31 August 2013

BUILDING THE BETTER VESTAL.

 
 


It is now 2:02 in the morning, and I have just watched the Olbermann repeat, glad my buddy Keith is on the air again. I have Liked Keith since the old days when he was railing against the Cowboys, which I always found more decent and honest than what was done by wop hood human cheesesteak Tony Bruno, anyway. I think it is funny that he has skipped away from the wreckage that is the GE THEATER, he having sort of invented it, been fired and now is back at the toy department while the other cousins show do a pale imitation of him, and are languishing in the ruins. Now that’s farce! Anyway, am glad to see him back as already this loveable blowhard is giving the passavante hell, something I have always strived to do in what ever way I can.

 
I am saving the film ‘Wop like me’ again as was alerted by someone at AFI that the DVD I sent was un-operational, as am going by the seat of my pants here, and it seem everything I have , Sony , real player, windows, are all at cross purposes and un-linkable of being used together, causing me again as it seem I have always been, at wits end as the universe as usual is against me, or I am just not paying enough attention, or most of all, that none of this shit works together, as why would anything be easy. They are kind enough to allow me to re-submit, and since I had already started cutting back at the film with some ease and quiet that never lasts, I was ver shivistzed seeing that now had recued my film to various long clips for posting, and was all out of order. Aha, but using what I like to call masculine man brains given by the man sky god, I realized these clips could be coupled in a new file of Movie pro, frozen as they were in time, but no big whoop, and thus could recite this all even better by subsuming wholly made clips, and spin them around as so saw fit. I wanted to take a slow and leisurely aspect to this, but as deadlines mount up, packed it together and save it all as a snowballing cartoon, as scenes gather to themselves as resaved film. I wanted to take August off after the rush of workman like duties, but will try the same in September, as send off this second disk in a bottle hurled towards the pacific sea.
 
 
 
I was at the dollar general, looking for props, as I smart assedly told actual producers of film like Jack Rosen, Cyn Dulay and others I think that props are an awful thing unless they are found at the cheap dollar store. I have the black suit I bought at Saint Vincent depaul as the uniform for Brutus, should I ever make Roman Mythology, a suit of vintage and cotton and thick in the ways unseen as now, and it hangs there in a attic closet, because I am sad. Still, I think props are useless if made in foundries of mgm, like accoutrements and sold some on the idea of all you need to make a Indy film and give it heft and verisimilitude,  is a trip to the dollar general, and from there find the reality needed that props do not have. The first thing a Machiavellian is taught is the subtly between what is real and what is fake.
 
We went up to the forlorn cracked dried abandoned warehouse, where this store buzzes away with cheap enticements. I filmed all the way, as have used the local lack of color and the urban blight of the summer of Detroit to contsreoposto and countervail with the drawings I first used as placard placeholders and now see as the not only the vindication of my Jesuit loved arts against Scorsese and Coppola, but as antithesis of their ultimate Negros spiritualized chain gang uselessness. I was not taken in is the undercurrent here, and so Captain Magnus and the Cat girl and Canniolinus and Brutus, King Italius and Gracie all appear as a way to show that the herding and the controlling that the Hollywood minstrel shows tried to do not only with me but others was useless and these cracking walls have been sometimes plastered with my work, as a signage of my observer pride.
 
Up at the dollar general, I took out the camera, pretending to be Desica capturing a falling and fallen Rome, as saw a lovely brunette girl get out of a hatchback and saunter leniently towards the green walls painted store, as all is Freudian. Inside, I went to look at the Halloween stuff already out and up, and bought a muster of wreaths of autumn that can Easily be converted into Roman Laurels , and that can be strung back together into a cheap and available and yet somewhat more real than you’d find at zoetrope and its love of the gheppetto’s work house, as it was not meant for film, per se, and thus avoided that awful stink of self righteousness. This is the same reason I use stationary and sometimes expensive to make art and avoid the art school trap of blaming, or lauding, one’s tools. I looked everywhere for a sword I saw before, the Excalibur—must I repeat the Roman roots of that again….?, which would be held by the kingly eminence, who will appear where my cartoon of the king is placed in the long mp4 file that needs to be re-converted now. I picked up the glittery wands and tsarinas toys of little girl princess kits and threw it in the box, as come to think of it, this was not that different from how Rome was created, catch as catch can with whatever was had to make do. Holly leaves and thanksgiving plastering’s would be my Italian king’s grass crown.
 
A voice came to me. Are you looking for your size, bro…? I looked , and the long lean lovely woman was behind me, her exact mini me made duplicate little girl hurling princess one dollar ponies and fake barbies into the cart. I smiled as she beamed at me. Umn, I said, -always smooth-, No, I…I…I was as usual confronted by a lovely woman, speechless. Are you buying those for your little girl, she asked…?  I…said, I am not married, I’m putting together an outfit foir a generalized vestal, a Roman preostess, I said always talking downwards when meaning to do anything but. Yes, I know, she said, and I felt like the blowhard that I am and have never been able to monetize like our buddy Keith, whose triumph of the bawl make me feel there is justice, as the sinking ship of msnbc now goes back to Stan Savaran Ed, showing things are not so well in Light bulb land as they need a translator traitor to dee white wurkin man. Again, I know exactly what he is saying, almost as much as he does. I didn’t even know Keith was back, sadly on epsn and not on policies, as he was being decried again by the dreaded Glenn Beck, who isn’t as mad as he pretends, or is bought off enough to have trashed Newt when it looked like Newt could actually get the sash and win, as in Obamsla land all is a Chinese box and fraudulence is everywhere, and I hope you got a good number out of your shtick mad man, as there is only one mad man on this Romans street who knows the con is on and that’s me, as this dried out old booze bag can go play messiah victim somewhere else. Hed even vote for OBAMA over bungled old dirty Newt, the bag man’s bag man said, which should have told even the women what a fraud we live through now. Unlike now disappearing Glenn, who needs the almighty Jove and his every lightning bolt to keep him from the demon souse, --oh skip it, as Plautus said the best part of writing a farce is knowing when its over. Good on Keith for getting out alive. Like Keith another cable station goes and gets Newt, as they learned from Plautus, really, the first thing to do is get an audience, something GE has never understood, thinking people are always as fraudulent as you is the firsts tap step to ruin, or to losing a half of your sanctimonious audience.
 
I smiled nervously  , unaware she was this close, and me being a …what is the word…?, Sauvé…cool, sophisticate, man about town, man of action, avenate guard, bon ve von, --no…shlub, I was sweating like a fat chick. She took a similar tiara as I bought and handed it to the cute little girl, who looked at me blackly as if with some sort of telepathy, black cartoon eyes realizing the effect her mothers front had on me, not different than she had on her. This was sweet, but annoying. I tried to calm down, but was in rush mode anyway, as wanted to get this all done, and now was confronted with this lean lovely in summer cloths. barely cleaving to deep dark summer tan skin, with hazel eyes shining out from a mixed race sort Italian loveliness. I gathered myself to speak, as was putting giant leaves in a green box, and was looking for that sword I knew I had seen before, even a Pirate anything, as what were the Romans after all but pirated souls sloping for a new land, away from Greek staid corruption, as Romulus invented to Greek and Jewish eyes the anathema of the Asylum. The idea of the barbarians repealing regnum’s that come apart from corruption and complacency and welfare, don’t forget welfare crumb boy,  was said by newspaper Caphius stooge communist who worked at Enron, beady eyed house shnoror times Kruman to be a Arabs invention in the 1200’s taking away from the italic again one of the few things they are allowed to keep. Really, an Arab noticed this…before or after Cornelius Tacitus , Kruggie…? As frankly another Semite is caught whistling past the pantheon, hoping to color his world in less than sepia tokens of sadness and decline. Rome was pirates, as was America, before various Severus rumpled the jolly Rodger with rainbow or christer flags, not Nazi or confederate, but whose bloodiness is acceptable to the white trash and the coloreds who have sold out to the war constrains bulletin service. So I spoke to her as best I could, but still wanted to furnish this coming Rome as best as I could not gridding the props from Rome at various Indy websites, that seemed to me cheapest eye--what is the word…more expensive and yet infinitely less real.
 
 
 
My brother came up to me and told me not to tell anyone what I was doing, him I guess seeing me schmooze with the lovely woman, as telling people around here you are making a movie makes you look like a wanna be porn miester. He gave me a twenty and told me to get whatever I saw I need, he was getting out of here to buy a newspaper and I would be alone, something he likes to get me to do and be more independent. I kept speaking to her, as the little black haired girl was steady in the steel carriage, and gave me the stink eye. I gentlemanly allowed her to step before in line before me with her haul, as to better see her ass and look at that back of hers that held up small white straps of bra against dark peach summer skin, as I can find the sexual in almost anything, as opposed to the perverts who wish to conquer the earth, and wish to be admired for their vices, when one is admired for getting laid, the bar is so low as to be subterranean. They now, who find the sexual in nothing, perversions being merely a way to keep from becoming absolute nothing. On the news is a horrid story of a white beard, old man bald headed girlie armed  myopic judge stooge who allowed a child rapist to get way with parking ticket time as bought the less than Jesuit pre law argument that this poor white man pervert had been lured by the sexy wiles of a girl who wasn’t blond enough to get Nancy actress attention once. A girl who looked as an average student and girlish as usual was off putting to them as anyone not a white is now, and the white judge had to publically apologia as someone woke up the coven of double stuffed lesbians whose usual caterwauling had been mere emotional musack no one was really paying attention to anyway. As I sad as the thesis’s of my film, new Sicily is here, and Bill Ares shall restore amends.
 
I stood behind her, and watched her go out as the little girl watched me back with distain all the way just sort of defying the two fingers to the eyes things as her mother walked her out on her shoulders. The blond guy at the check out and me were both silent and stunned as we watched her walk out, and he shook himself back to awareness and apologized about stopping hurtling my dry goods take into thin plastic bags. I understood, as the blond man was taken with her as I have found usually happens with lovely brunettes who are unviable to dower Hollywood. I should have asked her to be my vestal,  I thought, God is my casting director, unless he wants paid, even if she thought I was a cretin, she was the perfect vestal, specially around here. He was friendly towards me and asked if I found the sword I was murmuring about. He told me the pirate stuff I had seen was gone, a mother having complained to the Goldman sack owned dollar apalooza, and count Hugo Blankfiend always aware of the white women, recalled the swords with one color ninja japenese swords that couldn’t be mistaken for weapons, as Duvall’s police has a collective itchy trigger finger and GE SENDS Out the word to its coloreds you’re for stop and frisk like the democrats are, bubs. No toy guns, though, as we drown in guns and flame throwers, I said, eliciting a laugh. When I got home, I saw I had not a single image of the girl at the dollar store. I guess having been too stunned to actually hit record correctly, and only and half of what I thought I had, almost nothing all the way up there, which was some good blight.
 
 
 
The joke of the day was seeing Erkle the God standing at a Roman mausoleum, it seemed the new less than eternal city is drowned in Pope Julius scaffolding… too late I thought. He prayed to the great black Virgil with the credos in less than the public domain, and I thought of the last will and testament of Vanzetti a cbs radio sonnet called by one white woman a screed against America, as they always show their colors. Unlike Virgil and Sacco, Fleisher’s best Superman and mother of all bombshells Jane Russell, All in the public domain, Martin Luther King, strangely like Mickey Mouse, if one wants to show the earth gods black Tasus speech to the Muslim shepards, one must first pay up showing that in his heart, Martin Luther King understood America all too well, as did Spartacus understand Rome. Although to be fair he didn’t, and all the senators who he came to try to over threw the pricnepate and return to his position as a Sicilian Princ , the story is always doomed or amended  from where you start it as MARCUS SAID, the rough hewn faced slave never understood no an armed as Senator was about to let a slave or a Sicilian give him orders. Its time for war everyone, and this time, the scheme of the blue ducks has come to pass and the spitting idiots of ge theater are pushing for it lest they be seen as the pacifist colored welfare cheats they have been corralling and hating since Publius. It was all a dream about Tennessee. Black Caesar with the rubber stamps of bloated black reverends and more importantly the initials of Alexandrian generals who found him playable and easy to work with, we punish the Arabs who have never really stopped being white mans burdens after all. I think of that when one named Negros on ge theater are amazingly quiet as we build up towards war. This time for reals.
 
The joke was in seeing the new noble laureate preside over the ashes and ghost of the old, as at that moment gun boats were steaming to the eastern Mediterranean showing both were closer to Servetus smashing plates than Virgil spinning silk, toward where the spiders keep their nests. I thought of The girl. Of Johnny football and how what was a capital offense to Dez Bryant and brunch, is nothing now, less than nothing when epsn ahs a game stupidly called in September that has been pimped since Xmas last. The passavante always eventually go too far and elicit anger and resentment no matter who many Negra bishops play shepherd, which always as it ash in Italy for three thousand years, made things worse. Going back to resave Wop like Me, the film took to the dvd after it was converted as all must be between Sony and windows a coldest war, which should be avoided at all costs. But going there it didn’t take, of course. I cant watch Rachel poo and the rest of the liberals who eat regular now, their truest activist creed, thanks to the war company, ask incensed questions that they are afraid to answer to full up the time with spit, if they say anything at all. I caught instead the new Sherlock Holmes from the bbc, which I thought would be terrible, like Holmes and Watson in ww 2,  going up against Himmler an the ss, and yet, I think its great, and perfect and more watchable than any other Sherlock crap I have seen. I am 48 now. Why was I flummoxed by this pretty girl…? 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 

 

 

 
 

 
 

 

 

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