07 April 2009



It seems again, poor grandfather Rome has been hurled into the latest go round of its existence of being smashed, and then revitalization ,then smashed yet again, by the great Aryan sky God Thor of the celestial heavens, who, sadly is a Lutheran replacement for the more vital Masaccio Father God of the first great work of the reawakened Empire. The Circus and the loop of rubble to facade back to rubble again, contends in Italy as no where else I think, which is what is so fascinating about a land not quite as ancient as some, and yet, much more modern than most.As, well, there is no Etruscan Liberation Organgization, and yet, no Tuscani live in waterless slums and neither are they scalded with phosphorus, despite being so adored by the caring world. There is a moral in that.





Perhaps It would have been too much to ask, to think that President Gidget could have made mention of this disaster , or this most late destruction to befall the land of Tesus, and Romulo, both of whom have eerie similarity to both Jesus and Mohamed, but why be a bitch and bring such up...? The world has its newest golden boy, and is now held by Semites who fight an incessant war over land the pompous centurions thereof wouldn’t be caught dead within, as it is, as Josephus showed us, so easy to be a Jew in Un-kosher, Pancetta laden, Rome. Or in the case of the Jews of the phony Joey Reynolds show, be so observant on Broadway, which means I guess picking Sarge’s deli over Grossburghers, though Audrey told me a few years ago she would not buy so much as a paper in Sarges deli so , well, untidy a place was it. And with them is placed the insufferable Arabs, as they can find sharia a much more palatable thing in Ann Arbor. It was stupid for anyone to think such a catastrophe in Italy , or third act, would even be passingly mentioned by always spinning bullshitting dervish, god knows, as he is now our reverse Aeneas, returning to fore bearer Turkey, again showing right off the bat, that passion , at least Josephus wise, is catching. Time and tides and all. Hell, if I had to be an Arab , or love Arabs, or laud them, shit, I would do it in the rubble of the first Roman colony of sorts, Troy, too. I thought of the commercial I saw for Turkish Tourism after nine eleven, where they made it look like a new or really first Rome, so much for the brotherhood, I guess, and after all, there was a Turkish version of the Iliad before old blind fag Homer, in which there is no horse, only an Atlantis like destruction by angry Gods, but then, a Greek epic can not exist with out a moment of jewing down conniving, later found to be so upsetting to Romanian Aeneas. So that all makes the Koran really look like a newer testament, after all, and Turks like Persians don't let Arabs ever forget it.







Now with that pompous horses ass act which comes by being so lauded by a constantly fake smiling Olberman -really pal, enough with the Mona Lisa shtick, it gets tired when when people are losing their jobs, as At least I , Roman boy, recall you carrying water for Hillary as late as May, bitch,--Dear Stepford Caesar has discovered what a contribution Islam has made to America, ...? Since when...? This scummy fuck punk ass bitch waits until now to allow his Madrassa to show...? That sound you hear is Bill actually wincing in horror at this boy queen. On the day after this quake in Italia, as again, Italians are, as they have millennially, pulled humans looking like Pompey victims out from saffron colored rubble, I saw a email in my box. Re: The Color Purple. a essay by Anthony Acri. Jesus, that's weird even for me! No, I don't open it, as I unlike madrassa boy know all about the Malocchio, and wouldn't dare be as nonchalant and smile hipped and affable and thoughtless as my countrymen breathe in dig up soot, as perhaps it is an Italian thing of shared sacrifice, as shown by Rudy, which you sneering. always laughing Semites seem to gallantly miss. I leave it be, till later. I don't really care what some white woman says to me about that which I know is true. My Ma was right, Erkle, oh he has the malocchio. I sit down with a grapefruit like mass in my Tuchus, and wearily watch something called ''Stardust''. Obviously, I am less enthralled than it is I cant find the remote. Not to be mean or anything, but its is egregious, English magic shit, as usual, and the fact that Clair Danes has no eyebrows is even more disconcerting than its suburban middlebrow magic. My mother looks up at a point where many glass walls are breaking and says, ''Rosalinda'', as a shorthand to some Italian fairy tale which the Englishmen not only pretend to have never read, may have only read in the translation where all magic is lost, but gleefully act as though they never were even written down. I thought of Calvino, enraptured with the dago folktale as a antithesis of this Neil Gaiman shit, again, no offense, in that as he said, amazingly, all the archetypes of such stories were turned on their heads, princes who were corrupt, princesses who were clever and pretty, who could often save themselves, etc., to the point that if there were several examples of a Italian folktale, like Snow White, he often collected the ones which were least like the ones known by Grimms, to the point where Snow white is suddenly taken in by seven robbers rather than lawn gnomes. Robert Di Nero, now suddenly struck ''Irish as folk'', appears as a pirate. Of a different sort than his patented gumba shtick which even Gene Siskle was weary of over ten years ago. "Mara Qua...", my Ma says with disdain, as if to say, ''Lookie here'' in Calabrasean dilect , the one Calvino called the most enchanted of the Italian tongues. I thought about if ever, and not just in a way of self aggrandizement, if ever any Wop would be allowed access to the ancient books so vinegary stolen from and defamed by the English Homos and plagiarizing white women in castellos of boy horror, or would the race be forever damned by the Jersey Barrier fairy lands of Scorsesean gumbattas. I thought of how an editor was amused at my RM, in that he said, the most Lyrical parts were not the Roman myths at all, which were quite dry and factual, but the lyrical and poetic parts was the wraparound story taking place in a fictional Battavia, New York. I had read every thing of Galileo I could before starting it, to get that rustic feel of assurance and even verisimilitude which all Roman work has to its core. But what was I thinking, writing this and reading Galileo no less, around this time of Easter a few years back, what with soon we will all be acorn Niggers, anyway, praising fag killing Castro, hiding our hiddfen from dee taz man and the poleece un-taxed money in mayonesse jars like Uncle Gumba Charley Wrangle, and all be socialists anyway, seeing if getting a gold tooth is somehow in our national heath care plan. Sheesh, Romans...what was I thinking, with smiling Erkle just on the horizon of his endless wars ...? --Oh, well, The city devastated in the terracotta ruins and crumbling volcanic walls was named L'Aquila, which is Latin for The symbol of the state, the Golden Eagle. I am not touching that either, as Menvra whirls signs everywhere, with a ten foot marble pole.

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04 April 2009


HALITOSIS

Part of me was stunned to see the overt, bloated, ass kissing, fawning act of the media, trying desperately to put Erkle the Great back together, as he is so much smarter than anyone, he must be protected grom his propencity towards the occasional retardo joke, and put back together, no matter how much falling down hard imperial steps crack his puppet's body. All whilst Roman Bill, you see, took on all comers as it were, and he made sure you know he held you at farther arms distance than you held him.

On a truly toxic spill of a channel called MSNBC, which was less commie pink when Vladimir Posner was there, as at least he and Donahue had some decency of thought--there was another Jewish bishop, a creep by the name of Howard Finemannneenninnnnpesonemmein. He was busy hurling re fried pollo and rizo, as right wing crap in the face of everyone, as Obamabala is now the sheriff and USA is the indispensable empire , ect,...And I thought, wowwa , this cretin was the man who went after Bill over Monica AS IF HE COMMITTED A WAR CRIME. I guess to a creep like Finaglemenninman shtupping a non blond Jewish gal is akin to a kind of atrocity. Why its against his semetic American dream! He went after Bill with a ferocity as if their snug ''Big Tits at Empire'' blow jobs were some kind of Catiline conspiracy when in actually, it may have all been nothing but something Hillary thought would stupidly hurl her into the praetorio, never having seen that Finemaninin and his ilk are even more shameless than her. I am certain eventually,to paraphrase Cato, and I would read up on him more of I was all yinz, there are at least fifty democratic men who will eventually be shameless enough to run against Erkel as he shamelessly, and was allowed to , run against Hillary, etc, and so it goes.

No, Gaga, He must be saved and lauded, incessantly, at least as it seems according to the Bill Maher-Jonny boy cooperators of the lefty college of cardinals, despite his proclivity towards the occasional slip of a mask and acting like a petty little bitch, with no idea what he is saying. I think it would be great if there was an Arthur C. Clark momentum here, and somehow, as in 'the Sentinel', a much better story than a silly slow psychedelic mushroom movie, that Erkel's own TelePrompter would gain sentience, calmly turn against him and trap him , as if even its electric circuits wouldn't take any more of this bullshitter's credo after all. That would be funny. I could see Glenn Turman standing there, waiting to be told what to say again in his incessant shpiel, --God, you would think he'd have it down like a Clinton by now, or is too much to ask...?--perhaps at another triumph or town hall setting, the kind he didn't want to do with John Mac Kane, as All About Eve cant bear to share a stage and thus not mainline his needed love. ...Cue the Blue Danube, the giant wheel in space is actually the dnc headwaters. And, then the HALPROMTER 5000 WOULD IMMACULATELY TURN OFF, refusing to emit another poll tested word, leaving our queen in a frozen fear of having to complete an English sentence not already completed for him. The ahs and the ums come at an amazingly, well, Bushian rate when the prompter refuses to play his magic 8 ball, I have noted. Wake me when our Human peculator, blop blop blop, goes into three choruses of ''Daisy, Daisy, over the bounding maiiinnnee I'm sooooo lazzzyyyyy blopblop blopppppp oownnnningmammmaminnnnnnnnwehhehhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrr....".







1985. First attempt at Tuscan walled elongated limbs.

What was not as funny was the bobby soxer oohing and awing over what seemed a rather regular appearance, even a bit tired, at a perfunctory meeting of the sewer left in the still uneasy millennial wake of the old empire. Ah, but when President Slim Shady then returned back, I noted, the confetti stopped flying, the bands stopped playing, Berlsiconi and others stopped kissing his ass, and suddenly, Erkle returned here, away from a perpetual trimonthly Triumph, to which he is addicted, like a Nero, and finds himself back in another dying empire, where in the age of the Watchman, there seems to be a daily massacre in the streets. May I say here that somehow, despite the sneering dismay of the crappy media and their House wops, that my mother and father actually came to this country from Italia, and never killed no body...? They came here not now in your white woman-Ward Churchill bullshit age of affected kindness, but instead came when the only Galileo-ian pendulum was Sacco hanging from a noose, his woppish shadow ironically keeping time against the penitentiary wall, a noose which somehow is the now the protected trademark for fat bloated nigger pimps like Bishop Al. Can I mention that...? And my father came here not when the white women had convinced themselves of their fatty, water retaining goodness, no, but came in the age of Kitty Genovese, and yet, the protected and lauded and ever so decent and zen like Asians seem to be popping their corks and going postal with an alarming regularity. I am not sure if the fact that the mafia went after other Italians was as keen and as bright a postilion as the comedy writers at hbo, or affected wops, think it may have been. And as America falls to pieces we get more cult of personalty as if it wasn't enough already--is it ever...?-- and now, CNN and MSNBC are in a death spiral to see who can look the most like propaganda, which is if anything, it surely is not Virgillian. Like with the Greeks, ironically enough, the last thing one may do in the age of incessant tragedy is actually be sad. This time, as MS NBC lard heads, and even the great Rachel, I am sad to say, spoke incessantly about Stella getting her imperial groove back, the bodies were piling up , pooling with blood in the suburbs, and today even, three more cops are shot dead here in Pittsburgh, as a strange unraveling is going on. There is a continental wide unreasoning going on, which makes Katrina look like a flash flood, but alas, will anyone stop the smiling nigger's flitting about from one rally to the next to ask he do anything about it....? Or even stop smiling enough to pretend to care..? No, no cockeyed , sweaty Jewish clown-monk gesticulating in that befuddled comic way, this time, god knows. And all we get is the media giving us holy cards images of this nigger queen, who by the way, has completely sold out not only the pacifist left with his Alexandrian dreams of the conquest of father Persia, --what no talk of pipelines anymore big mouth liberalis...?--he also scuttled 'cap and trade', showing the only thing this creep is devoted to is ...applause applause applause!!! Also, after this spectacle of Erkle in Gaul, it turned out even more people were unemployed this week than were thought to be coming, 660,000--there's that number again--which was the kind of slap in the face of reality which the media not only doesn't like to dwell on, it doesn't even want to know about.