10 June 2015

An emotional dyspepsia in me caused me at the first sign of computer trouble, a virus, you know, why we hate Lebroin, according to effeminate bathroom boys at ESPN, sheesh, I wen-ta swiped it clean, as an So there, to anyone and everything I hate. Of course many of pages of Rag were all in there unsaved, and five books from Mr immortal to Dust land too, leaving me with a few pages of the horror comic I couldnts stand doing, the son of Satan like thing, I gave a bare chest to, as to fuck with this dweeb and comics obvious gay-phobia, no John Carters here, boys, and most of  'witch' was gone. Most the kids I have dealt with on comic sites have been nice, even giving me redoing chances to do work I didn't think down my alley, and only one was harsh, showing again, like Cicreos mythology the repeatable childhood and fan boy rage he spoke of dont  survive the dwindling economy, that we now know that the senators got their bags was constricting when you last said it was a golden time. It makes me wonder who else cant get a word in edge wise as we await the latest Star wars past its prime.

The going way of Mad men had me feeling as if almost an eighties boy, as powerless and ruined as I had ever felt, as It seemed to distill and announce to everyone of my faults and cares, and mostly made me feel atrocious that I had let the nation of Nickey and Albert the little faggot and sex crazed fat chicks and Coppola and Scorsese bother me as much as it had. Why do I care,...?, is the refrain of everything to me from Jesuits to my Father to Jewish yentas there to help me, and to this day haven't come up with a satisfactorily answer. But Mad men coming and gone bothered me me much, much more than than any pixar shoot where Barbie stays, the space man is a clown and the wonder Camilla doll is disinterestedly taken out. This bothered me insistently, and wasnt sure why, as it did bring up feelings of a Capote age, that I must have thought would go on forever, that I like the admiring jesuits thought was America unaware of Raygun and his commerce age. As a sinking feeling has been in my gut as the days turn to bright, and the Helios holy days of the god of the sun, the only god Cicero said, to any republicanism thinking he was a Jew like you have now...wait, maybe he was, as Cicero admitted to all that the sun god, Etruscan God Cath, the boy charioteer was only god who mattered, so maybe he was like those Jews on cable now. I send works here and there merely for the credit, like a good boy staying in our out of the pictures, as have to explain and re-size things for virtual zines, but thats okay by me. Late at night watched a nighttime of classics 70's movies, a festival it seems of golden aged films lately, the last great epoch of film, before everyone became Steven Spielberg without the warmth, and before Lucas started to believe his own shit. But its a jj Abrams world now, and we just rent out the seats, and I feel horribly that wasnt as shhhhmart as I thought, or maybe was just more of a coward than anyone who loves the Romans should be. But I know this much, the Romans didn't parade transvestites about,until like with the latest niggeralia dissolving once the clerks see the first victims are always white women, as it was at the pool, ah but thankfully Lahhhhhreys decency is sold by the pound and thus can just stop the sausages machine in a dime... They liked putting women on pedistels, we've cleaned that up, and the queers of then had a sweetness to them gone now, I thought as watched Annie Hall and the great Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon, ah but these Jews and Italians are gone, and all is a Kirby Sandy hairdresser Bradly Cooper wonderland, and I think, lover of Romans as I was made by a 76 year old father and a gaggle of queers who inculcated that in me, as luxuriate and sit and stare at Gordon Willis darkness and chiaroscuro, when do the good white women, faggots, Irishman and Negroes, and who was talking about prescription drugs as the fulcrum of this riot way back, the black mayor and advocata were we hear now, as I knew when ALL THE COPS WERE INDICTED, BAD MOVE,  instigating their muscle headed cops, gashes of Passolini, sanctimony from niggers and white women is always just a mask, a slight of hand, I smell a hackanomalley, the coven in righteous rage, ...I wonder when do you like the Romans you hate so,.., when do you get to be corrupt....? When, as Barry house nigger emeritus signs off on another capitulation, we see the same number bump in his polls at the same time, as was aslerted during saturnalia, when the niggers dance watch the senate, as true as ever, ah I cant wait for labor day and he like Shatner told to get off the lot. I must say, when do you get to be decadent...?

Scorsese's golden doors, the mean streets, as opposed to the walled, wasn't shown until three am, and I was tired from the brilliant Dog Day Afternoon and Pacino and Sidney Lumet gone to to save the project, when Coppola as on Superman turned out to be a bigger fraud than I am, ouch! to watch this bloated shit, but thought, such placement is a honor for Peckinpah, but not for him, Kartina, not for him. Bought a few reams of comic book Bristol boars for twelve dollars, ready again to draw anything, as they are some marvel boards by artists and such needed a few extra bucks, don't we all. My passion is catching.
My Ma went into these packs of pages she collects, gray images of daily newses, pictures of cake, my no no real cakes, too sweet, and she gave me a bunch of pages of comics pages in pencil and undone of a Mantra thing I was doing before Rag, as I had felt bad the the house of Jack took that lovely Statius like comic and made her of course blond, end of her, as it was the Italian who made ACHILLES





INTO A WOMAN, YES FUCK WITH ME, and I had to ask, Ma what the fuck made you keep these pages.... they're barely pencils lines. Ma, a saint, told me with her aged wisdom of the motherland, each line is a expression of God, every page torn up is the truest killing of the trees of God,a true waste, a true raising of Kane, and doing the work of esso va e inferno, he who burns. I felt even worse.



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