hated Hercules and Venus and the italic creed to both, and the early Christmas season death of a father who,my mother assures me, adored me intrinsically, and wished for me to advance if only because he knew as a friend of a hood named Mandarino, that Italians soon enough would be adoptable nigger in America as they had been at unmentioned concentration camps allowed as no Jews allowed, and at mass gallows makeshift on the jersey parkway, each joke that Jewry Jonnie tells has a string back to those he pretends to hate, just as the first haters of Columbus was church he proved was full of Ptolemaic shit,  unknown to joke making Olbermann as he retires to sports talk. This said  time of year harsh for me, as a sister went to a Christmas  parade never to be the same, as my mother had warned it as open season she was told by war brides corralled here before, that like their children , Italians were seen as little more than sexual trade one didn’t have to marry, and could sue with impunity as the perpetual victims of NOW AND PENN STATE, like children killings only matters hen Anderson and ESPN can cry for whites, sometime as in Mac Martin , a railroaded trestle and a ox bow as good as anything else, much less pesky truth. We are a time of Jews and black prosecutors at cnn, hmnn, whatever happened  to Ferguson by the way….oh the occult like white women who wish to glom onto it have been told, like Jimbo to his point shaving team at half time, knock it off, and election is nearer, I’m sure that once the election happens and the dems lose their senate, the sanctimony of Negros and their white chick makers to sue my father term's for white woman wishing to control things , will burst forth again, and we shall hear of Biggie, the dead saint again, who again, recalling the heinous German nun, I don’t have to cry for, as I, unlike Jewish in laws wishing to make it seem like Hitler and his thugs hijacked Germany, I read Metternich and his sonnets upon Naples and even Greece, hated there too, so I don’t weep for Negroes who as Rock would say, dun got shat.

And with the Cowboys doing well, this an anathema to the homos and fags and sissys and house colored’s, see above, as diversity means anyone can think like Caesar, and take his bribes, his actual cold hearted and eagle eyed line, I saw all I needed to as I write this the Cowboys arte 6-2 and this is hateful to the envoys to the ESPN boys town. On the after after noon yaks, as negro appears, who like Pollock’s men of the people show the obese have a home on cable television, and seethed, literally seethes, about the Cowboys having just beaten new black Americas team, taken from the eagles that all but Tony Bruno hate, and given to Richard Sherman’s at each others throats Seagulls. Ah, but this will pass as a black quarterback is there, a diva, not liked as Richie incognito was, as paper bag laws are big at a place that resents comparison to Roman ruins, and so I am sure they’ll pull it out. But now they are beaten by the 'Boys and that cant stand, I notice a bloated fat nagger stooge bald cow ass kisser whose outrage, like all else, has been monetized and plus has a real need to be close to black men who sweat, and calls his perversion a Moral imperative, as Milano would say. I just wonder what that means, but could if need be think of the men in make up and wigs who seem to gather around the gladiators but allays, as if a helmet of that kind, is too pretentious for an empire without satire, which this is.

I feel dissented as know the Cowboys if allowing Tony Romo to live out his losers creed, think Obama, they will fall hard, but still, this coon is upset that the Cowboys waken, dare to be better than he had suspected, and thus they are Americas team, or at least this Americas team, in ways he wouldn’t abide. In this dying empire we are all Ritchie incognito in various stages of fall, and this negroid house creation, couldn’t stand the idea of a team not calling itself America’s, without the ironic twist of an Olbermann approved name that just showed how his personal white German liberal hygiene has to correct itself, as somehow to them the Latin name of a Roman city isn’t as big an insult as redskin, maybe even worse, or playing itself on Thanksgiving, but done by a league who after all Romantically had to sell as many shirts and tickets as possible, as it is a business, dear boys, despite your love of men in space it is a business no diffuse from the charred remnants of poo pooed houses of ill repute in Herculaneum, it is and was a business, our lads, and the Cowboys as opposed to the other dreck teams sell. But I am saddened at the new found love the stillers have among these house coons  at ESPN, coyly Mudbone, evasively between paid for the check in in the mail growls as even the beady eyed Jew must be taken aback and starts to blanch at this act, as he calls Dallas a team on the Jew loved that’s what he is saying 1-90 corridor, showing his knowledge of geography is up there as I was warned you’d get a boys bathroom, the Jesuit word for a gay salon told to me as a boy,  going over my head for years, like Northwestern. Someday tubby, signora Fortuna will recall you and this, you think it is petty, ah but fate being a woman, like a Senator, can conceive of nothing else, and you will end up on the skids I know that as we being grouped, sorry, groomed for Georgetown and not that lesser place, where the overly kind fags of Prairiea, the favorite fake state of war games we played at desks, like Jews and Jesuit would,  taught boys how to take it like a man , that poor mans Syracuse called Northwestern. Ouch. That they teach you just enough numbers to keep a pad , a need in now unwatched television is your problem, but again, somehow you’ll get yours not just over a team but what you tersely represent, chubby, what you truly are, as again, the word nigger is not as verboten as you pretend it is, and couldn’t an all Pennsylvanian super bowl be fun this year with not trying to mention Cooper as you concurrently not mention Rottensberger, and we all dance on Kordells grave. A bunch of Negroes who love the Stellers…where were you when that junkie quarterback was shot on Jefferson street…? Yes, Fuck with Roman Tony, as I have said, I havened been paid off enough to sallow a single word, can’t you tell…?

Still, this time of year makes me sad, sneered at when I said that once, now its called a Seasonal disorder because the white women sighed off on it, but mine is particular as unlike sunny side up Americans, I have always liked walking, if not marching, in the rain. I passed by Georgetown, as was sure in the morning of aids that there were too many Fagots there. I dismissed Northwestern out of hand, like Stanford, as was alerted by the me adoring Jesuits who saw nothing wrong with my avocation towards the busty Amazon, juts as long as not English transvestite fairy queen Boriocchia, who they held in as much esteem as Spartacus, better the Nobel savage be killed was their creed, because unlike Georgetown, at northwestern there fags weren’t enough. I know all bout growling dogs bitch and how much each snarl costs, and its amusingly cheap to buy a house coon like you. Someday, and this is beyond liking or not liking a team, but when you said of Copper he was allowed to stain your felid as he was vouched for by Michael Vick, you made a fauxpaus that no decent Roman god can avoid, like I said, they keep an eye out for the red blood on the stoop as a targeting mechanism, they drew what we still call bulls eyes in Sabine lands eons ago, not to allow the Jewish brats so much better and decent and money grubbing to escape , like Goldman sack did. I don’t think you know what Vow and vouch means and how it only mattered when a dog killer did it as if to be a nigger oxen must be more healed as Vick than anything the house coon said what was implied all along. You all see when you make it a point that Cooper may get away with your verboten word, his prism discredited and a stooge under menace for doing his job, as opposed to Ritchie, you signed your warrant, chubs. Oh not by me, I wouldn't bother, but know when a hack has called down too much rain they will get it I spades ,as it were, and the run off with wash out senates, hung onto for dearest purple life. To paraphrase my father paraphrasing Petronius when you know the dog, you know the master,  and thus when you snarl at TO and Ritchie, I know what a good little negro you are, and when you take from Ritchie the vouching of men who never drowned doggies and weren’t felons I know, as do all, what you are truing to say , as again the Buddha coons made themselves quite fat in the occupation, as unlike the Palestinians we all, are all are to some.  This is either besides the mere Cowboys or wholly about them, as I know exactly what you and your batmen ESPN and nmsnbc on the pad colonnades and white trash Pollock’s are there for. I know exactly what you are and why, and hear the echoes in your homilies of everything from pizza boxes, to old queens protesting that Archie would marry Veronica, a Roman not Jewish name purposely chosen by me, as they laud their Italian grandmothers fore raising the half breeds, and I know acutely what keep you negro and Pollock buddies fat. I know what you are and what you are not, and know when the growling costs and how much your meter is running. As the last taught Roman boy, beefier and thuggish, yet trained to eschew the American stereotyping by the numbers, by the last priests before again the Germans gave a death march this time decimating the curia of all but Irish petaphilies, think about it, I hear you in every disdain any white queer has that Wendy play peek-a-boo amid the leaked publicity shots of carb loving baseball Annie in the shower, I know exactly what you are and why, and I don’t cry for sniggers shot in the act, the only kind that Crumpy seems to pro bono, always hoping, the American dream, to get his cut. And so you’ll all get yours.

4. I easily could have honed my arts and been that comic book drawer that the boys in t shirts with stained hands of bic pens wish to be, but again let that go. I wanted Big Bertha to mean something and not just be another Tarantino shoot em up or even Wamhbauch cop sonnets and wasn’t sure who or why the hero even was in that, as I FORESAW  the military police wed all have as they follow such yentas as Feinstein and Shumah around . Ah, again to Cornelius, the once vaunted Roman soldier has become little more then security guard, as we rebel to our amassed money where the like found out even the cie la vie untactful Romans would have enough, and if you thought that was something wait till you meet the in law Vikings who like Greeks killed Jews and their Semitic un handsomeness and Syrian ethics on sight. I wanted to have my say, and wanted to like the great Alan Moore, piled into my comic the whole depth and breath of Roman literature with strong man and Venus, the fulcrums thereof, within its pulpy pages. There is room for ten year batman epics, and woman thors and now a black captain America, but alas there is no room for a Roman hero amid the floppies, as that bothers them again, for reason I can guess. As in the league of extraordinary gentlemen, I wished to as Alan Took Victorian literature and put there in the Ovid that that fat old cow Victoria despised but then like Henry recited with her lover as again, a fascist must be on  the shadows to admit they aoooorrrrrred Joooooolian, and be far from the rabbis and the vicars who except themselves from everything, see Tacitus above. But a cooling Saturnalia wind early even than usual frost shows another film as the old testament strikes back, as it must after Petty thief Scorsese some how got through a movie about that wolf that caught its leg on a tarp iron trap, and so, another old testament Jew, basically Gilgamesh with  a shmere of racism and infanticide worthy of Livy book 1, we are the good Syrians, will be out ahead as Christmas fare without having to mention Caesarean collaborator Paul or you know who. But what wont be this Saturnalia, cerebrated by Jews eons before Christ, is a Scorsese movie, because of that Steppenwolf, no epic about the Lemeieres this year, god knows, as you helped to create and troubadour this nation where Ritchie and Ray get it and Cooper and Rottensberger can maybe meet in the super bowl , though that is a fox ten hour pre game Gödel doesn’t want. Just like how there will be a film this Christmas about exodus another jewie inspired drama to have a goy hero play a Jew, ah the dream we dream, and there wont be any film this Saturnalia about Scorsese making sonnets to the moon loving lumeiere bros, not this year, maybe not ever again.  Still, Oh I romantically root for such a winter Gane, root for that as helmets come and go, you scum backers and trash that think you rule the Earth you can ex. out all the helmets and Christ in Latin that you may, but just as Barry is on a precipice of finding a senate lied to waste and lefts with only barbarism portending they are Roman at the door, too you can fine for men to wear a Roman, Sabine, helmet, a return to metrical spirit Italianate verve, never theirs, never yours all you want, but it is called perjury, chubby, it is a sin and a crime, as the bible and Koran both make mention of forbidding usury and interest and oaths and vows taken, look it up, but it is a Roman world still in the ice flows, Dante lived in fact, Beatrice is Wendy, or vice versa, Rodger, but the Roman affidavit as you will find, is immutable. 



In a few weeks, both the Nobel Roman helmet and a Guinean pig speaking in a jersey accent were censored by the Ciceroes of now, both humiliation and devotion, both honor and American screed, both ancient epic and the joke book that was Tennessee's only  commedia that was at the center of the sun, both images, and both expositions and both variations of the Roman italic panoply were deemed proscribed and to be muted by the Americans, named for a Roman city, and their barbaric love of the fat girl who sends out pictures of her self, desperate and unable to be this months blond. So, all that is Italian and Roman is warning to them as Occupy and its white goirl co eds, strains and Blanche to have its last stand as a Requiem for Biggie, all Roman is like Peckinpah feared by the Jews in laws again. And the white women and the injuns for which they cry on cue would kill for such a result. I took out a few pages from Rag, as found I cant draw like or as Frank Franzetta, as copying is simple enough, I can teach you to draw in one line, draw the air not the arm, and go accordingly, but this stuff when I do it, always looks frozen to me, and doesn’t have my Oomph. But as an admirer of Virgil, I must say I am glad to see the air full of bees again, rather later to notice this near as rag weed wild flowers spring up near a garage not mine I surreptitiously  used as a Roman brick wall, but alas couldn’t find a Venus up to Wendy standards around here. As Virgil, suddenly liked as Bullet Bob and Ray Guy, a poet dismissed for distaianing a Trojan horse, now noticed by no less than the dower and awful BBC, thinking maybe it and not anything Shakespeare writes was some monument of western poetics, wrote an epic about the bees in the charming way that lovers of Greek homilies always hate.






21 November 2014





 



On a dark and stormy night, as Barry wishes to get even with all for his belated and forever childhood, and stomps his puny feet on marble floors, perhaps risking a torn ACL, in a week in which a bailed out too often radio drunk self proclaimed Disney wished to tell us how God spared him, and still trashes Sacco and Vanzetti, no less, exonerated by Regan in a ceremony to peel the wops away from the donkeys, and leaving them with Jewish bag men and Negros awaiting the Go sign when to Riot, and more importantly when not, Glenda with an eye towards the foot washing Baptists he corrals, as all seems in perpetual flux and the Goddess of ice, Alpina, yes she is the namer of the italic mountains, hurls snow and cold at a queen boy who likes to whip up discord, in a world of Jonathan Martins and thugs lying in state with CNN requiems which never end, as bloated fat women senators from the show me state increasingly mooooooo a dissenting note as they are up next, black shirted Roman heroes came onto a field, remembering their wise guy gumba jew founder, and shoved it all down a fat man’s and his prissy captain of the guards scared white trash throat. How Roman can we get. Always. Now, as if Dante himself were here amid the Borgias and the Greek democrats and Arabs and cardinals who live for death, the empire strikes back.  “GOD BLESS THE OAKLAND RADAHHHS.”—A.A



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