25 December 2007

Happy Saturnalia...
I woke up early on Christmas eve and went outside, though the back door, past the overgrown green shrubs, past the phone poles and the wire gates, and into the early daytime and the antenneas which stood like leafless tress in the air. Up the street were some tossle capped negro boy-men who are living out dey lives dat dey have had meant for them by liberal and conservative masters of america long ago, ie, killing someone not white and making not too much money in their american dream. Mixed in this street scene was the occasional blue explorer rolling down the stret, or even cadilacs they drove towards churches on this appporated roman holday, whizzing past the wool wearing nergos on foot. Past them, up the street was the line of demarkation between hoods and hoods, as the Negros were walking downtown toward the water of the gray river, back to where they had been demanded to be and go, by bleeding hearted powermongers long before little rock gave us fractured saints, no less imperially than the spanish and the portiguese had cut the earth in two in more ancient times. The blue and white tank like cars were all going up the hills towards the kmart and the fine liquer stores and the beer distrisbutorships where the better off did their last minute holday shopping. And the sky of off roman blue smelled of middle level cologne and perfumes, which came out from the open windows of the rocketship colored minivans.
I had a nice haul of old cheap dc comic paper, printer paper and flairs. I have now, of course, three interested in a script can not open on this infuriating laptop, which I hate. I may have venture back to Zio Frankie's fagtown doge palace of cracking cement, and have a few translations into pdfs again. I have to work quick, not only out of being noted by the glory hole gangster as verdian heroine crowd, but too, even being near Coppolas hell hole, as the imagery of his mixture of auturity and shilling dago red table grappa mkes me both sick and quite suspicious.