T*O*N*Y*

I HAVE DONE ABOUT  AS MUCH AS I CAN DO ON PAPER TO MAKE THIS TEN MINUTE MOVIE FOR THE Ron Howard Canon camcorder contests, though I might pull a Robert Rodriguez, within reason, and just keep make the entire film once started with the Cattiline scene. Above is my Indica, my logo made for a simple resume line where a teacher got me the opportunity to design a neon sign for a local Pittsburgh strip house. Seeing the sketches, the man nicely said, that’s too nice for what we do, and told me to save it, and too, if men come in heifer looking for that type of woman,  they’ll be sadly disappointed. I did this en toto with primscolors, as is alluded to, by the way, not again seeing a big difference between them and crayola markers bought at the local thrift drug.


I must make as much as I can as I had said I cant afford yet the roman wall or the roman girl, someone akin if not herself a Wendy italic sweetheart, but the delineation of Patavium New York is already well around me, AND I learned that abandoned buildings are a treasure trove for cinematic sets already designed and weathered, so, Patavium awaits. Still I must start with this, as am unsure whatever it is a narrative film they want or something more experimental I am not sure, but can take my share of video of decaying regions here and placed them into the film as a larger entity when need be. The folder is full with that which can be done as paperwork, setting things up and printing legalistic forms to fill out and it is getting late to do this. Still, though am somewhat waiting for a twenty dollar camera seen on a website, which as I figured would, is so cheap that it apes the grain properties of film where as the seven hundred dollar Sony which I do not have won’t. There is a lesson in that.

I am doing this all day every day, as the thought of watching the some cable television trial, so much better than Romans blood sport, of trial by television makes me as a Jesuit student sick. The crowd that ahs loved looking down on Romans cine still played by Englishmen and rag mans sons, doesn’t seem to get their own joke, the essence of self-parody. I have no desire tow catch this live, as black chick and fat faced boys from the bus discuss how suddenly with the egregious souls of a Torquemada, suddenly they are as a circumspect and as outraged as any defence lawyers, losing what little pit bull junkyard dog dignity they had. I saw the aging fat kid on CNN, full face and always weighing things out, how he backs down as a stipulation whatever Garagos, brilliant gonniff supreme says, sometimes agreeing with him clearing his throat, really I have seen as much as that, and saw how he has a penchant there with shiny Anderson to say Or-- a lot. Or this could have happened, or that could have happened, not that things like equal projection, probable cause or god knows reasonable doubt mean anything in the new America. No, this Tobin is a superman with Jewish mother and father which is what makes it go from mad magazine parody to tragedy, is always willing to as she says, give you that, as in I give you that, usually the nut of the case, hell stupidly give in late to the giving in on a major point, like say how Zimmerman has grass stains on his back, once proved Sunny Delight says a usual, who cares, she has her mind up, and has since law school, but Jeffery will, as usual Give you that, but such things are meaningless to a prosecutor who has his eye all along on becoming Greta Van Sustren who started this legal television but at least did wit with panache, back when Jeffy and Sunny where admitting into ev--i--denssse unpaid light bills and ten year old duis and all of Michael Jackson’s computer files as back when as prosecutors, they were always on the look out for a depraved mind as their ilk since Torquemada always has been. There is scholarship now that Torquemada might have been a safaric Jew, from Cordoba, a hot house for Semites, and if course that Savonarola was queer as the ace of spades which proves the roman aphorisms, scratch a sanctimonious prude top hard Cum comes out, as there a reason the Jesuits taught me for being that big a pain in the neck. As with Obama, someone is trying to hum loud enough to escape the ghost of mother, or father, just not Virgil in the storm-plumed curtains. --[I have taken out the barrister-foghorn leghorn like cadence in many places here, as I have been told I can sometimes when trying to be cute be a real pain in the ass.]

Not even a full formed Jesuit, even I could see how this was a farce made for television blowhards dream, from the jump, as a station seeing that salad days of ANDERSON AND OTHERS WITH CASEY ANTHONY--The Tarpeas come fast and furious especially when powerless, its all in Livy but who among the ge crowd has read that, maybe Rachel not that she admit as much now. I had no desire to watch the whole circus, instead watching a recap on Anderson Copper, no fool he, he didn’t break a trot off his dancing horse life to even much mention gay marriage, as this is the business we have chosen, that nice enough he seemed to say, but knew which side of the bread he bloods for the hungry dogs. No actually, this as how Caesar trained his dogs, really, to rip apart the men in his cadre he decimated, no fooling,. He fed the dogs bloody bread as to give them a state for it. I’m sorry A Taste. Like I said, Jeffy was far too vacillating and Pilate like for me, on one hand this, on the other hand that, always keeping a little bit of Syosset Wiggle room for things, as you cant Jew down from the top now canya. HE just kept saying Or, or, or, all days, a bit incoherent for a prosecutor but then who smart does one have to be to be a prefecture in America where 95 percent of cases go to jail in some time, jails are good bidness as they ere when Casanova was alive, and that even dimwits like he and the black chick can get prosecutions when the land of the free has more incarcerated than China. No not per capita as I thought, more incarcerated heads than China, which isn’t fair to point out,  as to be in China as Marco Polo might have said in Calvino was to be incarcerated already in one form or another. But it w as the ors that bother Jesuit baby me, or or or,… or what,…? What is your point, reasonable doubt, are you kidding……? Or, or, or,…like oars in the water? Is that sign say Styx…or something else.

So you here in the land of the golden door you start putting people in jail with and by reasonable doubt, with the bald goon Sipowitz the practitioner having to do the job of toreador, no less and keeps having to make his own witnesses hostile, as they are hostile by telling the truth. I feel badly as to know that poor mush mouth pig meat markem hisslef old Reverend Spike, Piggy Markim, wid the scamming dat comes from te veins and dee pulse of the noble savage, can have done this travesty to the justice system, why don’t wez all just sandblast off the Latin epigrams, creepy to chirping Rachel's ears, and recalled it wiff Ebonics, as old Pig meat hisslef found his latest con and gambit, the people he picks out of the morgue as the worst sort of layer an He be, a hearse Chaser, always looking fo dee promiced land if not dee folding monies, he stated this the same days that a Chicago set of cops I believe blew away some black folks who was having dee audacity of going against sonny steelgrave, he ex of the bag man Pretoria his own self.

Again like with Sorkin I come buy my dislike of Pig meat honestly and with self assuredness, as I can recall and have said before, this bloated bag of corn mash here well, back in 97 or so,  aback kid was beaten to death on Pittsburgh streets, named Johnnie Gammage, and though black folks sodomized wif plungers can always get him to ask his white secretary to hold his calls, it seems stat Old reverend mighty smog of joy didn’t have nuffin to say about a bunch of Brentwood cops badgering a black to death with cell phones and maglites. It appears he as driving his own cousin suv, and the IDEA OF THIS COON driving an expensive car owned by a Steeler, eagerly allowed those themselves, the white Pollock cop was sure this car was stolen and was again as cops have been want to do since Chuck Noll showed up, do the bidding of the Ronney’s, and so this black kid was beaten senseless, and not a discouraging word was heard from pour Solicitor Cahooooon. No, he didn’t say a woid out dere, as the Mara family and the Rooney’s payee off the noble savages, always ascared of them shining white knight badges more than you’d think, and so Pittsburgh black activists named Cynthia and JT from the hill ere shown the dark side of messiah hood. As Uncle Nicola said, if I am to become strong and rich and powerful as your champion when will you ever not be weak he asked, a codicil to the hated Prince, explaining why its best unread.

So I know this hustlers’ game, as Livy too aid, the champeens of filth are made and charge by the word they do not say more than the words they do. Its all very Romans and thus displaceable to good Jews white girls fags and the rest of the good white folk now so disturbed that Soldier Kordell west must be slammed down for speaking out against gay marriage, or even that it isn’t that important, as when a champion of the filth one must know their placed. Yes its Roman and diabolical and vicious and all, but Bill Clinton, nothing but a sleaze ball, it wasnt he, breaker of Glass Stiegel, who found himself coming back from the girls room with him crumbling towards les than 40 percent in the polls, it was our last two mirror images president unmachiavellian,  incompetent and straw men who did that. As in Arab Lands, which we sadly mirror more than Rome, the upset is hokum, the rage controlled by an applause sign as we all play you bet you’re life. As Sharptoon thinks he has truck jacked the judicial system something he can not do at the dais set as she quietly sits there allowing his pucker to be his argument, remember Johnnie Gammage along with the little twelve year old black girls who get their bards blown off by American minstrelsy gang baggers, and are all collateral damage as he was the nigger who didn’t bark when he got the gratis giant tickets and the Cowboy helmet phones, he is that cheap, showing how after Keith, Ge thought they got a bargain. I’m not so sure.

I hope for race riots after this, as you deserve them and I have been wanting them since Newt was destroyed as was in Cattiline war. I cant with the blood sport, so all day has been taken up with downloading of free software to cut a film, story board guides, and other tricks of guerrilla warfare film techniques I think I can sue better than most as Flavia the great teacher I had was amazed I made art out of the cheap unmarked up pigments that I used. Readying to make this film, I am more diligent even than I was when making the novel ,as now each thing I do has taken on the shape and feel of the moral imperative seen and mentioned before. There are enough wops braying on command as silly little gumbas of the imperial parades, always have been, but I get these jokes and well, and no part of decline and fall is lost on me. This week unable to really catcher the more grievous blood sport of trial television, Id rather see a good Roman boxing match even with the bloodlessness that Gödel likes to pretend that your sports are without, sanitised for your approval, still, I have watched my share of films to get the feel of a movie, as the greatest film student ever, Orson Welles did by watching stage coach to him the perfect film a myriad of times, to underhand its clockwork. The man who made Citizen Kane, Touch of Evil, the Magnificent Ambersons and Chimes at midnight loved and adored John Ford, whereas the man who made Jackie Brown, from dusk to dawn, four rooms and a shit load of Eli Roth films, thinks he is a racist lest the Negros boycott his nigger as a word adoring film. Mongo hath spoken. You make the call.

I this week has seen the Great Cohen Bros. master work from a master work, True Grit, in which the undervalued and wonderful Jeff Bridges plays a role made famous by John Wayne as does out with equal brio and verve, and it loses nothing. I was glad to eye, having read the Charles Portis masterpiece as a boy--why cant all westerns be this grand...?,…you’re asking me….?-- and the returned the play it is truly muddy and backwater and violent roots, as  I guess that John Wayne had never died on screen or some such thing, but it had more impact this way, with Rooster Cogburn before  needed for a truly awful and unneeded sequel, could die as he did in the Virgilllian like book. As much as anything I wished to do in RM and Ancient Romance, as much as any, to do to the gangster epic and to the roman history what Portis did as I have said, to the western feeling that anyone who thinks that the unforgiving was  first revision western ell, Blazing Saddles was more in the vein of a western recons trued or not than that harangue was. I am eager and will watch anything even Toy brokers , than to subject myself to the unravelling augments of political television.

But there as I was doing all of this, downloading and cutting and pasting and figuring how to s ave movie files yet undone, I really should get on the stick about that, though think I could do well in just yoking my share of disowned towns brick walls. And late on Sunday night a high number station I don’t normally visit,--Sundance--these movies stink, was showing the important and terrific Altman masterpiece itself, M*A*S*H. This film meant much to me, more so as a film addled kid, watching it on chilly Billy’s local afternoon movie, studying it as Rapheal studied pictures of Michelangelo’s that had been made out of paper and had been tacked to the wall as yet to be colour in, as this seemed to be to me, more than any godfather, what films might have been if not for the zoetrope goons making the spectacle of the gangster Movie or the Space opera into their new waves, fir which neither should be forgave. This appeared to me s a boy hen allowed to watch  it by immigrant parents who seemed to be fine with me watching this adult and the cautionary movie, it as the essence of filmmaking, but too, adult filmmaking which as more important to me than any cartoons or other kids fair solemn enough all film would decay into being. I read that in the kid stays  ion the picture that the godfather producer first approached the great Robert Altman as the all knowing eye of The coming Godfather, but like Larry Olivier, couldn’t bring himself to making the godfather a comedy about likable criminals, and in this was a similar attitude held by Robert Wise, and Burt Lancaster backing out, and on the waterfronts Elia Kazan, which showed what art was cone and is no longer. Altman who was fine with a book, MASH he called absolute trash, and cowboys, might have done something to the gangster epic which may have made it not the go to bible of every cretin wop killer in jersey, but he refused.

And I watched MASH again, as it is delineated here as to make it apparent this is the film and not the television watering down there of, which was so shtick, that Richard Hooker wanted his name taken off if it, seeing it as having been somehow dedicated to meaninglessness and Grocuho cadenced platitudes. But, I came in late, at the last supper scene, as the dude from Macmillan and wife was taking poison, -this film was stocked with great actors by Altman, all but radar saying no to the TV show, sure it couldn’t work,  giving actors a chance, as he, the polish dentist, Painless, with the giant shwang, really one can not write this way anymore as a gaggle of lesbian watchers make sure each word is gone over and over by their blue nosed legion of decency, harpies owned by GE, never seemingly spoken of as  corporate master, watch each word, sometimes literally, always ready to sue for damages. I had to watch some of this, as it was terrific, and sad I missed the parts I did, and lovely nurse Dish, a brunette pretty girl of the sorts unseen now, Jo Ann Fluge, is sent by the more droll and less magpie like Hawkeye, as my favourite of the doctors as a boy was brother look-alike and act alike smart ass Elliot Gould, as Trapper was in fact in the book a better surgeon and wit than was his buddy pallid Hawkeye, the Dish sent to reawaken the polish fairy John Shuck. She lifts the sheet higher and higher, to give the joke some punch as she is over taken with dirty filthy and wonderful truth at that moment, like the twelve chairs snap of the curtain, the godhead of Apollo as it were, available and shown to the blue nosed biddies who asked Rodger Ebert why the wild bunch was even made. The lovely girl in this quagmire of mud and wooden fence post, and overtaking and under acting, tenets and jeep tires, is then in morning after stupor, sent home, glad with a slight smile that she was kept over one night in hellish Korea. That’s scene was worth all the fucking of apple pies by jug heads in vulgar comedies that have replaced it. I learned from Altman the die of Setting existed, that the 4077th LOOKS like an army hospital, it is its own creation and character, and that should I ever be able to make the gangster movie come head to head with that feeling, I will have done something worth writing home about.  As I was taken and fascinated by the Johnnie Gammage case, much more than I am with any Travon, as the saint as dead Neapolitan rings too much in my ears of the line by Metternich, again mute to the GE theatre crowd--and he's WHITE!--who spoke of why the Neapolitans were do devoted to theirs saints as only a dead Neapolitan can be worth anything. But then it isn’t Neapolitans who tore him down and made his name such and anathema he isn’t even an adverb like our friend Uncle Niccole. Sad, as you find your black burnished messiah, which you cant spell without the Mess, the extra S for savings,  seem to be fleeing their nickel plating lately and Tiger and Obams find their bribes and mistresses aren’t as enjoyable fun as was Bill’s. I write a play about this, or this was included, called Saturnalia, in which that beating happened but off screen. This as apposed to some liberal dirt bag, the priests warned me never to accept the ladled out soup kitchen decency that white trash give out like so much government cheese, a white effeminate fuck, who wrote some similar play about Gammage, but unlike mine his preformed at a LA theatre that actually considered mine --must I always be funny?… I was asked, as satire gives the game away,-and had unlike mine, a blow by blow shake for shake acting out of the police report with every hit and every assault done to him , whereas mine was just off stage, alluded to by Black Adam, the quarterback the local football team was smearing as a fag on the radio. I have shocked people since the nuns with sometime I am a blowhard but sometimes they note I can be quite judicious.