1 August 2010
BUT,... IS THIS BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME…?
It was exactly at this time, in 1980, about on my fifteenth birthday, that I was again, trying to resuscitate MS as a hero, which as a figure, seemed wholly mine and created by me.
I recall that day, as I was again, as I wouldn’t for a while, making a picture of MS probably more inherently comic bookie and dc worthy than he and all I did would eventually be recreated. In as this was a few years before the Tuscan book of gorgeous art was gifted to me, which changed me, as it did when the Tuscan Veii city was unearthed, indescribably timed with the art schooling of young men named Michelangelo and Raphael, showing again, it was the light of the Tusculuium sun that allowed Leonardo to see those birds move the way he did, a light that was recurred in the modish eye of Ver Meer, and now, that’s a Revenge of Turnus, after all.
But, a few years back, looking into comics as, to be honest Tom, as merely an opening, a resume line, or at least a bordering towards real arts, I found a swath of people too much like Warren “Im gonna live forever, im gonna learn how to Fly” Ellis, too as not so much back then, at 15 when I was doing the second or third reception MS, and getting some results and some notice, as then it was before Guys in masks had made a repute and a lifestyle if not a political statement out of plagiarisms‘, which the gay priests warned me is only brought up for Kunta or Aeneas, as the Cycle epics and Gilgamesh are left to ragged indignant disrepair if not cultist status among the schoolboys, ala Statius, Maurice Clarette, and others.
I do not trust eternal schoolboys, especially those of the Quaker ties, with Gore Vidal being an exception, as I do not trust these sorts, those who learned Marx at the cotillion, the hyper frauds, who were exposed to Agricola and the toilet belly rub, at the same times, as someway their verdant PBS masterpiece theater Amis homosexuality is never much noted of as it is among the Catholics schools. Where it was, as I recalled in my memoir of it, that most of the sexuality, if any at all, was of the sort of Polish and Italian priests having lovely mafia princess girlfriends on the side in hidden homes in the next parish. And, the it was the dear JRR RAW-RING adored consum--sorry, precious children, episodically some uber-sensualist girls who take it upon themselves to be users and abductors as much as anything, and you try selling that one to the women who have taken over the arts now that the fags are either wed or dead or mercifully both. Like Jews, who they laugh as not to cry, not as italic clowns do, who merely ironically wail, women are perpetual victims, or at least as far as can be made by Men who need a now dwindeling gender gap to keep their Indigo sashes.
2. Later, a comic hack, the kind who troll the internet to trash the occasional girl who gets too close to the fortresses of solitude, sorry Lester, and who offered me a job at 32 dollars a book, to take abandoned cartoons at liberty, and un perpetually copy written like Clark Kent and Donald Duck, they asked me where I got off hating Alan Moore when, CHRIST’S SAKE, I HAVE MADE A FLYING MAN WITH A BLUE LEOTARD FLYING THROUGH THE AIR…AHA, BUT I NOTED, SATIRE IS A BITCH!
And, as I said my people don’t “fly” they ‘float’ like old roman gods did on tutoring walls, an expression of my own that I see reflected back to me more and more, as it wouldn’t hurt you motherfucker Marvelettes out there to study CC Beck, as I have studied also the works of August Wilson, Dante or Leonardo, as it is amusing what one can learn if one is willing to forgo a desperate need to be forever accepted or lauded as competent. …And they are obviously upset that they cant get away with it all as do I. I have gotten my share of anger from people, when funny, they are the ones getting paid, after all...The new Wonder woman, which I have dutifully stolen from the internet, as if I, as an Italian, would pay, find a hell of a lot of comparison between and betwixt it and my own Vunder-girl , with she first amid the ruins of the girl amazons city from 2005, although to be honest, I have brought a level of depth that the three named sorts can not come close to, having had Veronica, the Amazon, be actually mixed race gal from Queens, who escaped a school shooting done by a jug head -Kleebold sort, sometimes its hard not to write satire as the woman hated Roman said, amid the ruins, showing don’t play with fire kids, as your mommas that you hate so taught. Not to mention Eternal Flames!
Of course, to be truthful, as much as anything MS was even more of my own Nova than he was any Superman or even Captain Marvel, as I adored the book Nova, the only marvel comic book I could take and stomach and that didn’t , as William F Buckley said of Dante, no fucking less, before he had to be confronted with the fact that Rush Limbaugh thought that Jorge Washington was the first, and in fact, the only man to walk from a crown, showing in crass Julius’ hands it isnn always a mark of distinction, but then what ever is…?, --make me sick.
And here I am all this time later, still, in various ways, in the same place as I was, as I have been told a feature of PTSD, is as would be guessed, the die when cast is that any one is perpetually there, forever kept where such an incident happened, as in fact the river cannot, in many ways, be crossed at all, as with some it is war and with me was epilepsy. Although to be fair, I have not swooned like a women since the inauguration day in 1993 ad when Bill Clinton was so Romanized as a priest, though am sure I was not the only one to have such a reaction that day.
3. But, all this time alter, I am still a fifteen year old boy, literally still arming the amusing Roman Conan or Romantic superman I wanted to recreate many so times, but haven’t until now. And still am not done, for Lord’s sake, as if i'd ever do this, like, on schedule, no, I must await the mass tipsiness of the muses, or at least till my feet don’t hurt ,as to make my brilliance in waxy and now prismacolor sharpness’s.
I wonder beyond the anniversaries aspects of having remade this in 2007 for a nice Asian woman, who thought I could take Magana, or whatever it is, somewhere it hadn’t been, and perhaps doesn’t want to go, as though I was even trying. Or wanted to try. This came from an Asian, kids, again showing there is a reason I am perpetually dodging battle with white women who think themselves guardians of the flame, when actually they are just a firewall for their various lovers if not husbands, those who manage to keep them. Also, has anyone else noticed that Stan Lee in his old bulletins is perpetually sprinkling his faux hipster jackass wise guy bullpen bullshit with Roman affectation even sometimes more than I…? Instructing.
But, the idea intrigued her, and I sent some first pages, of Dr. Eaton in the penthouse, predating Lox Luther as a business man by a decade, thinking even as a kid, that somehow he who had the world , would be a bigger criminal than someone like Sivana who merely wanted it. That is what the Franciscans requited to me, much worse than Syphilis. I was twelve.
And it was back, while at a comic friend place that an inker named Drew Greschi spoke with me that he too, being a similar age I guess, also had adored Nova, well before its lack of Kirby and Lee , the Holland Dozier Holland of bad comics, hard sell bullshit made it disappear from the spinner racks of my youth, then stating to be big footed I recall them forcing the dc and especially the lovely gold key booklets by empire of the Sum.
While there at this comic friend place, basically killing time, I was accosted soon enough by some ass swipe, as always I am, As they lurk at such places, you see, exampling why there is a popular wing at their own convention, and why they are being big footed out of their own halls, made to be perpetually second class, as barely legal barely pretty pin ups use more hand sanitizer and Prell than a nigger president at the gay days, yes I heard that little ditty while listening to Some way out, god knows why, on npr, as sometimes, someway the truth , like weeds, if not African violets, does spring out and ahead from the wedding cakes of cement and ivory that the new Victor Emmanuel does construct to himself, with help of dead eyed yentas. I do see where the estate of the ghost of Kirby, who haunts as did the equally pushy Caesar, insufferable still beyond the grave, our Caphis still stews with Jewry aplomb about his need to be lauded constantly for things probably more due to Pete Costanza than anything, or even other Jews, and Italians, who like Carmine as I was told , rolled their equally conniving Mediterranean eyes each time the shirt sleeves noted Vulvian came through the dc offices.
She, I think it was, as who can tell in comics cellars, announced that I would never be allowed into the infernal pit known as the house Stan built, --really, can I get that in writing dear…?, as if I’d ever want to be, and thought back, perhaps being able as I was to ape John Romita as a boy, again not kidding, should I have assailed up and just have given them all the brittle comics they seem to want, unless done by Jim Lee, and then smeared as merely pretty….? But I wonder should I have done at least that much…? Instead of waving a bloody banner of my own like catlike among the crumbling steps, Catalina, I seem to perpetually think I wish to become or think I am…? No, even doing battle as I thought I was with Satan, and all the Jewish godlings as a last penitent, as in penitentiary, of the Roman charges, with epilepsy as a Julian bridge to the strange Dantean worlds which coned down and outwards , resisted beyond and intermingled with the daffodils, of all sorts, all who loved me by the way, before you cable faggots all become white women,… no…all of that madness, with occasional Beatrice’s of tall and black haired bitchy grace, was a hell of a lot more decent than getting some crisis- civil war -Batfart- reign of the not Superman-Armageddon- black magic- kingdom come bullshit in on time and under budget.
I did think even then, that somehow, I could as I had seen in Italian comics had done that I would engender some Virgilian sadness and some old Republican art, as Michelangelo’s David is, into the tawdry field of cartoon books as at lasted they are known in America, a slight Italic feel among the hard sell Jewry Woppish effrontery of new York pushiness…..Gee Whiz, what the fuck was I thinking…?