nice bright colors.

 

So I ask anyone out there who will send me a picture of you if you are an Italian and or would like to be involved, to send me anything you like that deals with this, at antonius865@outlook.com, or if you would be willing to post an image of mine anywhere you’d like send me a line. The soundtrack is brought to us by the great Italian stuff in the public domain, where it all seem stuck and left. I WITH THE COWBOYS BEGINNING TONIGHT SANS ROMO, meaning all hope is not lost, I can sense that things are falling apart even faster than I  would have guessed. Frauds everywhere like Bellicick, Fairy Barry, Wiener, the democratic party, Aroid, and maybe now Romo are falling asunder as anyone with a Clintons love of signora Fortuna could have guessed. I did make a funny and witty and scurrilous email to Zoetrope I hope it went through, as Sissy Copula again finds herself amid the mean girls desperate to be a brunette interpreter, as I SAID, a fool’s errand with that nose, I on the other hand have done well since being banished from the doges wine kingdom, scavaging found epics, and crafted my art about the Etruscans, no less, the fairy tales beloved by Grimms. The book was that the black scholar woman gave me the pride of being too good to be included in a book of noble savagery  that was already getting on her nerves, when she told me how much she despised Toni Morrison, telling me the Roman story from which she toiled the beloved, a woman drowning her Children when she was alerted that the Rubicon was crossed would be a better book than that nigger slop in Ebonics  that crazy eyed Toni dealt in, until the white tied Scandinavians said enough and started giving laurels to posers to Anatolian plagiarism. I went on in that vein but found I didn’t save it, before I could post it here, which tells me something, as with a bad tooth no less I cant stop eating 3 musketeers bars, every so often flossing my teeth of blood and then washing my mouth with an elixir of ambusol and orange juice, Yiee-eks! I still I have to do as much all day as I can as I construct Wop like me, and taking the time out to tell Zio Franchie his hopeful censorship did less to me than to Ovid’s, if the work survives, that I made it to the Romans, a not small endeavor, whereas I think the Germanicvs that I was sad to think would be made by that apocalypse there chump I know will be entombed in his trunk and his stationary and career and market drawers, still unmade when they lower that fat bloated fuck into the vineyard ground. Still it was a needed moment to tell Uncle Frenchy that Roman law I learned as a boy, that the always hat in hand, always threadbare, always nickel and dime, always hand to mouth, they don't censure anybody, and they shouldn't even try.