14 September 2014

I went over the few pages of Rag left to fill them out and connect the stories, and saw the original apes were fine in themselves and don't like the forever childhood of the Lucas sorts show, as Trey Parker said, lets watch all the charm melt away. I rather liked these pages, and only did some cursory changes to refit, found them fine and lovely in their starkness, but have gone onto the b and w wash of the warren comics mentioned before, and have boned up on all the Mort Drucker I had, the Gregg Toland of newsprint, which again I miss terribly as dreadful comics now are printed on phony baloney white papers like shitty news magazines that couldn't survive Obama. Who shall...? Veronica as is Kemtere is one of my favorite creations of italic arts, a Dan De Carlo vixen invention given life by me, and stripped and how, of goofy smile and sneer, Betty and Diasy Mae need I say, are dead. I garther it together like it and as with AR wish I would have just done it all when with first blush of satirical mojo, as look back at some pages as is seen by phony baloney's now the saturnine poets, like Neavicus, the snow man who appears in both, you see somehow the Italians having their indigenous genius burned away,  and had to be forced to rewrite everything in Greek was their fault, so Ill buy Bounty towels anytiems I want, and poems now seen as masterpieces, decried and dreaded by English watchers, now stuck with Homers and Shakespeares, aborted by the negro schoolchilds they mist remedial teach before allowed in Harvard, or Florida state. So I get back to work to make this 88 page four issue comic as I wished it made, everything with me turns into a  freaking clone saga and then comes the whittling back down to the first inclinations, in which again i was right. As I had an inkling that night when the human spittoon thanked Leapin Hera for that thunderstorm to save Bra's imperium , I call it the march of dimes, that way, and I knew that everyone on that dais would pay for it, now they are all seen as prison snitches and amazons on the pad, and mostly pool soul Chissy and of course, Generalissimo Barry. Too, I saw in the Incognito fiasco, speaking of which that door is opening again, Flavius, that giving this blabbermouth sissy thug so much compassion would backfire when the brunettes started to fall out of the closets with welts and broken jaws, not that the witch council ever notes  anything but Ovids flubbed liens as the play moves on ...wait the dogs bark, but the show must goes on or something like that. And even with all that, and even a week from hell for the less than Roman gladiators, who are exiled if say something wrong to a sissy scrub, but allowed to play again after the pistol whipping, even with all of that, I saw that Tony Romo and his stage almost enemy within swerves to thow a ball at the two on first down while everyone else is blocking for the running back who will never be and all pro as long as Signor ding dong is there, is trending with the most negative comments, the most on social media. I find Roman wholesomeness in this, as we have known what Rice and the others  were all along and the women of the senate, egads, merely do their act as this stage is about to be struck, and that Machiavelli is true than not again and that once you are hated, worse than loved or feared in a line unspoken by coeds, you are finished. I shall watch 'the wolf of wall street' tonight on free Epix, as he isnt in the cat bird seat given over when cobbling together minstrel shows as Gene Sickle said, pompously called art, making gumba commodities, and now Jersey Disney hisself censored worse than I ever can be, and the money runs dry. I shall catch it, as the Roman senator said of Petronius' life of Nero coming out amazingly and stupidly while Vespasian was en route, I wish to read his suicide note.

07 September 2014



A mistake was possibly made by me in that with super season, the last post of summer I had 300 people a day at this blog. But I noticed that with the Boys Room, which I admired for its sweetens amid the political hackdom and cleverness of now , I am at drip and drabs. Of course, with Roman Graffiti artesian a forethought, it was the scrawling on the wall and not necessarily the Plautus ethic of audience that matters. Still it was perplexing to me. After all I was mentioning police brutalism before they all woke up the usual Negros on TV and told them that some thug was shot, as again, I DON’T CRY FOR CRIMINALS, MY SAVING GRACE, AND WONT make common cause with any by rote black folks, as was forced to read Metternich as a boy, by a staid German nun, who hated the priests as that ilk would hate men, and despised their love of shady and yet brilliant Machiavelli. The decent ways put on as if greases paint,  unnerve me, as told Keith why didn’t any of those good teams that Mud bone praises bring Michael Sam on, as at least a loss leader, but then Ritchie Incognito ahs shown what you are by Gore Vidalia credo, whatever is said in America is by definition the opposite of what is true, if anything is true at all.

So, instead of parceling out my words continue with a kind of Roman rag tag decency of my own, a s I said, cant quite care about things I brought up when Tom Brudder 2, Duval was showing himself a credit to his race  by executing un arme , even kneeling men, something the kabuki blackout folk never seemed to make a cry in the tar gassed night. I still expect Sallust like race riots, but alas we are still encroached  by those hacks who even as looters, have more tighter leaches than the regular filth, shown by how they all yapped on cue when told, then dissipated like dew, as when we found out that men of people in the party of the cheech, had signed off on militarizing the police, as I noted around Christmas time’s, meaning two investigations into something they’d rather not talk about.The walls have eyes.

But, I notice having take some time off of the box to complete pages in black and white Orson Welles attempt and third man noir, recalling their pulpiness and Spirit occasionally bought when all the mads were bought up, that the virulence of the good hacks continues unabated, no matter what is going on. Now, at Google Plus, the same voices must discard and detacher, and speak of Klan meetings, when anyone dares notice that Villa pricier Barry is falling apart and now in fact as usual, has seemed to take his dictation from chicken hawks like Mac Kane and Gramnsety, which is par for the course. Heh. I spoke of Romulus playing with his birdies, but even I thought it would be more decline and fall and less Bob Slurm,-- from way downtown, Boommmmmmm. I thought can I note that Barry the wizard boy, that he now in a spin and waiting to get off the stage in an undiva, lackluster way, twitchily without the aplomb of Roman Bill who plays Plautus to the hilt for all it is worth, still I sometimes miss that miscreant, who at least understood Roman drama in ways that droning, see what I did there…?, Barry never can. Can I mention that Barry contradicted  himself there 3 times in the same barely memorized screed and love of war and capitalization without being called a Klansman, need I mention the Jesuitical line about your grandpas, speaking of Metternich…? Can I notice he is not so much above reproach, but beneath contempt, as he is our Jennifer Lawrence pretending she is Claudia cardinale, like her, he is wanting in every way, and we now know that this nude picture fandango may have been a set up as Apple wont take the fall because you cant find a Wendy amenable to those who love batman too much. Can I note that he said the exact opposite of what she said before within breaths taken,, without being compared to the Klan, cause don’t take that white woman’s attempt at Rachel Maddow refereeing with me, toots, as my forbearers were by definition  not allowed in the Klan,  as opposed to Barry, whose Klan teas where spoke of when Hillary sill had a punchers chance…can I mention that he’ll say whatever comes to his deceitful unraveling mind, sometime at wits end and with the bad writers sonnet of making it up as you go along with no outline ven to diverge from,…? had Barry gone from fearless leader to Holy Spirit, are his droning homilies now Nicene worthy, the wholes, sorry holes left to be filled in by later bites at eves apple, hoping no one notes that it doesn’t add up…? Of course as she bumbles about we must hear of how decisive he is from Ge tower as this is what they have been paying into this fund fir all along, as we pinball now to war, as somehow this is always Congress fault. But it never works when the senate thinks they have a bagman, and now to show how emaciated he really is, with another mud term that always seem to catch imperial Barry by surprise, any talk of floods of immigrants again as usual was just that talk, as the annals of America a now cut up into two year stages as Poloozi redeems her green stamps she has been collecting since signed off on trap, as men of the people  must be fed eventually.

I stayed up watching free hbo, not what it used to be, and saw the Hobbit as coming on. I would watch Ian McKellen read crap like the hunger games, if need be, as he can bring out the core of anything, by I think treating it all like Macbeth no matter how fill of shit it is. Also, infinitely better than the boy chick of that last dreadful go around with dread Tolkien, Martin Freeman, a great actor, was playing the role of Bilbo with some heft again, with the English bells treat everything is like I Claudius, except I Claudius, which is like Brides head revisited, as the truly great Roman movie combining the profane and the Romantic has yet to be made, and wont be it seems by Martin, who can kiss that barge goodbye. Still I watched this movie, not again as queer as that sambo and Freedo shit, as was saved by its excess by the good actors, and of course, Ian makes Tolkien’s dread Gandalf back into the Atlantae, from where eh comes, to Tolkien heirs dismay I read. Que es kista Arist' machinatta…my Ma asks, watching herself a rather cheesy looking premeditation as the days of Ivanhoe Technicolor  are sadly gone, and now we hear in fact color has been important throughout history, in even the Jewish signed off on middle ages. Why does this previous middle earth look like 1300 without a Dante,…? Just because. What is this Ariosto warmed over and re fried?… she asks, but I shrug, having out in three hours by the times we meet a shaky again chinsey Smaug, a dragon that sounds much like Ian. I am lost as often am in Anglican literature,  as it seems to me to be Roman sonnets with all the oomph taken out. At the end of this it breaks off strangely , like a Flash Gorden serial, what else is the hallmark of post Lucas film making arts,….and the dragon flies towards a depressing little Ohio town that has sprung up in pre post middle earth, a little town, to wreck havoc. Wait…after three hours we get a  "to be continued"…, not even with one of those respite moments where we have left hell and the purgatory moon backing us, as we take a breather not even that, or is that asking too much…? It is after all a 96 page booklet that must be contorted into the needed Saturnalia trilogy…how many free hbo days will kit take to see what happens here, or next, will I much care…? And there as a writer is Guillermo del Toro, another Spaniard who has made a nice career out of white girls not knowing the name Gustavo Dore, who a hundred and fifty years ago gave us the short hand in books of Dante and Ariosto leaves the vocabulary in images for fantasies, not that JRR would ever admit it, like CS did. Its like how I liked it  when I read that Alan Moore after having heard this cretin Grantee poo demean and sneer at him for having had the temerity to be better writer than this poser was, go off and tell this idiot to back off once and for all, as I always will take up for ALAN OVER THIS CRETIN,  AS AM SURE THE SCHOOLBOY AND HIS TEN YEAR LONG BATMAN EPICS, has no earthy idea who Emilio Salagari even is. Also I was glad to see the wizard who may or may not appear in Rag as sorcerer Ennius Faulk, told him off as how he played punk all day long but sure wanted that knight hood from the queen mum herself, whereas Alan knows hed rather be a self appointed student of snaky Kemeter.

I return to my pages of black and white to make 64 or so and thus utilize the great images from Italian books but at least admit it as so. Again wont be lectured by the good holders and interrupters of the faith as still await a Catiline moment, when the trash has had enough, and start hurling rotten meat at the senators who barged the golden door and lock it, lest the people get their pounds of flesh. The unromantic conniving mid terms are as close as ell ever get, I guess. The closest come to that is the elections that democratic openly wish to connive to win and keep purple machetes with a strange misplaced fervor, but then who would want to get a real job when you can be tribune of the trash and collect that golden ticket that Nan has been keeping in a pressed book like a leaf from a tree long bulldozed down. Saw a dreadful show called Garfunkel and Oats,in which it shows how fall we have fallen when you tube does your casting, but again, some switcheroo thing was done, as how this jelly fosh eyed bitchy sneering woman saw her only attribute as being blond, and the little dago princess was made somehow instantly beautiful with a  bland, blond dishwater  wig, yes keep believing that , gals! There are Blonds and then there are Blonds, Truuuuuman said. Still, I do love how these how’s have to be done with care, as constantly they demean and distaste ‘Brown’ hair you see, and never black hair, as they would make them all seem too much like racists, which of course you are never, as you marinate your wife’s and gay sons in miss Clairol, as if Commodus. You are never racists, we are cognately told, and now Keith takes a victory lap that somehow red and gold Redskins t shirts aren’t sold anymore to the good white folks, who of course must be told what is racist by blowhards on television, again check those boxes all!, as of it sort of never dawned on them before, but don’t fret Cowboys, never fear, the actually killers in all this, like the Sicilian mob, is always a workable project. As watched this painfully hip show with the two girls I felt proud of msylef that didn't take the opportunity to steal Danielle Corsetto's lovely but a bit heavy on the coven work and pretend it was mind as I almost did, as was told am too masculine and do I have anything about girls..? as it teaks a certain genius to write about a bitchy red head whose friends with a busty and vivacious brunettes and likable, hmnnnnn, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not that my ethics bothered me, I have none. As  still it is her idea and she has the voice needed to do it whereas male chavanist pig me, how nice that is to say again amid the decent and the closeted, would have made it into nothing but pillow foughts and feminine hygiene jokes, and still would

have been been better than this. We start a new year in which eventually, Romo The homo, will be glowering and aw shucking his way off the field, lets get small, like a mechanical monster, or rockem sockem robot with head snapped off, if again we are lucky as this year, as  like Obama he may find the wages are severe when Signora Fortuna now detests you for having just killed time.