17 February 2017




https://plus.google.com/+AnthonyAcriaradiocomix/posts/f8vgeWRjJ6y

04 February 2017

THEIRSTORY.





Always take it graciously when someone doesn’t out and out censor my works, as was done by of all people the woppish two who made sure that Italians are never much covered for as are being ignored by says Scott Pelley no less, tunneled out of snow banks and mudslides so we can hear from perpetually old haggard unmarred women, still a moniker to the lesbos, as no one that ugly can be married even farcically queer right…so never, I taught by nuns, decorum, try to really smear it on thick or be bothersome. Still, those Italians are dealing with terremoti that are never a good sign, as even Caesar knew the way to read the cracks of the earth, and despite that to the patria, what my father called company wops are out there, like Madonna and Robert De Nero acting the part of button men for a hag cow queen of cunts who thought we had a gypsy problem did miss Himmler, and then unleashes the hags on everyone.

SO, WITH THAT IN MIND, here is my twelve page play based upon the enchanting Ovidian story of Apollo and Daphne and theirs, and someone tell me what I am missing as in this age of Hillary living out the road company version of paradise lost, I am at wits end, and not juts because of a low rent fever, or should I merely as my brother tells me, tell self important no bodies to always just go fuck themselves. this stinks of con he says, but thene again, like Chet Atkins in support you’re local gunfighter, greets everyone with a suspicious what's your angle…?,  as roman credo. See as having been taught but jurist priests, I hate it when affirmative action white girls try to tell me I don’t know the story of Apollo and Daphne, I took this personally,  as more than just mre rejection, or Ovid, as the queers made me read a different fun with dick and Jane than you did and the difference, as Petronius said, is always the leach. as I’m not a white woman not a democrat, not did I vote for Bill Clinton and pretend didn’t, and so, dolls, I wasn’t shocked when in the middle of your spate of Jewish nobility another wop, this time Scorsese got it on the teeth as you tried to not remember the fires you once stoked and the farces you one put on. TELL the white kids overweening on protest, with nary a black man it appears seeing wanting to march for baracedesless Hillary, there all in jail, when it was Bush like Barzini all along, pulling this oxcart all along. And too Barry the fairy halted immigration too, and no one cried and white girls didn’t march, amusingly enough, something all the difference is the whip. As but that was in unromantic ungodly year 2011, as democrats are Sanctimonious but they aren’t ever married to any of this shit.

Note that on the over baptized white girl version, there is no moment of green laurel, and he is receded to mere Sunday school polemic and thou shall not diatribe and mortality tale, so sad to see done to what is for all intents and purposes a Romanized myth in the hands of Ovid, Bill Clintons Virgil bless his diabolical little heart. Hillary as I said lives out her more satanic creed of always getting back and even. And away we go….




Apollo and Daphne 

Daphne was a beautiful nymph and the daughter of the river god, Peneus. She longed to remain free and unmarried and prayed to her father to help her remain so. Apollo was the God of sun, music and knowledge. One day, he foolishly mocked Cupid for playing with bows and arrows - weapons which he believed should only be handled by experienced warriors like himself.
Cupid took revenge upon Apollo by striking him with one of his arrows the moment Apollo feasted his eyes upon the nubile and beautiful Daphne. This made him fall in love with her instantly. Apollo went into pursuit mode immediately, not realizing that he just fell in love with a girl who wanted to remain free forever. This was Cupid's cruel revenge.
Apollo chased after Daphne relentlessly. She teased him by flirting with him, only adding more fuel to his fire. One day, Apollo began running after Daphne and while running away, Daphne prayed to her father to turn her into a laurel tree. Just as Apollo caught up with her, her lower body began transforming into the bark and her arms into the branches. The story goes on to say that Apollo worshiped the laurel tree for the rest of his life.
The moral of the story is a commentary on pursuing pleasure for its own sake: "Those who love to pursue fleeting forms of pleasure, in the end find only leaves and bitter berries in their hands."



To
 Feb 3 at 2:58 PM
Dear Articulate plays. 

Given a heads up about your festival I would like to send you this short play based upon the missing and lost works of the Etruscans. put into Obscurity by the great monsters of history the Greeks and the Romans, and just beginning to be discovered. Mine is an italic retelling of the famous scene in Ovid Apollo and Daphne. I am Anthony Acri. antonyacri@yahoo.com. 1-724-###-####

Anthony Acri Ancient Romance, an historical Novel of Tuscan Italy. http://booklocker.com/books/5884.html www.antoniusradiocomix.blogspot.com

To
Feb 3 at 8:27 PM
Hello Anthony,

Thank you for submitting to Articulating the Arts. Can you please tell me which of the stories from our website inspired this play? I need to share that information to the Reading Committee.

Best,
Cat Parker


To
Today at 4:45 PM
yes, thank you for any consideration, I thought I had connected  this play is based upon the tale of Apollo and Daphne as found in Ovid a tale of a quarry and a predator. Anthony. 

Anthony Acri Ancient Romance, an historical Novel of Tuscan Italy. http://booklocker.com/books/5884.html www.antoniusradiocomix.blogspot.com

--------------------------------------------


To
Today at 5:24 PM
Thank you for your response. Unfortunately, I do not think your play seems related to the story of Apollo and Daphne as told on our website. As one of the criteria for submitting to this production is the connection between the story and the play, this will be weighed by the reading committee. If you'd prefer to look at our stories and either tweak your play to match, or write a new story, we'd be happy to hear from you. Or, you can leave this play in the running, with the understanding that it is not based on any of our stories.

Please let me know which you'd prefer to do!

Peace
Cat Parker
Artistic Director

 Show original message



-- 
______________________________
Articulate Theatre Company Play Submissions

To
Today at 6:20 PM



I’m sorry but am I missing something, dear….I placed on the first email I sent in this was  based Apollo and Daphne. Did I have some sort of stroke in bed, I know I have a low grade fever, what are you fucking talking about here, what con are you trying to pull here dear…? Jesus H Christ…!

I SPENT there days doing this through chills and a cold sweat, you know like how Barry was president, and yet Spart---Romanced through, and I don’t get this reaction, at all. Ah, but and here where Roman Tony show my worth, in a drudgeries dull dreary week, where Rodger Gödel tried to put up a Flavianna amphitheater in Brownsville, --like who needs the cowboys now, dares—there is stalk of the instigation traveling circus machine, lardy being poo pooed by democrats who think not voting for them is by definition a hate crime, showing up at this bore snooze jest awful super bowl in which they connived an other year to not have the Cowboys, to pay off a Jewish owner who brought long island charm to the nfl and incants the roman magical word of Lombardi recalled now with the name Bellecheat, to groans from everyone but the boys room at Bristol. Now, do dee cunt and dee spics show up at the flavian circus, I have used that twice, but have a low grade fever, does the Bush family crime button men reach into the renamed as roman numbered Saturnalia, oh used that and quickly saw it find its way into Maureen Dowd, but then she thinks Bill biggest crime as quoting roman stoic Marcus Aurelius to every white woman’s not laughing at the Plautus dick jokes our Coriolanus played by  Dan Rowan sprinkled on you all, and how! a joke, if they got it. So after having sued the whitest kids you know and the fat chicks at arms length to play out what the Italian genius called the ratio of power, and the placates of spite, I am armed with the betrothed as was Bill, does the white shicksas and the bread white and the Spanish conquistador heirs do they show up and ruin the last verities of the circus payee for and bought by the imperial bag man emeritus consigliore of the Bush crime family James Baker an insult not mine but of Mark Shields, showing ITALIAN AND ROMANS ARE OUR IRISH PIGS GO TO EXPLAIN OUR DECLINE AND FALL, BUT NOT LIKE ME! So as my mother said on hearing this dago hag, Madonelle, she said, go wash your cunt with vinegar, --again like Shakespeare, it makes more sense the original Italian, like Iago or Antonio or Brutus of the other stalwarts of the British theater….humnnnn…Madonna, they tell me your nothing but a dirty piece  of slimmmmmmmmmeeeee, shit negroes if she can be Michel Koalhaus I can be Rheinlander Waldo. I did see on Drudge that as I suspected, Lex Luth—sorry Hillary plots her comeback, By now less a figure in Plautus or TACITUS or Machiavelli as much as a guest star Lee Grant as killer in a Colombo rerun, from her subway platform, unlike her hubby doest have a plebe’s ear for comedy and will keep smacking into the wall until  it falls in on her, and in this is much like Satan’s existence, Roman Tony says, except with him it certainly hasn’t taken this long.

This is a play done in the style of such plays since the Romans and obviously before. The bulk of the play is made up of a pontiff dictating the histories of his heritage, as has been by some in Italy since time immemorial, i don't really know what this is about, as in your page you say the story may be used in anyway anyone likes, but then with the middlebrow bullshit is an only creed. I relooked again,as in my original email said in fact i was doing Apollo and Daphne, as thought it might be well to have done this in a style caveatting the classical demonstrations of this, and already had it written in pixes anyway, but don't know this  you seem to be on as I did the same as Ovid, and in a play on Broadway recently after 911, fittingly as the last roman city was trying to come back from a megadeath like most of Bushes, catastrophes and cataclysm is their business,  that seem forwent and forgiven by the pigs of empire, and I was called a bigot for seeing that, that grabbing of the ruins to get back to the colonial salons and equipment and sophistication of roman poet Ovid, heavens forbid, as who knew Mohammad Atta would eventually like Perpetua become something of an arsonist then made a saint. You know something i don't much care this much for a resume line, why am I bothering with this...?, but do ask your actors if like most of the senate and the Clinton family if they'd like to play at at being Romams or even Italian without a gun every once in a while,  and do as you please. 




I chickened out and didn’t send this, in whole, but forgot about any of it, as wonder woman and Mary are on, then Batman at twelve, and outside of the Cowboys, it really IS 1970 in the Tony verse after all. If someone can tell me where I made my mistake in this play feel free to answer back.


"Ancient Romance" The Book Of Tuscan Wonders
On the stage comes Pontiff of ancient Tuscany, Isia Macrobbius. A pretty Brunette in Roman dress, a vestal, Gracie sits behind the man at a table with a pen and scroll in her hands. Baed on the Tuscan books all burned away by the invading Greeks pretending they were civility and spearheading thought when italay was the first of many wild west’s to come. Scene: The old temple at the Etruscans city  of Laurentium Tuscany, about 300bc, or 1147 in the counted Tuan years of their ancient  civilization.


ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 2

PONTIFF:
I, A person of ancient Tuscany, a priest of mars be. THIS AGE be during the wars with Rome, I is pegged by a zealous queen of Tuscany to go to the ends of the earth as it seems to them, to retrieve a bag of bones and a signet ring of the Etruscan great hero, the hero  Pompeus, our greatest military hero. On my  sailings towards Cathay and the warlord who has told her, dear QUEEN Caremtine, daughter of the great highland family of the princess Ligra, of his ownership of the signet ring. I ,  The priest of Mars, the pontiff actually, regales his companions with stories and tales of ancient Tuscan lore, intermingled with my love of Tuscan astrology both deisms left and deaned and adhered  to madly by the Roman serpents at the banks of the Rurtillia, and the story he lived through, the tale of Etruscan Caesar and his love for a woman, an italic princess called Ligra, the queen of the Highlands. He eventually gets the bag of bones as a relic from a Hun king, and returns to Tuscany, realizing it is all superstitious crap, Rome is designated to win, as the gods have alerted him, and he though will give the lover of Ligra, the fighter for Tuscan freedom, a proper burial at the church , or temple of mars. I wish To write something in this country about Italians and Italian history before the Romans do take it all as roman Italy as they shall hope and think they are destined to,  which is about something more than the Tyberan mafia. This is a story about the eventual destruction of the Etruscan by Roma and it allies hoping to break Tuscan power in the peninsula. Sky up straight dear, pretty girls especially vestals shouldn’t slouch…

Thus be the first page. Put a Tuscan One there dear….


ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 3

The color scheme which most exemplifies my people, the Tuscan, or Rutillian, or Ravennites, is that of gold and green.
This color scheme is declarative of all of Tuscany, and is used in everything from pottery wear to decorations placed up during the cool brisk nights of winter's evening holidays and festivals. The play between yellow and green, verdant and saffron, exemplifies the imaginations of this peninsula, going back after the creation of man. It is a color teaming found everywhere, on pasta machines, bowls, shit buckets, it adorns the walls of kings and the painted corners of whorehouses. It is Tuscan as is anything, and it is a symbolic manifestation of the love of earth and coin which God , the one god, himself has placed in the inhabitants of Italy. To Rome however, the only colors flown by them, on flags of self made promotion and of self made creation, and for such robust pushiness I do admire them, is one where the color scheme is red, red as blood, and red and nothing else but red...with its perfectly opposite color perhaps of black as pitch....''...
No, my,  no,  religions of imperious, knife wielder east  for me, I am no woman. Not me, no siree...I do not pray to a Turkish god, not even to Tania, no way...I have seen enough of these Jews with knives , Arabs, to know that these Semitic gods are blond as Odin, and deaf as a doornail. Yet, Pope, I am. I still believe , like my fathers and my mothers before me In the omnipotent god , an Italian Yahweh to apace it in those terms, named Janus, the lord of high heaven who is unlike any Thor or Odin or Jupiter who has ever been crafted on any temple by those barbarian highlander pigs who seem to peachy of superiority and their followings and devotionals to a northeast star, et, find themselves always heading southern from where they egresses, always fallowing the pontifical sun. Really, though, I am a soldier, an adjacent general, a soldier lawyer, what could be worse, I wonder, and what level of hell must


ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 4

await a man screeching of laws amid that most punitive of hell's sacraments, lovely war, and with KUO,  changed to Quo, so  due to Italic sensibilities to and of dearest Quota, to no avail, no less. If anything, at best I am a deist, no even, perhaps a atheist  open to a sky god, Janus,  who might, for laughs, destroy the world, or at least send the enemies of work and quiet  into that tartataus the Greeks speak of,  and of which the Jews by now, ignore.
So, I have heard my share of distaste from high and low priests, which always have been great at deceit, so much so that I doubt even Quo, always deceitfully planning Quo,  could ever have kept up with them as much as he might have needed. I bring up Janus, the once tribe's loneliest  God, for whom the monotheism of the ancient Italian was sorse of derision by the Greeks and their hated ness  of any thing but pantheons filled with racists such as they are, though I am guessing a bit too much of my Jewish friend here,  who wows as righteous though he owns the dancing  girl places which be the local  theater of Hercules, than I should. To Tuscan minds, there is only one god, as once there is two gods, there is no god at all, which he , this Jewish farce keeper, tells me is this same moral  is at play with a star in a play, that once a star has a rival or understudy do a role  better than he,or she, as we still size up actresses, here, as opposed to the hate filled ,  faggot Greeks who laughably have other men play their venial medea, so, that star is intricately lessened and thus no longer a star. It is the same with ethereal silliest invention yet, right there withe steam ovens making ships who soot darkens the once pristine  rivers of Italia, as they  move slowly down the Tyber, the dread of the truly venality of things, the gods.
I speak of Janus, the lord of the Di ingenets, which the Romans are starting to flock back to,  in droves,  finding the Greek pantheon,well, a petty a empyrean as it seems, as even Judea-isms, and Arabs religions and a cult of Isis flourish there as no where else in Italy. Funny, but the god they have erected , literally, for

ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 5

themselves, Mars,  seems paltry compared to our war god Larsen, literally man bird, as Larsen means Eagle in old Italian. And they feel an censorious which even  a roman can feel when a war god is made the highest god that there is. The Greek fear  this cult of Mars, their Ares is their closest antecede, yet there is no comparison, to compare silly Greeks to stout Romans, and I am not a  fan, is like comparing junkyard dons to hieratic coyotes...one is perpetually bleating and scuffing and beating, and other silently watches it's focied on  prey though eyes which amazingly , like a scholar , or an actress,  glimmers in the cool night. So in concordance, to be witty, they have added another italic dea as the supplement to this God, being literally Concordata, meaning peace, as after a while, as the Spartans, their grandfathers of the these Romans, did starting learned, when war is everything, a certain nationalistic tenacity shows its idly face, and mostly, that men always on a war footing will just take as they liked, thus replacing earnestness  as frightened and oppressed --as in imperious--serfs, and who rally wants that...? They are building a temple in their fascistic,  to be kind way, to her, Concordia, who is always shown as if a woman of no breasts, as opposed to Tuscan goddesses, as we here in upper Tyberia, we love titties, who has increasingly longer thick birdie infested hair,  and who holds a cup  of cherry wine, thus a Asiatic symbol of peace since Trachon,... peace.....it is from this cup , this horn, from which Mars her beloved drinks. In Greece it is made that their Venus, their sex goddess, their womanish transvestite intoned by carousing faggots as a kind of queen of ejaculation as love, is the mistress of the war god Ares,as in Arian. Even the backward Romans see the inherent destitute quality in this, and have given Mars a good kind wife of peace's, as not a whore, especially not as one of those red haired whores of the Greeks is just another impetus to a god who likes the savage arts, and  who romances as a rampaging soldier more than he will ever buy from merchant ,as a good housewife in most roman houses, they say still there only a thousand families allowed on Rome, and all are interrelated, which explains much,  will be doing, having to do all

ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 6

the food shopping.
GRACIE: She is pretty, black ringlet haired, with ribbons of purple ivy. In a white sheer roman dress, she seems a prettied up tomboy.  AT THE TABLE, WRITING AWAY.
Could YOU be a bit more slowwwww in your darwlin Padre Isiah… …my hand is hurtin from the ciphering…
PONTIFF:
STANDS ALONE AT A TAPESTRY.
Yes. I ,must remember I am dealing with a mere girl, Graecae, best among them, but still, I am used to Having a man person in the campaigns, an attendant Adie de camp I was used to on my many Alexandrine like war high fairways against them Romans woofers…
GRACIE:
Yesm, sur. You know the halls are filed with masculine scribblers your liege and you cold get a graduate student to wrote all thi’ n down en. I am just a hillbilly gurl, and am doing the best I can.
PONTIFF: I will remember who I am dealing with , no offense at all, just that soldiers write things down at a faster clip than you, we Etruscans make suren that our best is who we have killed off in the wars with Mother Roma….
Now, girl. You have broken my trains of thought….the trucks of my imagination have been all upturned where was I NOW…WHAT WAS I UP IN TOO, GIRLIE…?
GRACIE
LOOKS OVER HER PAPERS.
The heading says this be the book of Metaphases in the bibles and the books, pontiff and this is the story of Sun champion Aplu and Daphis, as the heading says right here….
PONTIFF:

ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 7

As they took the Sabine attainted of allowing men to fight in prisons fight for  there freedom, excepting in the roman way they make sure at the end of a grudge match both men up end dead , as the Romans sure do love their ascent and their thundershowers…its  metamorphoses, dear, another word and idea that the Romans have helped themselves to. AH, yes, Aplu and Daphnis, story of doomed love… aren’t they all. dear girl…so write this down and then I will give your levely over washed hand a repose from its crinkling, but do so try to keep up as if Camille fleeing that brute Aeneas… shant you dolly girl…ah yes, Aplu and Daphinis the tragedy of doomed love as it always must be…Twas a God in the white sky, the god of the sun, the sun which the Roman senator, they chose them by how mnay severed heads that winner has cut, the hack money grubber said in his wayward silly books of a life of crime is the center of all religions and which we have lost as we become more urbanized by the second, soon enough to give our instate highway system to the Priams nephews of Rome, as ransom for our daughters. So, we come to the god of Parnassus the flattering Tuscan city in the sky, our Valhalla, our enormous heaven without being theater to the sullen tragic Soddy earth.
In this cathedral of floating spires stayed the god of the sun, Aplu as we call him, the Romans call him Apoppola, and thus name their sons and theaters after him in temple devotion. So, a loveliest child was made a girl by the devotions of fate and the chine and her name was Daphnis, and was daughter of the river God. We maven become the testators for the Roman who sued to think such Greek works effeminate and beneath then all, my dear girl…now they act as if the Greeks were somehow their invention as their love of red war takes itself the affactaion of civility as war clowns always do…
[He walks over to the windows looking out over Tuscany, his beloved country. ]
Cry Tuscany, cry for your soon too be raped and beaten and made wifely chest, cry as Sabine girls Italie becomes and marriage to the roman brutes thrust are medaled to supplicate and be demanded….do,  cry ire your girs and lovely maids  to be nupuels to those Roman barbarians and their live of over dressed gaudy war. These savages among us with now affectation of poetics…I read this work when a young saddler , in the same platoon as Erba and Vaticano the writer of drollery and simplexes and kindness and cateresses why write this onset eons ago, and now OXCAN IS A  forgotten tongue, why I press you as I do to wrote this feverish book….the Sabine atrologosts must be kept my dear girl, they must be so….
[Gracie makes a tiring gesture with her fist as if to say keep reciting, ill carry along.]
So, as it is written in Gaius and his books of from here to there, and returned, Daphnis is a nymphet as I may what said to set the scene, and she is a beauteous thing, with hair in Avidican, as onyx as a African, but not yet so tightly woolen or wove, more like thane heads of hares are seen on the suborn of black and brown curls which whip like a thousand chariots racers when a lovely girl does run across a verdant field…yes I remember it all as was writ by Avie so long ago, in that Italia still ours, still there, still unromantic, fought for and against by captains generals who make that Hannibal so freewheeling to the armors seem like a perky corporal, so  I had seen them all these African heroes of a sort that even the now famed Carthaginian did fear from Thuga, so hard and harsh their name sots in a word for such brutes, but doesn’t pay them homage enough, I say….she a like a Sicilian damsels of fairness and oracle delight, a head if a massive woolen stash of whipping curls , unseen in the dread matrons of that Greek hagiocracy that thought Italy there own.
Gracie:[Sits up. Long pause.]
Uh huh…
She bites her lip to keep up but orderly does.

ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 8

PONTIFF:
So, it comes too pass that Aplu is looking askance at Turan, our Love goddess soon enough to be dismissed and recalled by the Greeks and their love of transvestites in vulgar bleared Venus, yech, and she has a old man who is her servant besotted by her as such always are, an old man in our telling named Opps,a dirty old man in swaddling clothes who ahs lost his heart to voluptuary Tuan he has, as old men and old fools may. She has made him her subagent at arts feeling badly for the spotted man who throe wit all away for her as such old idiots oft do for a well turned ankle as hers that dame and vixen smiling so readily in her red rosy gown a woman of the Neopoltain sorty. I have come to know the tramps of vanity, these exquisite teasers, and love who have sent me since a young GI in a harsh flutter, too feel lust and live and scion and sacredess of the flesh , that all together love thing that she sues as a woman as all women’s might….
GRACIE:
Yeah. Men are just stupid.
Pontiff:
Yes well, it s our last charm as marriage is after all a curse and a prison. You are well to stay a virgin forever as a vestal Grace, don’t run out on it as some have, it isn’t worth it, stay true and casted to the goddess of the moon my dear… it isn’t worth it to be a fish wife.

GRACIE;

UMMHUM.

PONTIFF:
Where was we now…? Oh dear Daphnis, chaste and celibate as woman should be east they become old crows as they are as wife’s, suspicious and deceitful and hating of things lively and alive, they mark their liquor lest it like their husbands be stolen by the maids they despises…and so now, this helper at the works of Love, of Tuan our supreme goddess woman in garments all red, he was seen by grit and masculine Apollo, he was, and the gears of the sky, the keeper of the clock of days, and wondrous ware saint did look askance at the child man baby man diaper for man there stood before the great sun dialed god. What is this foolish thing the sin god asked of the old man in dupers and wings as the helper of the goddess of Love. who is this foolish thing who arrays a cross bow as our grand teacher Canniolinius did have too replicating the slyer of Love as he did, who is this comical farce figure before me…well, unwilling to take that, as though now sbewtppstedn and aflame with love for Tuan to be her bidding maker, angrily did Opps, the roman call him Qupid, and mask him a cherubic boy showing their debates in more ways than one as all army boys is a kind of boy love barracks and all as its church and steeples. The boy man old man Opps, he did go off too Turans catcalls to her planet which we call Turania and the Romans already caller Venus misappropriating an Italian goddess of Wine, but then when one thinks of it…who could fuck a roman or be fucked by such a gargoyle without the aide of the true Eucharist of their being, the wine in which they find all truth lies after all.
Gracie: Yeah.
PONTIFF:
The nymph was beauteous and there at the weeds and the Tuscan fields in this recalling did the old man boy queen’s ring barer did see her, comely and exotic she was in half nakedness. Thinking like the big man

ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 9

he wocne was in a story ill get to some day, the one time big man devised a trap as he had done when still a commissarial land swindler in central Italia all that time ago. He made two arrows. one arrow of gold dipped with calves blood, the essence of Italy at heart, the deer and the fawn that give Hesperia its cartography seen name. For her made an arrow of poisonous lead mixed with the bile of a carp, according too Aviddius, love poeter par decadence and excallecane, that soon enough will be burned away, leaving the Romans with only their retelling of things and forays tales the biggest being their law books. The bogyman made these arrows and shot one at APLU, DIRC,ET HIT! AND THE OTHER AT DAPHNIS THE QUEEN OF THE EHARTLAND, who had taken a PLEDGE as you yourself have talented and I advise you’d keep, for stately virgin hood and purity.
Well, Aplu already something of a horn dog was enflamed with passion he was, and went after the gloriously statuesque  brunette girl with wild Camilla like Amazonian  hair, a supple breast, a tall frame, that girl l that gal like Ligera who has made even misers hardest pulses  do race and fiends feel  the joys of rapturous love….He then raced after her did the sinful sun  god, as we call him, though there is some smart alack middle broadness discrepancy about such, as in  the same way that Greeks I have known have told me my own placements as pontiff a simple Italian word as are mast Latin, don’t led them do this to you, means builder of bridge’s as it is that bridge to the next word all erosions its heart is about dear gal. We cared after the girl whist shudder fearful of rape as all women too close to the waterfront become as have become since the first sailors had come to fair and lively Italian dames, as wives of apes still are afraid of the sea that bribes the barbarian horse home here. She raced aft did Daphnis, she cared away as freefall as a rabbit being hunted by dogs, raced and racing  as a fox that fears of a pack of wild canines to rip it too sheathes as fir the delight of their masters as dogs are as such adores for heavy petting…oh I do feel queasy and wish to lie down, dear Gracie, but will get these done and through and star in this Italian odyssey as I smart do as much as I do…[he is a bit swimming headed.] The son of Gods did race and take off to find this delicious creature in the weeds and the trees and the paramour that she arced into and out of, he with the aplomb and the grace and the fury of a god in steeds of white light, she was no match with girlie legs…she raced about and begged her father God of the rivers to save her from this sexual barbarian, this thug, this over sexualized thing, this needful man, take me away from this rapist queen of heaven she cried out,  begging her fathers soul to grieve her…and then a Miracle did apace in the weeds and the roots and the sand and the gravel roads. Her father  took pity on his victimized daughter he did, and being a river god abet to anaglyph all things as he could with his sludge and his soot and his river water and its grot, he made the earth come up and eventually the fast girl was taken aback, taken in by Roots and vies and she became a tree and a plant thing, and was human and beautiful no more but a mere mass of weeds as she had seemed when first seen in wayward curls by that deceitful old man now a baby arrow pusher got his matron. So She was remade and rethought and redone as a tree there quiet and still and ran no more as was now placed firmly in the metalwork of he water finding swards that goes into the soft cool ground. She was transformed into a sad obeying tree in the earth, her eyes now glazed over with wood, her limbs unfreeing in arthritic twigs, leaves coming out sweat by her as she came a wooden creation now reverse of the ancient italic fairy tale of a boy puppet comes to life, as she was made into a tree and a  mass of leaves as she had been a mass of hair and flecks of green eye  before…
GRACIE:
It figures as much…the girls are always the ones who pay in these things.
PONTIFF: Laughs.
Yes well, it is a man's world. When he saw that his ignitions had caused her to call out to be made into the weeds itself and not succumb to his chariot of love, instead of being aroused with anger and expression and viciousness like a woman or a thug might, he was made all the more sad that this had happened. He bent


ANCIENT ROMANCE: The Play. 10


down, knelt down at the tree, and tickled it with his golden hands, and bestowed upon it bows and it knits once he pined for, heehaw, he gave the tree eternal life as he was aft to do, dear girl, he made it pepepetually green,  the bay leaves, the oaken laureate even generals use, it never falls as do most others in the sad auctioned  autumnal  wind, the belief in tea laurels we have as Italians, the name of the very city we incant, so close to the Roman horse, the red menace, we sue to make food aromatic with the aromatics cum of the girl made sap, we use the fifer gear eves to make the food we eat palatable to sue, and more than that, see Roan generals’ having taloned the gold insignia from dead Etruscans as they do like Locusts and katydids, the bodies of fallen like do Arabs swine,  how use the oak cluster and the bay leave laurels as do poets and artists forever recalling the tale of the one who got away.

[He goes too a table and takes out and old military insignia.]

The order of the laurel of the praetor, dear I got this in oh, its 47 now, 1090’s  is a great young sly soldier  and read then of Daphnis and the great love that always gets away, if one is lucky, as to snare that love is a kind of rape, and then owner than that a taking of a peacock or a loveliest bird and parceling them in some suburban box, a cage, like a bird man or a old biddy making a free creature sing and bound around on a swing all day, it snit worth it. So such is the story of Alpu and Daphnis, showing a kind of love that should and must be tragedy, the goat songs sing and the rabbits play the guitarre as my mother told me when I was a boy,  rather than just mere acquiring, though I’ve done my share of that too…. Toll there are always some we shall remember and keep close as a laurel or a bay leave or a signage of our perpetual love which is better than any mere wife or husband who eventually one wishes to poison off…. Thank God ive never been there, dear child, no, not for me, the women who wanted to poison me thankfully have always been mistresses scorned, these bitches who have learned to hate me, as I have been blessed….

Gracie: [rolls her eyes.]
Uh huh, we all have been blessed, great father….





01 February 2017

AS I WAS SAYING….



i. The basic tenet at to all I am and do is this simple phrase, as I have said before. I am not again one of those lovable wops you see and enjoy on television.

ii. During Saturnalia, I committed to and did three strips which is my word for sometimes multipage comicals and cartons and one pagers and did them all as I said I would. Have to hear back about one and the others are sent in and cast as dice. I DID THE pages during the holiday, as it was nice diversion from the vibrato and the cum stained poison that came from hags and creeps, trash and thugs who suddenly imagine this, weren’t as against OLD grey mare Hilly as you would have thought when in fact they voted against her so often than any trashed concierges or gone baby gone negroes who didn’t show up for her, as perhaps as I thought and even warned, too many middle class families were shattered and torn asunder by this bow caster shown as lovers of the familiar party when in fact more than a few back men and sons and fathers were sent to prisons and wars, the only jobs program the Clintons and Bushes can argee upon in the duchy they have figured to split between their paltry takes.

A gal I am working for as much as anything, I say with, but as most things juts do what II do and send it in, good or bad and don’t take as Sallust said, Dictation. She asked me, Tony why is it when you show a standard  as you often do in your work, she liked the image of the Italian banker standing smoking under a standard as he was, Brutus he was named, as in the yellow sun air of all placed Buffalo, New York, a standard flies sadly and forlorn ly from a blue state and thus left to the rigamortis of aldermen and tenement upkeep, a telephone pole, and she added, why is the standard sin your work, like this and telleus meter, the solider in shining metal armor, why is the standard always frayed and barley kept together…? Because, it is I said, and vain gloriously myself sent her a link to a work called Regalia explaining all that was about to happen, if it was bloated an pompous and self righteous it might as well be German, this making her laugh Jewish she is, and broken and frayed and busted and unraveling, like the republic in which we live, it is and decent and Roman and whole and pure, like the three graces, and is like those last pages in the decline and fall of the roman empire, whose last gasp as roman soldiers does and did so bother the English queers who thought it impunity to give in a copy of an English book a twenty page translators introduction, much like the one in my Boccacchio, lest I take away the wrong ideas that Penguin didn’t want me to take. I must make the standard as sketchy and unsheltered and barley held together as that first and last Romans awards was, the clean dun shining lies of Augustus if I may and the cleaning quickies if imperial woe mean little to me as much as does the at wits at arms length at odds at extremis, at last bastion at ends and means stand of a society of Italian farmers whose crass crowns are true and real, as grass and wool and old incitements are the best and only honoraria they have We'll get there thanks to the Bush family and their new found help at Yale quads, soon enough. There is dignity, dignities honor I say and am told in poverty, the nuns told me, as they and the priests too, they loved that last gasp of Roman devotion too, from where I learned it as a boy in 1977 or so, and it is in that unraveling red stained reminder and clutched unto silk, like say that of a praetor who wont share his manta with mother dreariest, in which there is a sadness of empire which you Jews and spics haven’t ever gotten close enough to too ever understand, much less take that thing which is the fulcrum of all art, realization and recognition.



iii. I had a chance to get some comics done and our there, although again and this now is a trend, I WAS TOLD NOT TO USE the characters I HAVE made and subsequently copywritered as my own, again not trusting the society that the society of Jesus and my father told me was a nest of vipers long ago that make Sicily look positively tame and un highwaymen as Himmler himself once said the third Reich was nothing compared to the nation of Ragtime and the stealing of superman from Jewish kids, you know so new Hercules could fight Hitler for the temerity of thinking his race was dominate when in fact they were barely English at all, and didn’t even have a real history of slavery as the Spanish and Jews had. Slaves adhere to your masters that Jewish praetorian said, you know.  Poor Shuster, he who got nothing for creating that better mousetrap, which is better as all things American as a theoretical and thus no string attached idea. I have been told before I could not use my own ideas, but unlike comics I have done called Mr. Invincible for writers wishing to get a foot hold somewhere anywhere though I may not be the best to do that but who like my work, they don’t give me a character they have invented, which I am more than wiling to do, no, they just tell me whatever it is I cant own it, but they wont give me one. My brother, as I have said,  is sharper and smarter than I, as I have said smells a con, but I went ahead and did five covers for this miniseries anyway, though couldn’t use Angry as a magazine of satire, as I have sued, but instead they saw a cover I had done and posted I called Mud, which somehow waddnt a copyright infringement, which a I have said before an since Augustus, there has always been a satirical intent codicil to our empires greasy weasel laws about copyright, which even the Italians and Romans you see as all criminals have never had.  Did my share of it and sent some in and as usually happens the people as if they had never seen my work before; again, they were not kind or impressed.

Why was I dong this then I thought, as have cast off most work in a under the weather time of January, but wasn’t sure exactly what they thought I was to do, or why, as suddenly I was far too subtle I was told, --that’s ME, EVEROYNE I WAS TOO SUBTLE, WOW, still they wanted more cartoonist, which I wasn’t  enough, more like Wally wood, -- that’s ME AGAIN THAT’s ME THAT THEYY WERE TALKING TO, GOOD GRAVY!—I wasn’t cartoon enough whatever still, I really wadnt in the mood to keep going, at all, and again somehow they felt cheated as if I ever preened to be anything else. But while doing some of these pages I went to the internet and looked up free copies of comics I was trying to redo or do like, and as I may have said at face book was looking for NOT BRAND ECCH as I love the work of Marie Sevrin, especially as her Wonder woman, who I noted like the Scarlet witch is given a larger bust and true black hair in these comics, freed from whatever edicts and caveats, decrees and demand that uncle Stan placed down, as it took roman satire to allow a pretty brunette into the bullpen where Jack the hack made sure a brunette like his wife would never be welcomed into his fake world as wives were horses that bitched at poor men who may or may not have had Capote put his underwear back  in backwards as a signage to the wife that this blind hack later re seen and made into a Virgil by sportscasters on political hack TV, turns out I was right when I said he was a canary in a gold mine as the mimeos are starting to fly, was again, playing the filed with keep girls at Gothem quarterly. I downloaded the massive fold more than any other shared ware comic I ever took off the tubes of the internet, a reason I took a nice respite from having put the ram on me by men of the people who find again and too late that the Bush And Sorsus IOUS aren’t worth the people they are written on, as in Scorsese and old movies, those snowflakes turn out to be soap fakes, and detergent, just like the blood that smears itself in the tenement walls, as I a Roman prefer less falseness than all of this. As a Roman I say if bothering to put blood on the wall, or like an antony have it cover your hands as a signage of ones liberator decency, it better be fucking real blood, that’s for damn sure.



iv. I downloaded the comics, and after a few pages not having found wonder woman yet or ever Marie yet, whose brother husband if connected at all, John Severin didn’t get a book of his mad work in a box set of comics as did my beloved Jack Davis and Wally Wood and Elder whom as I said, I have never liked, as if again Severin, he was persona non grata because as that blimp citizen Gaines said he didn’t ‘draw funny’, which im still not sure what that even means. In this comic, I saw what I think is wrong with America to day, shown even back then by the king of hard sell, old Stan the man Lee, who never stops closing to the pivot that enough already, as with Scorsese is the only legit answer to the position like talents of a perpetual motion machine, is he. I saw that I can interestingly enough speak for the rest of America cant take about the horrid satire now, the cutsey pie way that the marble comic creeps were shown, a play at satire, and the meanness at which the brad X dc was shown, meanness which parades and sanctifies itself as satirical when its nothing but its ugly unmarried and unmarketable cugine Ridicule. I was not shocked really and glad I didn’t pay the thirty bucks I  would have bought the whole kit and caboodle for at a local comic store, of using my augers gifts t know id hate it, as this was an American thing as seen now, in that NOT BRAD ECCH was a perfect distillate of the strage underpinnings of sanctimony from a hard sell goniiff like Old Stan, always be closing Stan, Glengarry Glenn Ross Stan, poormouth blue streak Stan, I had a feeling this was what I’d get and actually started to resent having sued a whole gigabyte to get it down as again, there was level of meanness that I will never have and cant thanks to the Franciscan  nuns as never as willing to be on the Bush family payroll as never ever will be as have an inkling their vaults are filled with postdated  checks, and lead nickels, and they like all patricians of names and names only, are more weathered and hollow like the Hillary campaign alas as we now hear from prince of foxes as his ilk always does when Lucretzia is gone and tries to get back in the rabbles aside again as life if not imperia goes on bra my oh how de life gooes ouhnnn, obladay obla dah… Sometimes the wind itself   tells me of the unfrayed standards of the Bush house dry cleaned and ever so proper, the House of M, upturns downthrows, fake patrician hood are always over cleaned, and kept much more nicely than those held by the rabble marching arks through Italy or in Dante’s Florence trying too melt the Ice, and find the old ruins, and that as roman Tony says is a dead giveaway to the dust of imperial rot within.





v. What made me sad was seeing these hags and cunts trash and pigs, in some Greek choruses of fag hags and queens, whiter cunts than you know, myopic and ugly witches, sorry if harch, too harsh for the pigs, nothing more wide sweeping or demeaning than  a fag named Dickens seeing of the women as all the witches of Italy, maybe that should be vce versa but don’t care to get that penny dreadful hack right, as there were no gracious ladies or far away goddesses of Chaucer for that queen, a fish run lead by ageing twat Madonna, whose knew wasn’t just using a gynecological exam as a replacement for having talent. Ah, but once again old divine miss M is always right and has seen her ilk before god knows, no matter who white your skin is dear, you coming as she did from the same Umbrian Plains as Alan Alda and Cassius, still you are a dago whore dear and my mother warned me about how you masters will eventually treat you honey, especially  if show a Neapolitan love of the sun and the sex which Cicero even said came from the worshipers of it as is found in that ancient city. Speaking of which, I by accident heard this cretin again on the Radio, speaking of the traps they lay for even the lightest sonend of the Neapolitan wouldn’t take that as an insult as her kind might, I heard this Huge faggot shit on cbs radio, still screeching about Penn State for reason  am unsure as that great ending for the last class of Joe Patetno seemed to enflame our human hemorrhoid even more as I don’t know what he is looking for exactly, a disinterment  of Joppa’s grave, perhaps,  I m snot sure, but something must be done, he demands what I am sunerrs, as the rapists and wife beaters start to outnumber those who are not in the nfl he like they do seems to carrey water for. As all Lee j Cobb public avengers as he always insists, though I am unsure what it why or where or how, but something more must be done as he revels in calling whatever gaped there in that shower as rape, saying it with a child’s joy at saying a bad word, whereas Rape of women as done in say the north side, and black couches who knew of hangovers gong nowhere , that isn’t such a big deal as he  brings up Rottensbugher as do all the tomboys without so much as a dirty word. This creep keeps screeching about Penn state, for reasons I am uncertain, but I can smell the sulfur, maybe nothing more than Italians have been made a stand in for all the darkeis I’m so sure he ready hates, whoever it is wherever these linemen are kept in, whatever it is that tooth as pop says is rotten and makes the tongue go there, whatever, it shows something that they standing on principal, ever know is as transparent as the face maskers never really understand. I don’t know what this hack hag creep pig wants exactly maybe only fake outrage, maybe worse, maybe he doesn’t know either, but something about a man going out is way too make sure we know he is firmly against child molestation called rape by him n a glissando of fraudulence, again while the nfl seems more than willing to have woman molesters in its ranks despaired what unmarred first and Tom Sawyer like gals say on cable TV, whatever this creep is after I don’t know.

But he keeps saying the word death penalty over and over, as if it means something, carefully not a Latinesque Precedent, god knows as certainly he don’ts seem to be as concerned about how in the black arts of legalism somehow a gal who called herself raped was through the Jewish jujitsu of legalese, made a whore who now that we think of it may have actually went to a co- ed party asking to have ten men cum in her yap, all woman are whores if not ugly witches, see Dickens above, so, at any minute with the cunts on their side in their pockets it is amazing how quickly that wall of cunt that can be whipped about there can find itself love of eye socket blood is just for those who make a Playboy cartoon or an aside, but if the fates are going to get even with Ben and the rest of the now called killer bees who lost their stingers on prime time television, well, that will have to come through the attritions of bad ratings. Think this ghoule getting Patrenos hide would have fed this interviewing vampire enough, and yet, I smell the sulfur as did Gore in that film, and as for this hack saying there was never a connection between sports  and the university system, wrong again, dear old hack, closet everything. You see going back to the ancients and to the recreation of universities again, Oxbridge was in fact still a cow pasture when the lyceum remade at Naples was breaking down, but what cabal television show would be sad neigh to show that like so much erected first in Italy before like with poetry and rock and roll England could make its oxen go across bridges and preened they invested it, the roman line was sound mind sound body and thus people were emptied to play at parts as a way to learn sportsman ship and decency an such, and after all, dear sissy old, Gymnasium in fact, naked youths and I ever told the Latin wished for me to take by my own lets say, eyeing priests, it means that in fact, as some I know anyone who is attached to sports in such a way well it to my jaundiced eye reveals much the more you are sure you aren’t standing in principal I  hear echo’s of something else, but then such is my greatest talent.

I do hope that idiot Madonna is put in jail for insinuating that shed blow up the white house, oh as close as shell ever get to be an ISIS, as Turan or Minerva alas was always out of the question, Venus only as an American way as turning the tricks of entrainment and with her fake Brash accent, the essence of American hood, as I have been of eating crow always with her ilk, everything can be a sad sexual pun. I do hope after she aid she so hated Trump and is soooo devoted to Hillary you see shed commit mass murder, where were you at when those hospitals were being bombed, but then Madam Lugosi has made a party as crass as all the gumba Jews have always been.

To blow up the praetorium, a mere toll booth I grant now, is sad even for this aging whore. So blow up the white house, dear, squeaky is catching, and through, easier than having to vote for her, again the reach is all, such a good little wop living out her dago creed as murderer and a history of Vice that the Jews are so sure of as they build their pens I wasn’t allowed to be against once, how about that…? I HOPE SHE IS PUT IN JAIL, accused you see dear, you hack, you dago cunt, you stupid wop twat, see Barry the fairy when in full imperial bloom, he made sure that words were brought back such a wonderful lovely man, he made sure that Irish garbage like Billo and Chris Matthews could call men sympathizers again, words made a joke in Altman and the MASH I LOVED AS A KID, words like rabble rouser and men were put in jail for merely thinking the thought crime that America somehow wasn’t allowed to crack open a nation for no reason, the giant flag wipers barely recall that, the whip having been theirs for far too long and they thought they had bought it. and not only not leaving roads like the Romans, they managed to make sure priceless antiques were stolen and somehow all ended up on tear sheets and safest and sups of for sale papers sent to various western museum lists, as though this was an Arab and not quite the bonanza that is Roman stiff to the middle browed cultured of America still, was a bargain at these prices. I hope duped ageing cunt like stake tartar Madonna goes to jail as better Italians went to jail as we know now than her for less. Not only is this cunt no Gina or Sophia or Peir or Cardinale red and full breasted in the Tyberius trees. I want this hag to go to jail, because being a button man is sad enough of a Italian American crime dream, but doing it for an ageing hag cunt like Hillary or any Clinton, or any Bush even is an Italian tragedy whose retiling had been done enough so much it makes the lesbians angry, or muddy, as the case may be.

vi. At some hungered, haggard, ragged convention of unmarred pigs, this old whore got up and said this masking thing, showing again the liar tells the truth when thinking they are lying the most, another off those Jesuitical equations you really should have read up on dear Madam Borgia Hillary before putting America through this perpetual third act you wont lay go.

As I write again this, prince off foxes tread gingerly, seeing the hemorrhaging off ratings says it isn’t purely we don’t hate you middle classed 240 percent grown  poverties pimps and Sicilians, no we just never noticed you much even though we had an inkling you couldn’t stand Livia. He dismissed the queen of the Tyberian body count. Now that’s entrainment. The kings of the last act age are falling in the chilly winds, as I said, quoting the beloved by Jesuit when I was a kid Napoleon said losing is its own purge but again, with these ratings…sorry well see who wishes to be a sellout for eth dying old queen, as I know one thing, this dago cunt Madonna, like Michel Corelone being a war hero, they love trashing the Italians best with their worst, Donna not so gentila, our handmaiden at a perpetual Salo, ho!!!!!!!!, isn’t the sort of Goddess that my brother Bill, brazen Bill has loved since he was a kid as have I, Madonna has never been my Italian goddess, though she is Umbrian with blue eyes and white skin, same as Beatrice, oh Darwin was a liar, she isn’t my her, the she, and I dint think  his, so I’d be careful again as I have warned as much as anything, if this Kotex patrol thinks that Capt Billy will let this keep making him relive this failure of his name over and over, your family has my name on it dear, too out it in the terminology of the only roman mythology we are allowed, if you hags and twats think Bill will live through this snow strum, this sludge, this Italian avalanche much more,well I have a feeling that our tie wearer wont. As how about a woman telling me I made that up, oh go ask Maureen dear, I bother the hags instantly, if you think my buddy Roman Bill, which was a designation bothering this hag too, if you think my man Roman Bill, yes Roman Bill, I take it the hee haw analogies didn’t bother you enough to mention it, oh well, sorry, but one has to pull out if the skid before it takes you off the minivan bridge, dears, as I have  feeling that the Roman Bill show I was going  to tell him  this and then felt to leave him, alone that Roman as a descriptive bother some hag, well as he would say quoting Plautus again, you don’t have any, I have an inkling and am alas right, ask Arod I knew hed, uh, run out of steam, and the flags didn’t come that day, i have a feeling our buddy Bill always took the side like me of Norman Mailer, and I leave it at that.


 Goodnight, Laura. 

vii. A public official was according to wgn gotten rid if dared  to call these sold witches and crows ugly women…I cant say what I see this time, lovers of truth when it came to the sopranos like those stung by wolves of wall street positively ballistic you hurled your shit at them, as they always are exempt. OH, I cant say all the Jew jokes, fine once, now which were fine for Monica, or the woman once shown as graces on Roman works were almost no one Is blond, imagine that, and now have been placed in a limbo until the hags and the bitches are retold to disrobe another praetors girlfriend just because its fun, ….oogh F you dears, see along with those spics and Arabs who think they are loved, remember Roman Antony’s scenes of the gilded door amid how quickly you and find yourself as persona non grata and how fast a man can become Pompey with of all people Chuckie as the wall street bankers friend as champeen of the poor and the weak and where do I go to dip my beak, emphasis’s on the beak….well I will call you anything, I have he impunity of the roman dago mad man at the triumph, less like anything Caesar had for Hillary as much as Sky Masterson singing away in a sewer that shed be saved by a Roman goddess, who has always hated her and loved her husband in front of her, like most of the DAR.

But to show how sad I feel as this march of the unaired and unquaffed was going on, depilatory cream is after all a mark of imperialism as somehow Gigi Marquez never is, still, during this another TACITUS MOMENT OF SAD RELAXATION, THAT FROZEN MOMENT IN WHICH WORDS AS DANTE SAID ARE UNNECESSARY, and might just muck things up. So Goodnight Mary, and Della my beloved boyhood goddess as  a symbol of the kind of woman I desired and wished for so bad, some of us need, finding only the conniving with lesbians whose divinity just begged too be demeaned with wayward, no icy and careful smarmy dismissals from Roman plays and farces, the society girl Friday we all dreamed of before the rabbis left being so near my pops decaying candy store, he asking my dad to send me to Harvard as a spitting from the inferno heart to the Harvard swells. But, my father would have no part of it, as these two old men missing the old country more then William Payly would call for, so Della Street,  the rialto cigarette girl sympatric Kelly girl answer to the bloved by television married woman as she helped her oafish hero solve crimes always on the side of the defense and never as cops a da, they were always buffoons then. Della and Laura are gone today I write this, sad it is, but even a misto mother seeing this who she adored them too, before we all became Ovid’s blonds in the mausoleums, and the brick and the Romans weren’t fitting anymore to a Jew or Arab chancre diner party thrower who was serving shit, from where again we get as I once proscribed, eating crow. THE IDIOT, unaccustomed to the Georgetown sub urba life and still a hack and a grasper as his ilk always is, served crow to the swells of the fashionable part of Rome, and didn’t uh,…lets say what is called, what does my mother do to those fish she salts as was taught by the Chinese who got there first or most, well when you take a beast and tress him for eating tailing out the innards, which the Italain to Greek and Jews horror thought, made sausage and sweetebards were as edible as anything. See, to eat crow means in plicate Romans circles forever ever since to eat shit. So, I packed here a story told to me by a Jewish chubby cute office girl once at DreamWorks,  who saw my work as despite myself and my affections quite early to sell and make and even commercial, --how dare you!—Still she sent me missives from la la land, as I was far enough away to make it count. and she told me that Madonna, Madonna, Madonna, writhe around and Twyla it up when you say that pal, sucker, she wanted the role of the princess in that snotty movie made my loved Meathead, and this girl told me that not quite a chip off the old block as have adored Carl since he my first hero and who I wished to become, ALANNNNNN BRAAAAYADDDAYYYYY….that’s when we were all Jerry Paris then, and that in this fairy tale movie, that Madonna wanted to play one of the roles like Stallone as superman  she was ‘too Italian’ for, as  Meathead wouldn’t even read her. I DON’T KNOW IF TRUE, BUT AS THE JESUITS TOLD ME ANY LAWYER WHO CAN’T GET HEARSAY INTO A TRIAL ISNT WORTH HIS FEE. I have loved Rob Reiner since I a kid, and he was a best part of wolf of wall street, don’t forgo the audience, dont sneer at them too much, kids, the Roman rules still the same, don’t do it Martin, it is everything!, as I heard some Jew trying too make him out to be some turn coat , as the white woman now use shame you see that for them dint, even to Brady fer Trumpie, you’re only allowed to be close to a man like that of having the bonds of matrimony and Italian history dear, but see, don’t use shame you anti Dellas, and anti Lois that our Lana Langs always hate, see cause if you want to use shame you really should, you Pittsburgh football fans and democrats, have less rapists in the parade than you do.



viii. A girl I sort of met came up to me, because of my Cowboy hat, and she started to talk to me because of it. As another cute Italian woman, quite Sarah Spanish in demamenor, she told me with a knock of her fingers against my navy blue cap, ad its cesarean star, playfully causing its blue bill to fall against my face, and when I sited it up saw this pretty, lippy, gal standing there with smarty smile, Hey dude, she said, I feel bad about the cowboys, too. Never turning up my nose at a pretty girl of that tanned Gumby smiled sort I said as reaffixed my cap, lest she know I am as bald as I am, my meter like Bills is always on, I said, I don’t feel bad young lady, I had an inkling that the Cowboys were going to be the human sacrifice in this rites of vespacian —I trailed off realizing this pretty, tanned skin, girl had no idea what I WAS TALKING ABOUT, and so just smiled back, always a smart thing to do. She started too tell me how she was disappointed in that lug Arod going on to again, as I augured, lose badly in a championship game , but at least as I sometimes do , despite the circumstanced, that piggish lout coach did get another line in his always flouted at you résumé of liens and championship games, when not playing  a cowboy team suddenly avowed too be openly rigged  against by a dying sport and the bloated hack who is taking if off the ledge, dimwit Gödel, is stupid enough  to think  America  hates, as despite the paid and payee house everything’s who support him and his teams of rapists and cheaters cable television, its the audience he loses. I saw, she said, her smiling at me and quite curvy in a long limbed sort of way, that they cant sell this super bowl to no body she said, and it serves them right, showing again, as Machiavelli said, no one is as stupid as they hope they are, and as in fact, America, that place supposedly against the cowboys has said a giant Feh to blood sport this year causing the tom boys and the sissies and the ninnies if sport talk to not know the first rites of Roman circus. To that jewie rat in fan radio whose numbers have plummeted too, as this super bowl shows us what the next for years would have been had Hillary wan, yawwwwwwwnnnnnn, there is indeed as Niccollo said a fatiguing quality to evil and again, despite the niggers of spirits radio and television and the Prairiea filled with cowturds, no one wants to root root root for Tom Brady, already openly laughed at, and for him to get even with the fact that some one caught him yet again. I hate when he and the Clintons are said to be Machiavellian, that BLACK SIANT OF the black Priests, it bothers me as to say that if they were more like Machiavelli, they would be caught so often, but that just me. I’m not watching any shitty instant apathy uberbowl, I’m watching Mary.

She was very cute, an Italian girl of the sort unseen on the Jewish theater that is acceptable Minstrel shows asking to be seen as art as Gene Siskle called it all, and she stood there more affable and open to me that I often think girls are or should be to and with me as I am perhaps a bit more guarded than I ought to be. She continued talking to me as if she knew me and I found here very pretty, friendly, and disarming. She had those lovely, droopy, half asleep eyes of a Mitchem sort, the kind of moody somnambulant eyes and dopey air I adore and a long thing lipped smile, very Italian as again unseen on the myriad of minstrel  shows that Jewish in laws and America has loved as they pretend now they just love Muslims so now, so much and see,  if they happen to close the golden door and or bomb an aids caravan all paid by Jews and such who start to get a bit nervous  when they lay it on so thick as the hypocrites literally always do. And, which doesn’t even make a needle move amid the smiling and red carpet dancing hags, you Arabs now beloved as they weren’t for Fisa bills that the 400 voted against, no matter what they Jew us down with now, do remember to take the whoops and the apologies with the with crocodile tears and apologies with the can of salt they deserve, remember, it doset rain drones, it  pours, and bidness is bidness. Watching the Laugh in reruns, which we aint getting anything like now that the National Biscuit company thinks they are going to be the new Fox, so fuck you fat hags, and such is life,  what you get when you sell your soul to the arms traders and toasters makers, I realize as a boy again, I hated Lilly Tomlin who comes in now two months into this replay, as I find this hag cunt was trying to take over for and from the gal I really did like, the cute Ruth. I hate that cunt Lilly Tomlin, ever leaning her or her usual mod aspect of making fun of the menially and viciously trashed  the working women, telephone operators and in fact DAR. I hated Lilly Tomlin, even as a kid, and her smart ass act, making fun of  the housewives and telephone operators, and ladies in ermine and furs, dammed and demeaning all, as Ruth always seemed much cuter and more of a cutie pie to me, prettier more than she was allowed to be, but funny Ruth Buzzi who I always had filial dago piety for an with. Plus Ruth, she seemed to be game enough to wear a bikini or even a one piece too dame it up for the news, as the other one doesn’t seem willing to do so, not that I feel slighted by it.


She was quite open and friendly to me, and this made me calm down and be frisky to her and she was quite friendly and started to talk with me. Here in this sad new Sicily they have invested which my mother taught me about when rape victims with names and skin more like Joe Paterno than not, this street corner girl told me she was set upon by three miscreants out to rape her in the sad perpetually duchy town. There idiots were out to rape this girl there in the abandoned left behind town. She like one of the smart princesses in Calvino didn’t lose her head or get cursed as they did their share of Italian woman as my mother warned me, as it was open season here in the cesspool once, near  black bar, she started screaming ARAB TERRORISTS, ARAB TERRORISTS!!!!! AS SHE RACED TO THE EMPTY DEPARTMENT STORE WINDOWS, as smoked these idiots, one of whom I knew by name as a wop dimwit always hanging around the white trash hillbillies they were always willing to be muscle for, the patristic of the black bar came out with brickbats and stool legs and beat these fools spineless, and this made my Roman heart proud, as welcome to the land of the sopranos dears.


As I could be a bitch and note that Martin Scorsese didn’t get a Oscar nomination as a life time of mean streets was thrown away on a film showing the Jews as almost as bad or at least as Mediterranean as the sicilaians are, a total lack of decorum, or at least a lack of canine decency to bite the hand that barely fed you. They did give an nomination to Mel Gibson, wow!--showing all was forgiven, yeeeeeow are you in for it, Marty, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, it seem to be all I do. Death of Brutus. If only you kept your black arts to trashing your own fathers race, Though my father did tell me his family was in fact Jewish, causing again that rabbi who didn’t like him or Copollla to say as I said befire It would figure, and  guess this year was good as again another ruin falls to the sorry earth, as they openly snicker at Tom and if this year’s sourball, sorry Super bowl,  will be the one where one man can somehow equal the output of the Dallas cowboys,  who have been winning since the Johnson administration that one man can equal that in fifteen years after being caught cheating in multiple  occasions going back to the Roman letters, this supwerbowl will be 51, written L 0ne, and thus sounds like superbowl Lie, can anyone here play this Roman game, as  signora Fortuna wll get her hides, kids. As a minuet that’s showed who and what we are came true in Tatcius fashion, perfect for the peacock now changing its colors, or maybe when youu think about it, maybe not so much, kiss  that frog, as I have to wonder what Hollywood it will be that will promote us all, and be the keepers of the flames of this republic, will it be the one that gave us the Sopranos or the one that gave us the Homeland , or after all will it even matter as the memos go out, as after all we have to do business with Trumpy, a Cattline who after all, like Caesar said too old queer jew Marcus, could give bribes while Hillary was putting the arm, on the rich consenti  just once too often. While the kiddies ahd their latest  weekly prom and did their screeds, within reason, lest the Jewish money men in new York and wary yet the in laws of Anglican banking heard something too close to not being willing to shut that golden door in a moments notice as the Knesset once was amusingly when again they held the whip the answer to all polemics,  and any wayward Arabs blowing up fags say would be laied at Barry’s feet and now, who cares, without power, what is America but a rumor after all. I CAN smell this bit of Mediterranean courage and decency. While at this bloated gala, and this self loving was, an Arab weirdo shot up a Masque in Canada but did like the Sopranos and Copula have taught the niggers, made sure they point their guns as far far away from where any Jews are giving their laughing giggling bags of rhinnoplasty door  prizes for whatever I spit on your graves they had to make to keep their pools. As I warn you now beloved Arabs, if you think you’ll ever really be allowed to live anything down, remember to learn how to take a joke, as from the always there giggling cretins and creeps and fat girls, always recall that laughter is the best medicine, or poison depending in how much detergent blood or soap flakes they put in the well water.