18 September 2013



I AM TIRED AND TAKING A BREAK, THOUGH AM AMID THE CENTRAL PART OF THE FILM WOP LIKE ME, A GRAND SET PIECE CALLED ‘BEND HUR’. It is causing me much in the way of the italic ghetto and Gheppeto arts I wish to almost harness and blame, parade and device for this film, as I make Romans soldiers out of cloth and paper, circus maximusi out of cardboard and paint, I am returning in a film about the heinous Scorsese to the Italic ideal of the studio as it was ment and not as it was reduced in filmmaking parlance. I got my shots of a full moon needed for the last scene, and which a voice-- perhaps I will ask the grand Ian McKellen and offer him a sweet twenty dollar American bill, anyway, someone will, if not as we call it in the industry, even a Frame and text, will prong Ovid’s cartoon as much as anything Puck, and all that sarcastic Roman Plutonian narrations to the films end. A Film that starts with the liens of dreaded and dry, Dante despised hated and Shakespeare admired Brutus, ends as oath the more fully Roman warnings of Puck, even though it is estimably a Greek play, although as we have seen on Charlie Rose, schemers plot to Wille,  to be adored by middlebrows is just faceless and gutless enough, like Homer, to be whatever he has to be to be perpetually in the curriculum, no matter what owned bunkhouses of academia Negros have to say about anything. I looked up Ralph Bakshi,  and yes he did grow up at and on the same street no less in Brooklyn as my yenta Neurologist Audrey did, and I was taken back to see the level of cartoon brewed venom at the man over having shown not given that self same Ben Hur like bloated spectacle without cinemascope to the great and vaunted and horrid and as usually in England, catholic plagreism of epic to Tolkien’s sentinel shit. I thought that his LOTR and American pop adored by me had become the soundtrack and the background that informs the Simpsons now, but what do I, Roman Tony know...? This nation sure adores its epics, as long as they are taken so seriously, as nothing Romans and or Italian need apply, as there is no room for not only Turnus, the original noblest savage, for whom Virgil feels a disquieting empathy as he does Amazonia Camilla, but for the whole last half of the Poem often because foe Virgil’s open love of Italy not allowed to be printed in Victorian England and thus in the American forests which was her backwater, much like how the planned play of the tragedy of Pompeii was told to great genius Willie, that his proclivities and his genius was to be stymied this time, and so thankfully, Pompey is let in his unmarked grave never to be demeaned by being called Shakespearean, than God. Thus, like many hidden alleys in Tourists savaged Rome, his grave is kept away and his ghost is silent to white poets, women and Negros who dream of one day being middlebrow. So, I have collected pages of paper dolls I wish to make and must get to Craft stores again for tin foil, felt and glue as I create Romans as was done before by puppet show italics makers before me, while I note that the going to the dago well once too often has left Di Nero with a film about the laughable Sicilians, in a state and a time in which the once vaunted American audience now feels a strange empathy for the Siciles, their fight and their hatred of Romans masters and those Prussian-ate imperators commuting to town with jaunty sex obsessed Jewish clerks looking for safety in the war city as they have since Cyrus, something unspoken of in their biblical litany. I do love how self-important cartoon reviewers, speaking of puppetry –wow! - dismiss and demean Ralph as he shows, like Welles whose f is for fake I have watched on you tube, seeing him again as poet and author, in ways a secure genius like Dante can speak of as opposed to Kirby, Picasso and Shakespeare, whose whole catty act is pretending they came first, that creativity is the only sin to the

middlebrow and for which they shall not forgive. It turns out that a heinous book like raising Kane was again some would expect from a woman, no too mean, I amend that to  of course an Ugly woman, has now been disproven as much as anything, the hatred of Virgil and Orson has similar lets say bought by and for the Imperious roots, and I think how that means nothing, as a cow and a crone like women who lunch have known since the qurienneial hill. In fact, it means less than that, in fact if it weren’t disproven it wouldn’t have the same cashe. I find myself on the internet looking up websites with the language of my father, seeing again though the words mean nothing to me, I stopped speaking Italian at four, feeling ashamed of him and it, amazingly for Roman Antony no…?, still I didn’t speak it again perhaps having felt ashamed by him surrounded by the gaggle of half wop Pollok suburban scumbags and trash I would learn to hate. Whatever it was, like Orson now considered to be classic F is for fake, as the bbc admits with sour pusses that the Aneied, that bastion of balanced propagandas might be poetries zenith as even the man who codified the haters of Virgil, Macrobius, said as another Greek in Rome had to keep a love of Homer as he chached the little boys and goddesses of Umbria around. Also what is very important in this section, Ben Hur sued as a symbol of the bloated nature of Hollywood, is again, how the Romans and the Italians aren’t even allowed to be sleeping dogs in their own land, as Rome seemingly is a place where all Romans in Hollywood must be villains and or maids, with the occasional smart carbineri police man thrown in. As I said, am waiting for the monument to Sacco and Vanzetti, as the war party and its Mars now hits the nigger shit real hard, and as I said, am not holding my breath. So I create Rome of paper if I must, as find I was right and the floor is now littered with Jews who thought they were buying some sort of projection by always standing with white men. What has finally softened my bitter Juveneal tongue, which I think might not be the best of things to happen to me as a satirical Roman artist, but which lets me be less full of Achita, is how I noticed, as now even the Jews find themselves falling to the floor as so many rotten grapes, a thing they didn’t see coming as did I, is that I note especially in the hyper angry invective towards Backshi and Orson still, the white women know like dogs that a mindless devotion of the bite is all, how white women and white comic hacks keep telling his now they certainly aren't so so bigoted so often, I keep trying to think, are you trying to convince…me or yourself…? I mean not being  a bigot is something I was taught by the priests was the baseline of decency-- not a laurel. And yet they cant stop telling me how wonderful they are, asking me to kiss their rings, --yeeech--, because aren’t they wonderful; that they aren’t like grandma, as they continue their hegemony. What a game for Johhnie Football huh…? They keep throwing their nobility in my face, how non hateful they are, as if they have perhaps done something wonderful in this, perhaps again showing the Machiavellian brilliance in listening to the lies that people tell and not what you tell yourself. A horrid wayward prodigal Jewish clown returns to late night, to laud a pope for forward thinking on gay issues of course, all roads lead back to the run off, and yet I think, does Smoochy even know of dirty wars and the hurling of gay Jesuits to the juntas dogs, with nuns given as Tribute to soldiers to sodomise while he blessed their dicks…does Crazy from Canarzi know any of this,…

,…again does it matter…? I buy pieces of Romans’ soldier outfits and the like, that which I cannot not wish to make, and have added another fifty bucks to the making of Wop Like me, as something about the poverty of the time, is again as has been in Rome and Italy’s since Plautus, a good oven to sue to bake the Romans made eventually and incessantly in Clay. And again as a fat censorious  Virgil leading one through the malabolgie of McDonalds and drive ins that aren’t as depression proof as anyone thought, we hear that the to one percent won all the spoils of this erkle’s war, again not shocking classical Tony, student of preists still, as I knew all along-- that’s what Trojan horses do.  As again I figured as much, the small twenty dollar camera I bought, seeing it not long after seeing Orson Welles commercials for the camera seen as a kid, ...or was that Dark Tower..? Whatever, I took some film of a local wall which I wished to then platter with a poster called ROMA, after the secrete goddess of Rome, a beautiful brunette woman of the sort caught up on the diminution that Scorsese was paid to engender and saw it films in HD. In a way, I am returning film by gumption and a lack of concern back into the puppet show it was compared to me as a kid, by old queers who saw film then as too young and silly an art form for their brothers of Francis minds. I attempt to return film to its Italian puppetry, as frankly ran out of free trial days of movie pro and refused to return to windows movie maker, by all means. And as pore usual, perpetual student I am in ways that unlike Copolla isn't sickening, it took my dabbling in filmmaking to get me to hone my painterly skills, which some have said is my truest calling. I have always been aware of the ironical in republican art.  



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