01 August 2015

IS IT TRU...?

 


14 July 2015.
 
Again, I seemed to bother some warlock at Rachel’s coven, you know the sort, the vicious manias effeminates and fat chicks who must get the most out of their vitriol as it has such a sort shelf life, what with them being often pulled back by the reins of Imult, and thus like Cicero’s Gods become mute, but just when you’re starving. So Barry O’bama just swallows balloons of the republicans and got free trade through with parliamentary hijacks that Disraeli would call venial, so you radicals rearrange your portfolios accordingly. As I said I told them at Zoetrope said again to some t-shirt hack, when one calls oneself the mad man at the Roman triumph, what is thought of me by you worse than senseless things as I weep for hung Pompeii, means nothing. I don’t split my take with anyone. That reminds me, I have tell a writer I got one of his stories done by me into an anthology, cause I’m a sweetheart like that.

I could be a bitch an say the nuns taught me enough of the middlebrow elements of white woman writing to the point I had sold a novel to Harper Collins at nineteen, but had to as usual back away when I got the scent of exactly who owns these covens of dining fat women, and just whom it is that ahs for closed wholly on the Okiefonkie swamp as we know, even before ethics, as satire is the first thing to go, and for similar reasons. I refuse to stop writing in the Machiavellian way that persist adored, having been made




to deconstruct sixty word sentences from the Prince, clause upon dizzying clause, as Henry James said, showing Italian was language whilst English a barbarian tongue that described things, so I cant leave that be, as it seems to me the least I can do for thieve queer prince’s of the church, whose dearth is far in the back mirror of cars which read in sanitized blood, just married. A commercial appears on television, I must say that as somehow the internet and superhighway became less of a Delphi and more of a moveable vaudeville, when the elastics of Barry’s political triumphs was accepted and made whole and true by the acquisition and acquiescence of a Bush apparatchik, which should have said much, but who listens through the confetti…?

Too, I was lectured to by some black face on Google, I was sure this came from a similarly truthful and thus suspicious post done at Larry the cable guy, as he is a good nigger pope attempting to trash to be niggers as Incognegroes, which again in big talk coming from an empire in which pretending to be a nigger seems to be a whole third of your gross national product. I take it this niggardly shit is as close as you can come to culture when all the faggots have become wet nurses. Still, rap music, never assailable, never to be censored, never verboten no matter who dies, you know until; a white woman dies or Rush Limbo is carried off, and never censorable like anything thou might have, stays as the national folk music, and this Harvey cartoon come to life and his niggardly pairings seems to get more sanctimonious the worse his numbers get, but then for his ilk, he can rolls his eyes n demand scansion through the tear gas, much less having been the stone that cock robin Jewry Jonnie. But as I said Id retire too before having to, like in the betrothed, mule sister Gertrude through the Tuscan hinterlands to the capotoline city. Like I said, Id leave before that too. But, it wasn’t a missive from, any of Larry’s fans, no this was black guy castigating me for a fag joke, jokes, like satire, early on the list of what hypocrites hate the most, its such a waste for time, wit is, as that could be bettered served to screech how much you love the men of the people or a higher bracket, just be quiet when the Jewish yentas split up their bribes. It was an angrier sneer from a batman lover, crying to lecture me. Roman Jesuit Antony about the use of slurs, a skimming as I said that has come of vogue the moment that the poppa Soprano died of bad calamari. I was lectured bout use of homophobic slurs, yet they are the ones who fear gays, I have been around them since 1970 and not one tried to esquire me of my early Neapolitan love of the well turned ankle, but then in the days before aids some fetishes didn’t need to be cleansed by Ted Olsen’s law firm. What with Barry having accepted the tender I guess blacks don’t hate fags anymore, a bribe is a bribe, but I felt sad that the days of my youth in which even as fifth graders we pulled for and laughed and bought cardboard set pieces, all as I said in a smashed up universe where all was true called the Tony verse, made Hyper time by business who lectured me of a lack of devotion, what am I, Kevin Smith...?, Adam West helping Burt ward with his conjugation of Greek Verbs was gone. Batman is dead, a corpse like in AR, dressed in his now Kevlar suit and paraded about, Weekend at Wayne’s, recalled by the sort of ceremony of matrons and fat women who always liked Capote more than Vidal, at least until they were alerted and alerting that when they thought about it, they hated both just the same, Capote maybe worse as he was a Judas and unlike Gore, hid the fact he hated them so. I should have known, but had to get my two cents in that eye roiling hack, still, when a circus isn’t attended or noticed, it is always in a perpetual winter and its carnal rides barren and quiet, and quiet isn’t what circus are there for.

 



Soon enough showing my Roman genius, the night time at comedy centrals was closed, like the clown show for repairs and retooling in midsummer’s dreamless, pixie less, nights. Like I said, I don’t care what you call me, spell the name right, easily in Google days, and that has always been a sticking point with the good whites who cant understand the Greek roots, and god help the girl child who ahs Greek roots, but still one ahs to admit, your usual admonitions of crazy and or drunk doesn’t work on anyone who can still spew this many puns and recollections of Roman histories you never read. Again don’t fuck with me, as things unnoted by good white women, the gumba talking rodent and the fat blond Bellona, are both summarily off the air. Someone to Pluto first likes me. As I have said, I have done as I wished most of my life and have been smart enough to fandangle my ways through your garden mazes well, and if I forwent anything in life, it was avoiding sections of town whose gunman’s aspects bothered me anyway, but always went to those places when needing art supplies or the new Mad, as a good Jesuit student I have been devoted to nothing, or at least not to anything you think is important. Like I said, having read in Dante , exile from shitbags is a complement if not a laurel, and too, I know your devotions to anything is allowed to a highest bidder, and so, go get your Italians wedding envelopes like good cogs well cogs, and go growl at someone else as Tricky Nicene Sabin starts grumbling he lost because you academic women don’t control your slave niggers enough. Good Lord.

 

 

2. I heard from some people who read my last few posts that they were joyful and sweet, which of course answers why the good hacks and drones and button men should would pick up in anger, as anyone who speaks on command as the Romans said lives in abject jealousy of the man willing to yell in the street’s. Its all as I noted, shit I first saw in Zoetrope, before that was seen as a dilettante, a bullshitter, a clever insinuator and a Machiavellian, my sue of what those thugs pigs called the great black saint Niccolo, was proof of my stupidity to white polish stalest, as again said wit is useless to those who charge by the word, and anger less. But was never so defamed as when got too close to the vineyard that all Spiccy Sicilian ate wop’s dream of making it to, which like Barry’s hw3os they will sign off on anything. These assholes think I didn’t see this before or haven’t been inoculated to it, as they think like white trash, they demean on command that their niggardly disposition of humanity and fullness means something To Roman Me. I don’t sublet my soul to those who work at war Inc, nor do I expect to be paid in pennies and simony or wish for my ability to get on a dying network and give the ways white master of ceremonies a blank check to which they hold my power of attorney. But to sue my best Roman curt writing, as said, was reading Sallust when half the erkels of now were still dreaming of being more Moses Malone than Tom brother, here this I think made as simple and clear as Capote’s stream.

You see to sue Roman calculus, Bill Clinton could have singed off on the republican health care deal, one Barry’s great achievement between the signing of betting slips, yes most if not all of Barry’s triumphs are republic in nature, else why would they need him so…? Bill could have signed off merrily onto this, and been in the history books, I shall do this at my best US Grant epistles of dry eyes from the front, like many a hero of a good cause, unlike those who flew that bad flag. Grant was positively, like Lincoln, Cesarean in his cold snake skin eyed ability to look past the corpses to what really mattered. Bill instead of causing the women he ridiculed in shadows to make fun of a mistress, ah the Roman Trapea that Hillary will never understand will always be a fat naked albatross around her neck, would have been in the books where Nixon would have been had Ted Kennedy, again woman killer, didn’t still have delusions if being the one to bring heath care himself, speaking of dead mistresses, being something that causes the wheels to fall off of triumphal chariots. These books are for Barry, I guess, where Barry exists with Brutus, the Cotton gin, and the black death, Bill, ousted of having lived out his coda making fat girl jokes about someone who had the temerity to let them feel her up. But Bill, Roman Bill, Romantic Bill, conniving and thoughtful and using and utilizing Bill, said at the time, like his dick josh about the lesbians he hated so, that he couldn’t in good conscious sign off on a healthy care bill written as he said, not without wit, on Merck stationary. Big Phama, no longer spoke of as evil you know, now that Barry is the speedy alka seltzer of presidents, signed off on this bill, made apparent when Bush apparatchik smirking Roberts said this health care bill was done to support the free market, not at get rid of it’ll, like how gay marriage means marriage is victorious, take that Anne Marie!, so take that niggers, you really should be more circumspect about who you let use your stained with chicken sauce and weed stained mantel of goodness, as frankly I wouldn’t have let Barry sue the soul train Philadelphia theme into when I heard that as the la times once defend to say, half his Kansas family were once Klansmen, the cauldron if not the crucible from which misery democrats had come. Sorry that was dangerously close to Machiavellian sentence structure, as opposed to certitude by ge employees who speak in ad type, no matter what you told yourself of mad men, still as gray flannelled now as ever. Bill could have been the president to give America heath care, or this perfected market tested kid approved pill conglomerate researched and developed model, variation here of, like gay marriage, which is there more than anything to under grid the power already there. This all showing why Charley Rose is annoyed and angered and retentive to some negro adored by Morrison, did I ever tell that story…?, who is being called the new James Baldwin, which I think I am closer to, if not in melanin at least in a love of Virgil; and the epic as he did show in a last book, and too, one of my credo is, and say to all the good white trash hacks out there who think grandpas midnight rides made them champions of their negros they sued to hang and now cause to hang around, If I isn’t who you say I am, then you isn’t who you think you are.







 

 

3. Ah, we’ve reached the point in our imperial pageant in which we have gotten to murders that Barry cant use as distraction from him calling sentries, sorry Senators, they become so interchangeable…, and always begging them to save hymns, showing my calling his Caesar was trickily due to his ego and the moonbeam issues he has as it never had to due with his ability to bowl a strike or be fortunes favorite. Fortunes fairies founded in him, no way, he wasnt even beloved by his parents as I was, which showed why he had it maybe better. But at least I didn’t have to go about carrying buckets of water begging to be loved. I’m sorry did I say something wrong again, I can never know what is verboten as quickly as can say Jewie Jonnie or Larry the cable guys don’t really want to be on anyone mailing list and be given my latest histories as the Romans said of Pompeii. We are all in flux that way, when truth is s comity brokered by men who build and sell drones, calmly those that don’t work. But then, I noticed no one is brining down Italian buildings with a poof and a flash to get one person, who doesn’t get the same amount of Roman trial that God did, but then I have always had empathy fop poor Pilate. Ecco the cash. You got that right.




The only thing I believe at MSNBC are the apologies for going too far in their crap, something never done by Cattiline, my nigger, who killed roman Army men purposefully, as to show what the Senate has expected of him, to the point that marc Antony, a young commander, said of our hero, were that there were at last fifty of him to save Rome, instead we have a thousand Cicero’s for every man in Rome. Which explains why he would later a triumvir, ask that the embodiment of the Res publica, Cicero, Have his brains cut out, the ultimate insolent to the always thinking, conniving, Jewry operator. I have this year not played with the posters and the postmen as much as before, as instead of doing this rigmarole did actual work, seven stories in comic form so far since about the march madness, which by definition the step men aren’t allowed to do. It still angers some like Zoetrope and hacks know hither and yon when a Mister Ciotti or Stan Lee or Shooter or even a little box with Rachel’s face on it shines away, deigns to like my work, as good step men they think they own the placement, when in fact they rent out there standing room by the words. It always bothers them, like the hack at arts school when a crew of professionals liked my work and pretty much left his traced shit be, bothersome to them all, but then I really don’t care as much as they would like me too, as never wanted or had to become everything they wanted to be or are. Answers back to these hacks if at all sadly have been more curt and more non verbose than I’d like, again the jurists told the best carrying device for a lie is the simple declairive sentence, why Capote called Hemingway the closet everything, as when someone is that concise with words and truth god knows what he, like Twain, must be saying in the dark. As again told them at the vineyard am not always tap dancing for employment, and don’t keep a portfolio or résumé of only the stuff that worked, much more like Leonardo’s collected sketches of wonder than say a satchel full of stock winners. Old gilded aged stocks are seen as art, I bought an old American telephone and telegraph stock marked worthless, but cost me foury dollars, just for the Venus like Colombia upon it, but was destroyed in a storm. But that was before fearful Jews scrubbed as much Roman out of life, knowing that Dore like lithographs as does everything worthwhile to a Semite, cost money! So again take your ridicule to someone who can be hurt, or best shut up by it, as the priests made sure I knew what was alluded to by Corker when on the spittoon’s show about who really ran his program, as after all, it was only a few weeks ago that Barry needed the Republicans to save his scrawny ass again, and that was made too apparent for the later propaganda, as Caesar would note, to even work.








I know BARRY IS A FRAUD, BARRY IS PROTCTED, BARRY IS A RICH MAN, the house nigger dreams he is butterfly dreaming he is a white moth, dreaming he is a rich republican…but soon enough some Arab, like the spic in gay town, will go off script, and another massacre will ensue, as I have been reading Plautus since 1975. Barry only sings at your funeral if the price is right, and what fox news doesn’t understand is not saying something about something, thought its want the democrats do, isn’t necessarily standing up for anything, which by now I thought would be apparent. As the ultimate drone of the temple of Burhl, so I know acutely what you all are, and sainted have done my share of plowing of the fields and tending to the crops of the lord. I know that politics, that thing you are always demeaning and yet never stray from is Machiavelli’s banquet of rancid shit and it snit any fun when the bus boys put on this much airs, and make it this scanimonius. I watched Charlie Rose and some insider was on, you know now that Father Gore ahs joined the Jesuits in the music of the spheres, and came on to trash the old man of the middle sea, with a paper thin knowledge of things which his patron and master would have cheerfully called middlebrow. A book came out to trash the master of political biography, our Tacitus, after whom no lunge at colossus Lincoln would have been kept unchipped, as he put it a plaster saint around which the Mormon tabernacle choir sung about his Darius like amber caked corpse. No Lincoln now doesn’t have echoes in it of Masta Gore and his alto reeds, as now even hagiographers like Goodwin and McCullough must admit to the Italic properties of Lincoln, his love of Machiavelli, like with A Willy ignored, not even dismissing his Cesarean love of the law of threes, so important in hagiography and comedy writing. The books is called sympathy for the devil, and I wondered how close a friend you musty have been to be able to call a man to whom not a whit of scandal has attached it self, like Petronius and many a Roman filthy Gore liked to watch, a devil, more of a Kemeter, which is so more than I can say about your presidents, who no matter the party like good Roman, Vidal found more comedy than tragic. What made, I thought, Gore the devil here…? Knowing that calling him the devil by this no man meant something as a slur to the lets say Chosen and monotheistic among us, who tell us how holy the Koran is when not going up in flames becaue Zio Sam set fire to another holy place…I wouldn’t be schooled knowing of the proclivities of the barbarians in Italy, again must refer you haters of the Confederate standard to the cross on an Italian Flag, but when the next Isis inspired shooting, you know at the student union, we are nothing if not radical and chic at the same time, when a massacre happens next, if the Confederate flag can be castigated for incurring killings at a church, will the Koran be next to go when like in AR again, a passel of Etruscan soldiers are killed by their own, and the sentries are hamstrung to know what to do….? In a church of hypocrites cause and effect is the most while apostasy, and no Julian is allowed. I would be shocked when all is said and done, and at the end of the day, a hated phase by Oreilly but a Roman again Cliché meaning how many bodies were cleared at dusk from a battlement, [again its stuff like this that keeps Rachel a fan] I wouldn’t be shocked to see Mecca become nothing more than a new Veii, an ancient city to which all the penitents of Janus the italic god had to make Canterbury tales like traverse and thus a first return, will be pummeled by gross barbaric swine. What made Gore such a diabolical figure to this hack…and why was he so willing and cagier to be a Lucifer LBJ had been, so willing to brake earth at the Kennedy centre and literally throw dirt at the vestige of Jack the Frosted. What made Gore so evil and vicious, I ask…?, despite him saying to a hack named Tyrell, now I believe coming out for gay marriage, sure now that Gore and his ilk are dead all the queers are loveable woodland creatures as seen in Ovid I guess, right past the witches who cackle as instead of a caldron, dance about witching flickering images on a Sony, the lastly demographic of get hater, when Tyrell the conservative goon called Gore the anti Christ, Father Gore responded back, ohm please not so formal, call me AC. I felt badly and couldn’t watch this hatchet job, nice that unlike Hitchins this nobody waited until Gore was silent …but something tells me the cabbages can always emote from the earth,…this effeminate strega of the sort we see wee in the library and thus not blood sport parts of American academia, what they waste their time with between bowl appearances.

What was so important about doing this to Gore’s repute and reputation, man how much did this set back the mossad… I hope not much, as outside of me, who even recalls him any more, though his echoes can be heard when a prickly Michel Kinsley, ah the American dream incarnate from Levittown, winces at the word middlebrow, it smells of gentleman’s agreements and Bill Payly and Happy at the Seasons, as Juvenal strakes back when you least expect it. Welcome to hard times, gents, welcome to a land where Augustus has managed to make all the fagots married, no fooling it was once his dream to marry off all the queers to Sabine gals, who he recruited for trade work as he sloppily thought that was a way to return to Roman virtue, so help him Venus, but then, the Roman gods have smiled upon me for yeoman’s diligence, as echoes of ancient romance are everywhere. This includes secret histories of the abortionists at PP, OR IS IT OPP…?, RECALLING the chapter of mine in AR, with vicious sofas of salon tramping overfed Greek woman to whom matrons smelt their washerwomen impregnated by their wayward hubbies. But then, I have never been one for the flag waving, of burning, of Negros and Jews now, who think they have a piece of a shit pie. So marriage for the queers, and rice for all the birds, and who carries who in gay marriage, no body, as no man IN RIGHT MIND, no matter how sissy or weak or perfected will be a previously mentioned Sabine girl. If you don’t believe me, ask Bill Clinton, who seethes as worthy of any character I have ever brought back to life from the Italian dusks, like Al Moore I am a devotee of snaky Kemeter, to the delight and admiration of black scholars who hate Toni Morrison, who on Chuck Rose I learned Toni was a pseudonym and not really her either, making me ask like a stinker, is there any body in there that can write a lick…?

As the Roman in me must laugh when you thought you sanctimonious niggers were getting rid of a confederate flag, but seem to have lost Atticus Finch, instead, when you meant to destroy Scarlet and Rhett, as Capote didn’t finish his own epic, much less that southern fried shit, oh if only Gore had lived to see this, Harper Lee, white woman scribe saint who when Capote died of pills and ambition lost her voice, as was only an editor as I said eliciting dislike once, but …Ah, the most unwise career move, as my poet Gore, perhaps with Orson in the midnight of the elusion fields, dance at midnight, under trees made of Dore silver leaves, or maybe Pogo like irradiant newspaper cartoon, freed from having to sell out as either the jolly green giant or Obi Wan, laughs. I hated writing much of this, as tell the niggers of cablevision that I was reading Julian at ten, at fifteen was accepted into a Jesuit reader of writings on the pro bono assurances of a fat lesbian teacher who hated me for drawing images of her, but knew then I twas a Roman among the coons, and placed a story called ‘king Italius’ despite or because of my open admiration for the plowers of Italy and their hammers and sickles as weapionzed artifacts. They especially liked the way I made it the Roman Cain and able, but written by a sociopath who cared, as Jupiter always thinks able-remus gets what he got coming. You house coons aint shit. Ah but I still feel a need for arguments amid the eye rollers and the giggling Jew babies, for I to be seen and read by white trash women who think they are liberal and or thoughtful, to tell them they are not, it was like acing a sat in math and English as was told by a Italian educator named Mister Mariucci not to attack each question as if I was taking everything’s personal affront, and this time, just spit back what they wanted, and not ever show off by saying that Paul never wrote a letter explaining Christ to Germans. The women and frauds of alphabet soup networks think they are literate but actually they think the best sentence begins with the words Pay to the order of, and so I needed that Jesuitical flourish there at the end just to make them all itch. Think what you’d like, but have been drilled,… hoo boy!... with headmaster priests making me write as if a solider in first person at Caesars bridgeworks called the tenth legion, so again, I say the Dago epithet as I would to ferryman Matthews has he admits to dragooning souls if not bodies to the Styx called war consortium liberalism, don’t just go but stay, as Ma says, La’ferno like demons should.

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