As proud as I am of my hurling bullshit right aback at the Warren Ellis--ses-- es and Francis Ford Coppollas of the world,--really, they have too many men with pale faggy girlie arms and who wear dirty captain America T- shirts who think they are Chaucer--, and as I wear the distaste of me by fat Hillary dykebots with the honor of a ribbon on a dress blue uniform, or even as the red blood plume feathers of a roman centurion which were meant to mirror the woodpecker Mars began life as, I am also quite proud of other gentler moments of approval and of being admired ALMOST as much.
I have some hand written notes sent to me, that are held in a folder with old untouched pencil drawings of many unfinished vunder-pow-miss annie-ubergirls. Yes, all, all with massive Tits and tucheses , dears, ...am I being too much like Paul Mooney when I wince at white woman and fags who detest cartoon big titties...I wonder...? One is from a publisher who called my work, the most enjoyable he had seen all year. One is from a directorial sort who thought my story of poor madman footsoldier Lucius, by me, was superior to that "Im Shapparticusss' Kirk Douglass shit, or as I like to call it, One flew over the Eagle's nest. Please, The Romans raped the Umbrian farm girls mercilessly and them ripped fetuses out of the poor girl's stomaches...that To Tell The Truth , MY name is Sparticus goulash isnt going to trip them up. You know, like, how the Jews did to the Canaanites and all...
Also, a few years ago, a black woman scholar sent me a note that she had read a novella in the RM collection I sent her ad for her collections of myths, a story called THE GODS OF WARS, and that was about the flood as seen by ancient Italians, and, the avian birth of Mars. She told me in a note she would love to read my work, buy my work and keep my work, but as she was starting a publishing house for coloreds, and was looking for any folktales non-white, she didn't think she could sell my work. She had been looking for different Folktales from various civilizations and had to admit that the shit she got was very much in the shit one gets from Jews and Injuns and Negroes and others, so decent and so cleansed it made her ill. But mine was true to the name Roman, she said, in that strange compliment Jews and Niggers never understand, and how she liked it immensely. A White woman--of course Italian, I later sent it to made a point that I was an idiot and had kept on misspelling Minerva, all the way through. [As seen above , the bronze aged name of the goddess and her bitchy, cutie pie attitude was forged by Tyrranians as Menvra, literally man-egg, and later Turks distorted it all into their Anatolian greeky jewy syrian bullshit.As usual. ]
But, this lady black scholar scholar liked it and me, amazingly for some one denounced by the wop princes of Brooklyn as a fascist, but, this was 2004, and the age of the Sopranos, you know, as if that somehow shorthandedly explained it all. But she was kind to me and I hated the gumba sopranos more then than her, for merely telling a strange truth of things. And she was a scholar with a Harvard background in African history not some peanut eating, pork chop guzzling, white woman hunting, afro sheen, soul train, bullshit artist like Kordell West.
I feel a waining of the energies that I used to put into things, to get such accolades from people, as I am becoming somnambulant now in trying to write like a white broad. I took out parts of 'Statius and Tarentino', re- seen in the last two posts, and I felt bad about it, and wonder what will be worse, if it is after all I have done to it , not accepted and not published, or if... if it will be...?