16 November 2015


1. As have been accepted again in a Sunday comics compendium, perhaps with my own italic version of Prince Valiant, The black knight, with the first haggard remnants of the Roman empire and the knight, which was theirs, in the coming dark ages, I thought I would then drop my attempt at writing a novel for the national novel month. At which I found a good diversion. But then, I wasn't so sure, as what else do I have to do. So with notes and pages out from ideas from 2001, think I can perhaps put together a picturesque novel, a Roman affectation, a road to... picture, a buddy comedy they validated to highest arts, no matter what they tell you at Britannica, as it is as ancient a Novel like Satyricon, and The Golden ass, which the more middlebrow idea of the novel as one story with beginning and middle and end was something come up with by Hemingway, and his minions, and which I heave never been a fan of, as those seem to be the books that women are asked to read and comment upon.

But the Cowboys lost again, as the circle of witches succeeded with their fat newfangled sanctimony to go after Greg Hardy, like Tolkien not my friends, and now they go after Dez. Who had the temerity to blow up at some house coon who writes for ESPN, for now, a caveat that must classically be given when dealing with on the pad sorts who scribble for the corporate masters, Dez heard someone call him a nigger, like a catch, always in the eye of a beholder, which as poo pooed by the good ole white boys of the bathroom. Ah, but I wouldn't be shocked if this house nigger did just that, as they have had it out for him, since we heard of supposed 8 mm films which showed him beating some woman, beatings are verboten, bit rapes we shall see ate if not condoned well then, decriminalized by the league. Oh poor stupid non brown bag light country coon Dez, didnt you know, as a cowboy, You have a given a target on your back, as is Greg Hardy, as the good japs of corporate television, the great grand children of William Paley, they can go oft on you with impunity, and with out fear of being j accused with that most biodegrade and almost as tiresome as the anti Semite tarring brush. As Dez, as a Cowboy you see, you are persona non grata to the house everything at Mike and Mike or lesser and lesser or venial and venial or jeweye and Oaf or Bridget and Bernie of the ESPN toilets, like Katy Perry or whatever Brunette they can find, and whatever housewife killed their child, but not the bathtub one, she you see was a femy icon and a victim, as they studied ethics taught as under Clinton, and like tarnishing the occasional white trash woman, so, like destroying Bill the praetor's gals, once you reach level of BA degree, you are by definition not traceable anymore and become a Periclean consort. I saw Jovial to the point of maddness and or dentist gas, Hillary, true to her name as best as she can fake it, like her wedding night, rally for a few money moments as she cleverly showed herself against the whose in first weekend of colllleeeegggge football weekend, ah, but someone tell grandma what you tube is, as when you are incompetent enough to say you took money from wall street because of 9-11, something Rudy would never say, as though, he stood on crumbling asphalt and burning tiers, Ala Cammilius, while she was hiding in the cloak room. Oh Dearie, I think you're finished, Roman Bill must do as much or burn in hell as he is aware, and though you may not become Queen of the Tyber, maybe as complainant as you are, you could be the next owner of the Dallas Cowboys, as you fit the part.

Dez was pushed in the back, on the last play, but who saw that, oh no, not the blind squirrels of the NFL, who have it out for him, sure they are one day all these fake films seen by fake reporters will come true, as no problem keeping Sheffy on board, when he said he was there to witness a film that didn't exist, something that didn't exist as after all, like all Jews when you get this far in, you're just saying what we want heard anyway, and though you make yours Saturnalia tree red or pink or blue or anything but green, take heart its Roman, as is the hammer and the sickle, the symbol of general Brutus Junius, a kind of six pionted star, and you Skoakied Jew rats didn't have any cause to make that as verboten as the swastika that you still look out for, and the star on Dez helmet is just Venus, as it was on Caesars sown perinatal generalissimo flag.

But though a Cowboy fan, ...still...?, I did feel badly that the Giants had a stolen a victory from them for a a team who memes to think that quid pro quos last referee—sorry Forever-- , as they never are, by their very structure are meant to not do. I'm sure that jewey owner Krafty thinks by saving Godel he has saved himself, ah but the Lion in winter just means he is hungrier and colder than usual, and watching the gloved one, you know, the acceptable wide out one handed circus freak, really I haven't seen a catch like Beckett, sorry Beckum, I have history on the brain lately, anyway the last time I saw a catch like that one, one fawned over by the nosebleed Collingswood the ninny, and the weirdo evil eye from mad play by play Al, it was done by Fred Belitnikoff. Anyway, I found its sad that the scene of drama is so soulless to this lunkhead Godel and his mortgage issuer, sugar daddy, Sharon , or is it Charon, eheh, that that could have revivified what is becoming a death march of an NFL season.

I watched this shit, as resignedly the rules of that blond hayseed cunt giant on CBS, was actually taken seriously, and again I must ask, no Lombardi me, still, if the ground cant cause a fumble and a knee is down, when a catch not a catch..ask Vince McMahon. Or Elsey. Soon enough Liza Manelli will be the wop who is the head of officiating, and frankly Id trust her more. Sad, as that last minute catch would have made the game seem, Oh I don't know, real, honest, as this was not the day for that vitamin water huckster to have come aback, as Huck Finn is back acting like in the company of men, all doings by muscle memory a chorus line calisthenics, oucccchhhhh!, yikes the mind reels, and again the Romans are openly mocked. I felt badly watching this, as again, the roman rules of farce and drama are being amended and discounted, for clear cold Jew cash, straight or liquid or shady money homes. I felt bad as a Cowboy hostage, Good Lord....! what hath thane denuded me too, Nero! Yikes!, a cowboys fan watching  this strangely straying to seem, well, lets use the word sued by incarnate lucky Ringo of Football Raven alleged “quarter back” Trent Dilfer, who kaput, kept, saying of the Patriots, Bill with 'fix' this and bill would ''fix' that, ...fellahs heard your game is crooked, and how !..., and it all sounded too much like the show was brought to you by Geritol for tired blood and lucky strikes, good for the T zone. What won the best picture Oscar in 1955 mister Glimshire...That show, and the Mooch post game too, seems almost strangely bald faced, as I WRITE THIS, he ESPN turnoff seeming like a gay aids wake, with eyes downcast, and That championship season seems about to break out . Im sure that tomorrow house coloreds and Jew baby Korney will tell us with good Jewish aplomb that that just means the Giants should have played hardah, yeueueyehhehehehhhhhehhhhhh, and really I must say again, though feel a burning anger at Jones for being such a cluck, would have cheered the giants on, as as is said in the Puzo Godfather, its between the brothers, Kay, and one wonders what one time more ram road straight Bill Cower nemesis Tom Father Conklyn knows about Bellicheat that NO ONE ELSE HAS SEEMED TO FIGURE OUT, in the Roman E clefs that all truth is. Oh that no middle finger, Czabe, thats a dirty Sanchez.

But I know enough Roman sophistry to know the Hardrains wall was meaningless once the centurions were called home, I know that much. So I wonder what happens when Bellicosity is left with nothing but his tapes and his secret inks and his night vision and his survivalist mentality, when black athletes are fined punitively for saying Im just here not to get fined Bra, and he says Its off to Cleveland like a broken needle on a copy of American pie. Give him a swift kick, will you, Bob...? When he is left without Vitmeatvegimin selling American sweetheart, who wins in this death struggle and who made whom...?, when he is left with nothing but devices and his bugs. Bullies are made to be bullies and once they start winning games by the width of their lee press on nails as Brady has lately. Well, even a good Jew like Kornshoire will start to have his Stockholm syndrome fade away, as Jews always do when finding the blond wives they were bequeathed along with Pink Christmas trees have started to fuck the colored boys and local wops, the giants fan base, behind their backs.

At any moment I hope you shnnooners and big mouth new York Jews and wops and beasts and animals and beer bellies and teamsters and union brethren hacks and thugs know, laughing Giant fans, you can be Dezzed too.


Sat late at night, and listened to a staticy radio and a wgn Sunday night show, a when radio was sort of thing I heard Superman on in spring, and sometimes hear comes tuning in, and there was my hero, Orson Welles, fleetingly in sound whatever that analogy would be, what I adored about Italian and Roman literariness though Wikipedia wouldst never give them a credit outside of a rock and roll hall of fame like early contribution for Ella or Lois Prima, as a crumb hurled at Boccaccio, a giant who started all you think English literature, and Orson was playing of course, rouge triumphant, Harry Lime. 

In this radio play Harry was apportioning a matron about in truely delightful corrupt Italian Tigris Naples, and found a young woman beguiling to his marvelous eye, especially when in the Pompey doorway, with a cat noticing a prince of thieves. And I sat there in the dark night spellbound and joyous at this master of radio, sad his life as a film genius was so spotty as the rag merchantmen sons had taken film and tiredness and fatiguedly turned into what the Jesuits thought it was, as they were aghast at my attempt to ruminate in it, puppet shows and cartoon frolics. I think will each night for the rest of November, spending the days hoping to get the black knight or a superman rip off redux, as cant I was told, send out the comics I call Rag until the publishing house has finished reading it in prose form, and again If I knew that...still, I will write out this picturesque novel as it is called, a book of the courtier, again an Italian precedent never mentioned by the spics who shovel their vinegar at us ,as Ma says. As I feel badly the Cowboys are in the state they were, though on some level the depression of good Americas teams like the giants and the packers, bleeeech, makes me think that passion is catching, like a fungus, as so should Godlelle know. as again, they are a better draw than a team everyone has a good inkling is chateing, and all the kings horses and all the kings men, why Boomer semems paler than usual, greuuuuupppph.....

3. I see a film is coming out about the dreaded awful Dalton Trumbo, yecuk, that effected swine who made such a point of his communist leanings when not living in bel air, that crucible from which snerds like Sean Penn crawl from, telling us of our lack of grace as a society, having studied Labriola at the harvest moon dance and the debutante balls. Trumbo in this, I take it, is again the great working class Jew hero , a commie, but not you know really, who is given the opportunity to be a front or have a front, be fronted, and writes Spartacus, which right there I hope means he is burning in hell, As it was that script about Spatracus, which could have been vetted by a simple going to what we had once called libraries, this hack in El Segundo, where all matters of mars and Rome could be built and made by carpenters unions, as sadly, this cretin, this hack, this lower than senseless thing made a hero and a freedom fighter, thats a terrorist on your payroll, when in truth he was a Greek prince, who had his own retinue of slaves, and was about freedom only for hisslef. 

In the reading of a simple copy of Tacitus or Gibbon, or most wonderfully, Sallust, this cigarette holder queer, would have found out that Spartacus was no real hero, not even a fake kind like MLK, both though having had ties to a secret police. As Sparky is seen, and IT IS IN CATILINE'S WAR, once went to the great mad senator and offered him a Satan meeting Jesus in the desert sort of deal, that if he helped to destroy the senate, and thus the family of Phillip, who was a rival royal from Athens who hated the Transcaucasia as not being Greek Greek but colored, Fuck you Kirk Douglas, and gave Spartacus his freedom, to go back to being a Greek Prince, I believe he was sold in to slavery by his famiels royal nemesis, that Catiline would be by dint of a slave, and a Greek faggot no less be made a Roman King. A new Tarquin. So did Trumbo place that in, cause as I have said as a Jesuit student, I know all about what you ignore first, I am a lazar beam at it I have been told, and wasted that talent, stilll...the grand freeman lover wanted to make a mad man demeaned and renounced by teh senate, King. Well, its not one of the Roman stories big with me. But, Trumbo was so off in so much, and not just dates and times and places , but completely hoodwinking and hornswaggoling, one of the great civilizations in history to amend his shitty little jeweye points, inclinations of a Jewish hatred of boy love that caught Stushie off guard, and he found detestable in much he threw away, dreadfully sorry, that eventually and you can again look this up, as a Jesuit student I dont have to make things up, I just use what I needs, that genius filmmaker, who knew that Alfred Hitchcock also turned this down, Stanley Kubrick, I guess buying a copy of Sallust, repudiated the film in toto, and vowed never to work with Trumbo and more importantly, blond, always blond, Kirk Douglas, again.



I felt badly knowing a great civilization was so trashed and smeared by this hackish, twerpy cunt, as Zero was always my black list hero, but then the egg plant shippers now considering themselves patrons of artists never much took up for Mostel, Thinking he as before saved by Mel Brooks, too Jewish. That Dalton sat there writing this diatribe trying to Good God...!, equate the Romans state even in Cicero upheaval to your goy blond in laws, yikes, burn in disco inferno, old man, and his little Olivetti, to due irony, typewriter, as that scene where the slaves all rally around Spartacus by saying they were Spartacus, never shaped, and isn't in the Howard Fast book, as when Jews or Arabs or their masters decide to shmere it on thick, they do. I as a lover of Rome, found this outrageous this who do we arrest stitch , so Jewish and crafty and lawyerish, as thought as a boy of the early rumination that I had all ways placed on that one page of Plutarch, where Numa's dogs of war, again another line gifted to Shakespeare from Caesar, and packed in Antony's mouth, are said to have howled and barked and bitten and eaten as if a wild pack of dogs, all of Italy in about a hundred years, and in a city called Lauretium 30,000 people Italians were reduced in seven days in may fog to nothing, to a resulted 876 or so women and girls meant because they were pretty to become roman scions wives and girl friends, there was no questioning on Miranda and warrants for any of them, and actually so admire SOMEWHAT the grand Stushie Kubrick for having learned what Spartacus was and what he weren't, well, basically said, that's enough. 

In my own files, I  found a Roman girl who sent me a picture of herself in a ad in Oggi for Italian vodka, again the mind reels on that, but then how good or bad could potatoes wine be...?, as this has happened to me more than once as lovely brunette starlets had willingly and eagerly sent me pictures of themslevs, as in fact to their consternation kids at art school showed me their work, knowing I could give them better than a critique Id give them accolades for trying something different, as opposed to most. And she is something to be seen, with short wisps of blue black curl shorn cut as in a de sica way, in a black cock-tale hip hugging dress that shone green, as Superman hair once shone blue, who knows anymore, and I placed her name down in pencil then and here, with the thumb-nailed doo dads of drawn and written note, her name, the perfect and ironic AENEA. HER NAME WRITTEN OUT LARGE, AND HOW, as she told me she was part Turk. Aren't we all, I emailed back. That's all though, why didn't I write the rest of her name, I don't know, but I guess from the back page of the oggi, of this ad can figure out the day and date somewhat and refined...oh ferget it. But I warn Hillary and Brady, don't forget to keep the Roman Gods holy, or you'lL get it, as some ninny is out there on the streets of Paris racing way, not quite a Harry Lime, and no angels seem to be coming to save him, as again he didn't have the guts to stand there and die, as a Roman heart like Catiline would demand as again, you Semites always revert back to your legalistic jargon and again, nolo Condentre, or WONT lose a game, as he should have been wiling, when got up that morning. Harry Lime is dead, sadly enough, and the lovable rouge has been replaced by the schoolmarm, the hack, the Trumbo, the fake. See, Id like to know why the white woman who hector Greg Hardy and Dez aren't there for when Rottensburgehr and his fat lover try to spread that shit about him as some sort of hero, Id like to know why there weren't people screeching at their quarterback in Tampa, you know, how Nipsy had year to clean up his mess before Jimbo allowed a police interview, Id like to know why and where you disappear and how and why, i know its not the sewers of veinna, cue the zither music, old man, but then youre all too good and decent and fake to be the anti heroes you all think you are.


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