05 October 2011

Dear Mary--,

I would like to avail myself and my work of your company and would like to have you as publishers of my book. I am sending you the manuscript of the book, Ancient Romance: The catalog of Italic Gods, an historical novel. In this book a beaten weathered sad old Tuscan Senator recalls as he narrates a faded, scratched up old manuscript of Tuscan fairy tales, his life, his recollections, and his career as an Italian doge, and also the fall of a last Italic Tuscan King who failed against the Romans. I do very much want this book to be noticed and made, as an antidote to the myriad of Italian diminutions and minstrel shows seen all over.

Thank you.

Anthony Acri.

Now, as of 3 October, I have sent Ancient Romance to the printers who will be my best friend and publish this book for 400 American kopecks. That is a lot of cheddar in one envelope, and I found myself cringing having to get it all together to make a cashiers check to make out. And yet, found myself more devoted to this than any cie la vie catch as catch can, half ass attitude, I did for any word conglomerate showing I am a better person at heart than the pacifists praetorian Sejanuses, who what work for drone companies, like GE. But, when I was recently poo pooed by no less than the editors at Berkley, --such phoneys--I then knew I had to at least make my mark on a roman wall, as better men then I did, basically telling Caesars without iron poor blood, as opposed to the ninny we have now , to fuck off, as is recalled by C.T. I found myself willing and wishing to collect money to get this done since May, and even used spell check this time, as found in ways this was irrevocably mine, and not somehow hack work.

I made a Italian sign of horns to ward away the evil eye of smiling President Romo, when I saw this Erkle call America soft and weak, --as whenever is the filth ever as good as their Caesar…?, as our badass, sweet sweet back, cold stone, dropsy, dead solid prefect, lead pipe cinch, iron clad bullshit artistry faggot nigger shoots American citizens in the face with smiling lesbians doing a cheer worthy of a neo con, showing again Ovid is right and there is no winning ever, asshole. I am now going to un-like, oh such an imperial high school has Zoidburgh wrought-- and unlike all those phoney television performers, as occupy wall street will get instructing wont it, when all The commie symps actually are paid by GE and have Goldman stock wont it, though...?

As Pope Pius the 3rd said, coming back to Rome and seeing the people, there hungry, wanted no part of him and his silk slippers and ponytail girls, when the people of Rome protested, and started to the revolt against the papacy, when a Italian hero undecorated upon by Stanley Kubrick hagiography, said they were going to occupy Rome’s Vatican hill to keep them out, Pius said, famously, Tell the rabble-- its already ours. He eventually executed a third of Rome, men women and children as heretics, in a land swindle even Mussolini was appalled at. I thought of that when some vulturous Jew was godlessly praying, cantering nimrods repeat every word he said, and thought again, this all sounds better again, in the original Latin.

With this done, I am becoming also frighteningly not only unawares but uncaring of a whole host of various internal frightening qualities that I have been at the mercy of since 1977. I am continuing the assault on the barbarians who even Michel Savage sees collecting at the various gates, me with Roman Marius Aplomb. Once, in Roman lives, a chieftain of the Gauls damned that land in cisalpine Italy be seeded to them ,as the Tuscans had done, as welfare makes you sue for peace, --soft as Hercules president bullshit queen dido would say as he glares at the waking foetuses in his way TA GALWEEE! That the Romans would actually do as the Tuscans had done, well it boggles the mind, and Marius, the Clinton of the bronze age, the man with bare feet, two names and a bushel full of Roman arrogance said, that would be fine by him, as there was whole plots of land in Italay he would make sure would be the Gauls forever. It took this Visigoth a few moments to figure out what he meant, and then, as they turned and tried to retreat he burned them all alive. After a while a capitulator gets on your nerves. I did as a flourish, a grace note at which Scorsese is incompetent, and at which I am a true Ball-er, as Audrey told me, I downloaded a free mp3 of Night swimming, and hope at least I have made the Jesuits proud of me , as they never did like my lazy streak, nor for that matter the fact that deep down, I wanted to be liked more than even an Italian should.

I liked my use of “faded, scratched up manuscript” which was what Manzoni called his masterpiece, as again, we do not need Rodger Ebert to like us. It isn’t what it was to begin with, Not with Turan mostly gone, still, but It is better than most of the shit out there, easily the gumba shit and the Spartacus crap. That little felippio in the letter was just for them. And now that I have discovered Wendy Fiore as a guide to recapture Turan, Tuscan goddess of Love, I’m sure I can attempt the least part of Turan’s loveliness. You Jews, white trash, and various niggard O’bama in-laws got what you wanted… Rome fell, indeed, --kiss goodbye the water softeners. Under the Apostolic Tuscan sun.



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