MY BABY TAKES THE MORNING TRAIN…
I tried to post this to Maddow Blog, but either the length or something else, didn’t allow it to go through, so I place it here.
Rachel Dear, though now am castigated by the herstory lesbo crowd that in fact, when I was a boy, the nuns adored me for having taken their most hated saint, Maria Goretti, and trashed her as a symbol of all which as evil and vicious, with her legs crossed for the lord. That somehow, these nuns adored me for having trashed this wanabe Lucia, and that I spared her nothing, thinking I could use this to get out of confirmation, which I kind of had a distaste for, instead they thought I was brilliant, as sister Celia told me as kid, after a while sanctimony, as like a virgin for Jeyzus, or the black man in the back playing Caesar, this from a Franciscan nun no less, gets on everybody’s nerves. My, if not admiration for her rapist, but at least my inclination to defend him in the Latin then taken from priests, and given wholly to house Jews, was in their words, a good showing of my training, and was Ovidian. Writer as psychoanalyst, something they thought, like magic realism, the Italians had invented. Like how lucky you are that GE doesn’t make a fortune selling guns. I knew we were fucked when the special guest villains like Rudy and Ridge gave way to Larry David Jewry human punch lines, scruffy Jew doormen who glare behind ray bans at the gallows, who don’t mind blacklists as long as they never end up on them. A good primer to recall.
But despite the anvil chorus being played for 12 days by winsome and Abfab Andy Pooper--its nice to know we have become so tolerant that even a Vanderbilt can get ahead --deecline!--still a shock poll came out amid the sanctimony only Boston can show, and in fact now 75 percent of Americans fear tap dancing Erkle and his arcade of human filth passavanate than they do the Arabs. Who would have guessed that, besides me of course. Passavante always seem as engendering hatred, they always do as you’d think praying stragea Pollozzo now desperate the Hillary be queen next, we are setting up popes as Dido starts to waste away to nothingness, not hold an imperial grudge, Should have known. I do find it funny and quite de- humanizing, though not to those who hurl the invective again Machiavellian readings lists have their residue, as how human filth little short haired jack Russel lesbians, now on these same side with a human troll called Gutfeild, who punch lines for grace, make it so easily seen how inhuman their enemies are. This made me think, isn’t it funny how now suddenly the station that was derailing the black list only weeks ago, their triumphs , like their Russian masters are a feeble almost Persian lot--well now finds no problem in de- humanizing all these Arabs, no less than fat porcine liberals, Elks club emeritus, like loser for hire Mike Douglas looking pols on Fox making common cause with the aforementioned giggling Nazi textbook Gutfeld. Like Gandalphini, like Capote way back when the Gore in me thinks that on some level, Gutfeild gets ahead because deep down, the little Foxes are ever so sure he was what they wish for Jews to be.
And now the city of the tuck rule and the bloody sox shows its almost genitive instinct for virulence and blarney again, as no funeral games place shall take the body of the Russian anarchist, a first in civilization if Not in Irish fairy tales. Ill bet! Something tells me the state shall pay for a Viking send off, lest we find out the nagging feeling all have, as I was listening to the play by play when John Batchelor spoke live of how Brother number one was naked on the asphalt, before the fat bloated stooge cops--this was a better America when we called you Pigs, and again, no castigation, I was the one at nineteen who wrote a book that someone at Harper Collins called the equal of Wambaugh, accusing me if I was a cop. No, but my grandfather was, … a carbineeri. Hello….? And I was listening as he was taken out and stripped, I love it when things get Spartan, by the strangely crouching tigers of the hidden dragons of SWAT, Ted Baxter’s favourite show for a reason, and then suddenly he was dead, run over by his soulless brother, as you see, as that sort, like Niggers implied don’t feel love like white people do, maybe not Germans, which causes me to ask, wait a minute, you let the other brother stay in car as the first was being wrestled to the ground, and couldn’t see where this was headed, ah but then these Irish cops were are dealing with, who certainly didn’t find Whitey that fast. To quote the dread fag hating Bill Moyer’s, even the Romans allowed the Etruscans to bury their dead, ah, but this was what you get when the people of the Canaanite campaign feel their oats. Livy explains that so furious was the killing at Cumae, wherever, that Hannibal left so many corpses that Vultures were throwing up on the carrion, but that must be wrong, so say white girls who just love their help and surrogate nannies.
I thought it was funny that I must have been listening to ESPN, Fan radio at night, as in the bright morning, I heard the dulcet tones of Bill Benet, decrying with his fellow boys about how this Stanley Kowalski sort had gotten a one time Vassar like feminist to fall for him and his brutal almost --yes he said it in my fog, Neapolitan charm. Something around the lips. But one of your white women wrote a book about how some gumba was the first man amid the sissy boys to give her an orgasm, that Eucharist of white girls. And he was upset, showing I was right when listening to John, a bit taken back by Terrorist one being stripped completely naked, as their has been a sexual component to the barbarian creed since way back. He was upset this girlie man, the fat bloated Murican male, sad that some Emily Lawrence collegiate shicksa had fallen for both the brutal man, and brutal Islam, must have daddy issues he said, or a Neapolitan grandfather somewhere back always, as perhaps she wasn’t looking for always prom less Gutfeld, but instead, one of Marc Antony’s here was a man. Not Gutfeild, his god and he knows deep down, as everything is sixth grade to his ilk. For those of you keeping score, if not with percentage points and bottom leans as does Gutfeldt, always looking for the next joke to fall flat,that puts us at the right of --listen up you vestal mustached talking women lovers of Homer, as in that book not gotten to by me until public school to show what Jesuits wrought, doesn’t Priam, is it Priam…?, the Greeks are Greek to me, like Vespasian, the father of later Roman Aeneas, wishes to have his son Hector’s body back, Achilles’--that’s Achilles everyone, gives in, as there be rules to this all, which no noble savage nigger, no Irish drunkard or flush with glory Yid joke machine would ever understand between the sucker punches. And the shock poles showing that all human action has a thousand strings of what is unspoken coming off of it. A note; I met this lunchy arbiter of all which is trite--sorry Virtuous, when at a bookstore in Pittsburgh, and was buying the complete Ariosto, and Italos Calvino's tarot book. Unprodded by me, he explained that he wasn't big on Ariosto, and of course the dreaded Cervantes was better, as was the awful Borges to Calvino, somehow, as the closer to Englishmen, high school Spanish shit, translators always are. Cervantes is a pimp, I said, unamused, unwilling to play middlebrow with her highness, and exclaimed, --true story--, Vir is the ancient Italian word for Man, as it was my forebears, who knew to be virtuous was to act like a man. He glared at me with his jelly fish eyes, as I walked outwards with unpaid for marvel comics
I am off to free comic book day and have a yearning to buy something Wally Wood had to do with, like All star comics. Get this Kirby taste out of my soul. Maybe a Heavy Metal from the old days I saw last time when I knocked over a dc comics chess board, but the guy there has taken a kind of liking to me and didn’t make a federal case out of it. Perhaps next shall be the Black knight, when there was a rule to such warfare, before the laughters found their greatest invention, the drone, allowing them a warm place in which to cry and war yell.