25 December 2010


THE DAY OF THE RESURRECTED SUN.

I have completed as much as I can get, Big Bertha, Pow Girl, The centrifuge and the hippograph, The Return of Mister Stupendous, Saturnalia, am almost done with Mister Stupendous, and placed Ancient Romance into a semblance of befittingly various shards and excerpts of ruins of things, which I guess makes it seem like the poly novel fake memoir that bothered some white bitch. Still to be made are tarantella, King Italius, Rag, and Imperiumata, and some others. Yes, perhaps in a world where marvel does Iliad, which both assuredly deserve, I can remake King Italius.

A happy feast of Sol Invictus or the indomitable sun to you all but Arabs communists and puritans, with a lovely exemption to the Jews, who have always been willing to , despite the pretense, enjoy a roman feast, as they've always known Roman feasts are better than Germanic fasts. The rest of them are all who have the nerve to thing that the truth is ever reveled and harden been apparent all along.

A cup of Roman beer to all, especially to the dear Dirk Deppy, who finds now the essence of all I write, there once in a essay of captain marvel which he took pains and the extra effort to amend, discount and demean, as that again, as the Jesuits would have warned this queer, no one really is in the position they think they are and only a slight motion of two degrees is the difference between the high tower and the plunge below. I should stick with blogging he said, as if his pompous magazine was some sort of middle brow monument to the fact that white trash, an sadly even faggots now, can make even Comics, like Willie with the beloved Romans of Henry , dull as dishwater. I was merely looking for a quick few liens of some kind of resume before meeting with a lovely woman producer, as was fearful she would think I was as lazy all this time as I was. This admission seemed to bother them worse, which , frankly, anyone who is going out of there way to make sure you know they are more thoughtful than captain marvel proves , well, they aren't. Perhaps now, he will be doing the blogging, after all.

As I said, just to be a bitch, a lovely essay I wrote about dear Corsetto's genius and her Faberge egg of a strip, though starting to smell rancid with bitchy vinegar, GWS was called one of the best thing a magazine had read all year, but alas , they don't do Comics. NEITHER DO THEY SELL THEM, I WAS ALERTED AT BARNES AND NOBEL, AMUSINGLY, AS THAT IS WHERE I RECOGNIZED A COPY OF THE DOWER mush, SORRY, HUSH FOR A PREVIOUS CHRISTMAS PRESENT SO LONG AGO. But, they are, I was alerted, always looking for pompous types to sell diatribes and fashion magazines to the Liberals who nurse croissants all day. A happy Saturnalia indeed, a swig from Father Christmas, I mean Bacchus jollied head, but not too much, as that would be too imperial, after all. As perhaps this will make Dirk happy to know that should he able to buy a racehorse before the end of the year he might get a tax credit for this band of merry communists who have taken over the republic. Ouch. I have received a copy of the Essential Nova, and the Cowboys are on tonight, a happy Saturnalia indeed....!

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19 December 2010

A CHRISTMAS CORAL.


I saw the gorgeous dream girl Wendy Fiore, a lovely Italian girl response to all the girls in the sopranos being mad, fat, or blandly noxious, as she is lovely, and I saw that she was involved in some on line beauty pageant in some low rent two bot porno site, surrounded as she was by bleached whale fat chicks and I think that sight, after aiming sure to vote for her, as if that would, help as she is precisely the type the girl the closeted pooffies hate, as bothered me more than any thing I had ever seen on Scorsese.

I then saw where the old white men of the senate were so grandstanding and self pompous, all a little house of Barney's, as they have now basically Shanghaied those faggots, the kind allowed now, who in military duty and marriage are basically the men of the fifties. And now, as poverty grows in freedoms land now avante!, onto unisex bathrooms, and of course, a better tax deal for the rich than even Bush gave, but then Bush was a patrician and not a fronting nigger. I felt bad , thinking of the Jesuits and Liberache who the white woman let die when I was an adolescent and how their virulent strains of legionnaires disease, remember that kids...? made me avoid Georgetown, no fooling. I found myself feeling bad, I did, at this, that deep set eyes and gook daffodils who screech like homer similes on Rachel have seemingly won, or been allowed to win for greater hidden forcers, like abortionists, and that still, as Herbert Hoover said, this is a land without a national poem. All our fags is killers, like Sparta, which didn't have a national poem either, until frank miller, which says loads.








BEST OF THE 2000'S

Really, I don't get certain types, who purposefully ax for information, and or work of yours, and worse than those who seem to be attacked and insulted in the very reading the work, after I had explicitly said look at my blog for essays to explain my shtick and or act, or even my true beliefs, is the idea that after they solicit work, then they disappear and never write back, even with a no, or not for us. In my yahoo mail, not often looked at more than cone a week or so anymore, I found a returned essay to show my idea of a book from Saturnalia to Saturnalia, and I saw this sent back. Not even so much as a no thank you,or anything, it just was them sending this aback after god knows how long as I don't recall these people or this agency or even sending this.




PAVEMENT CRACKS.
Saturnalia, 2009.


How strange, in that I was feeling a sense of recriminations and the like at about nine o'clock, when dear Rachel, the little birdie, seemingly found no room in her Homeric odes to example why or how, again, it didn't take her beloved Democrats twelve hours to go from Harry the Hermaphrodite from squealing about how he was going to take the senate through Saturnalia sirgilla and new years if he must, FOR HIS SUDDENLY BELOVED AND NEEDED HEATH CARE BILL, OR AS I CALL IT HILLARY'S REVENGE, to within a blink of an eye, me too- ing again, as he has been trained, and pulled the hated bill off the table. Oh hod good by now the Democrats are at spreading revolt, yelling like Jews, then of course at the last minute, retreating, as cheerfully as a coward can be, as after all, to quote Jack Benny, that's how they got the job. I became tired of all of that, and yet, it seems nothing is ever, as usual, on.

I thought of how it was in fact a Jewish producer who told me not to deal with Coppola, as he said, that the gangsters poet laureate, with laurels made of garlic and ious, would either one, steal it, or more likely, spit on it. And in a strange way he did both, as funnily after forty years of his most Americana of graffito, and his actual love of the genre more than anything, as if fact he stole and took credited for every movie making innovations actually invented by the great Jerry Lewis, he both censored my work and too, a little bit later made a movie about being an Italian American. To show the power of Signora Fortuna, though that was a movie which imploded worse than he slopped about the Nazis. This experience bothers me more than most, as I felt angered at how the fuck was this crowd of wine bottlers to suddenly act so uppity , and at a site where there was little more a sewage line of Godfather crap, to say nothing of every other script being about a killer fag. One is always little more than that which they follow.




But, in the night, a strange dream came to me, in that I was there in a dream scape of a broken almost war torn, if not ruined and abandoned Pittsburgh area, with pavement cracks everywhere, and old time tin signs of beer gardens and hat shops and cold war relics in total disrepair. In a touch of Sergio Leone, there stood Coppola, bloated as a Jabba, or better a Will Sasso like parody of a Coppola, with some Lucas thrown in, complete with Pat Cadell beard, and gut sticking out from Don Ho shirt, wearing sea shells, shekels, around him like some sort of barbaric Pacific rim , ie not China, King. He stood there baking out orders, surrounded by strangely ugly blond women with large noses who were seemingly mermaids, and slithering around him , as men in fedoras and black coats marched around like amonitons , and GE Murphy windows were scant and bare and had strangely vulgar Xmas decorations barely lit and broken too. The sky was a strange ugly yellow, like a dawn filed with pollution, apropos on this dream world, Pittsburgh still had industry.

Then, I took out a gleaming Biretta fifty millimeter cannon like in the great TV show almost purposefully avoided by the illiterates of television at the time, the great Homicide, life on the streets, which was as realistic as gritty Kojack was, and I blew Coppola away. The infernal chattier creatuers, more Thomas Nast than Dante Aligheri , befitting him, scattered like bats. Then , again, strangely, I looked and saw a sight more befitting Gustavo Dore, in that I no fooling, saw a naked Ben Rothlisburgher, of all people, fat and bloated, beaten and bruised, in a Kodrell shirt numbed ragged and torn, and he looked up appreciatively and said far fucking out. He was infernal in that he was a creature of penitence, and chained up and carrying a large stone, alas Sisyphus, or better still, Homer Simpson in the stone cutters episode. He was marked and torn at and filled with cuts and he saluted me, which made me wince, as I am something of a saint, at least compared to him, as i am affable and dont pretend to love Pittsburgh as I perpetually spit downwards like a democrat. [A Note: did I here, in December 2009, foretell of and foresee the sad cleansing of Ben Roethlisbuger now done to the point, hither Rooney's reeducation of him, and the good buoying he must do now which has actually soundly made me start to feel sorry for the bloated bruised fuck. As this was unitized by old cardinal Rooney's as a sword over Ben's head, and now people are noticing that the swash buckler he was in the man no more, and in fact, preplanned in trying to make Ben a step ford quarterback, he did not have the commiserate talent really to fall back on, and now, having been publicly infantilized, publicly disgraced as a kind of demerit, a warning in fact, as in my eye as being a Jesuit pre law, a man either takes his punishment or isn't punished, ah, but the vulgar Irish Roony's, the sort the Italian and even other Irish priests hated, Kinsmen and closet Englishmen they called them, they used this black mark as a lump of coal, considering the time, all the better to then bop him with over and over and over again. He is their puppet, demeaned of him to make nice with the mob whose hands are filed with nigger blood, and who start to bring their Best Man road company isolation to this team now , as they, as they always do, grumble. and so now he is forced to sign autographs, has taken more out of him than the always calculating and conniving Rooooneys had thought.The annals of history are filed with morganatic men, named who are less than stellar men, bit true genius doesn't need a bit of that Picasso like preening. Maybe Ben always was more Picasso than he was naturalistic genius Raphael. which severs you all right. ]

Into the coven of destruction, where I felt a strange ennui that I had finally given in and become the killer he damned of me, or so I thought, I think I, as a saint, did give this bloated mobster more credit than he deserves, as I call that Rush Disease, as Rush in a red communists country, would be the praetorian he must be within reasons as he and his ilk like as Cicero said, the good life, more than they like, say, beliefs or duty. Into the scene, shades of angels in America, came the angelic creature, Galatia, but with a strange giant black Tony home perm, and she came swooping down and in to this. Beat it, she sneered snapping her long over washed french manicured fingers. Get lost before the cops come, as she , Italianate angel of the sorts made in Francis' sweet Perceppios, which are hated by the Lutherans parented communists for a reason beyond even that of the Jews, complete she was with purple sash and yellow bow in that mass if Daphne like hair, and again with bigger tits than I recalled, she looked every bit the like of angel that would be sent by Jovial gods to tear things up more than the dead eyed blond cunt angels sold in five and tens when I was a boy.



I was stunned, frozen, as the crises of bloody Coppola, and why Coppola...?I wondered, even halfasleep, why not hated Scorsese, after all, who I thought I hated worse...?, came crashing to the ground, where a explosion of blood came gushing out, but a blood which as thin, more pink than red, maroon its seemed was beyond him, as he split open, --really Tarantino is piker compared to Mad Anthony, as I despite sharing a pretense of verbosity with him can be quite Cold, he split open, like a water balloon more than a carcass, and to show I had a good heart, as he lied there, him, split open like a bag of shit hurled from a hotel window as from a cold war shriner who's looking for Chicago fun, I took the Biretta and blew his brains out, in a scene which would have repelled Transaction addled Quentin. But then, it is my conception that the phony baloneys only ,as they do with communism and policies and spirituality and everything else, merely play at all this preening bullshit of there's. With a foot of my own worthy of Neal Adams, sharp Thom MacCann like brown shoe --another flourish of the golden age?--I kicked at the bloated sea lion of San Raphael Calif. there, again, felicitated a gush of this blood water, [note--Its been a long time since Jesuit school, but isnt there something in Christerism that deals with blood like water, and what does that mean...?] for whet ever that deep seed meaning as in my noggin, I am unsure. It was, I noted more like Kool aid, making him the bloated smiling anthropological Pitcher as much as anything. The Neapolitan angel glowing and fluttering in the street wind hit me in the shoulder with a balled fist telling me to back away. Did this mean I hated Coppola even more than I did the dead eyed imperfect Scorsese in that Coppola did a much more egregious thing is his creation of the operatic mobster...they have been romanticizes criminals since Billy The Kid, but something Coppola did was different and now it seems they wont forgive him for it...somehow he is being deserted as my father warned me the house wop, of not nigger always must be, ...and now even Roger Ebert makes mention of named like Dante and Ovid as if magic incantations as even the depraved JK Rawring has her little queer wizard issuing Latin, instead of the more apperpo Greek, as a way to humiliate the stupid wops who, nigger like they are, thought that they were in acting the fools so well being admired , as if, by the white trash families into which they wished to marry.




A wave of Galatia's long lean lithe angelic royal blue silk draped arm caused a white VW bug to appear on a hill made of a brick road. I walked up towards t, got in and drove away, but in real life cannot drive. I wonder if somewhere in Dream land, as a kind of brusque, bloated and vulgar Little Nemo, if I can find a copy of a book I wish to read now by a Roman writer, called the Astronomica, which like Virgil was for many years, I can not seem to find in whole, or hell, even not in Latin. Like I said, if I would have know the world was going to end up in the headings of these creeps, a triumvirate who cant see a mine field their hated and hateful victim Hillary has set up for them, well, in 1980, I would have learned the fucking Latin, as the operetta reciters, and Virgil love ring old fags dreamed of me, as a signaler of a civilized man. And my pop wanted me . hating the Sicilians trash who had then, when i was a boy seemingly became the kind of twin towers of Italian brilliance that only the vulgar America would have invented, wanted learned of me too.




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