24 November 2017

A LUNA OVER THE MISBEGOTTEN.





23 NOVEMBER 2017 1:35 PM.

A nice moment happened to pretty much end the year, which showed my own personal resistance to crime families have  been incubated when you were all  juts laughing so Jewish- ly at the sopranos , well, it   burnished my Roman cutlass as Al Franken should have known, that imperialism doesn’t come without brining unintended consequences along with it. Too bad, but looks like you’ve spent more time in Vomitoriums and maybe even paining woman’s vaginas on fake Di Milos, and have  been as sex addled as you Brilloheads always are, as my hair is Regium dark and waved, and cowlicked, but its  never been Pubic.

A nice result this thanksgiving morning was seeing that my work of the midsummer, In the story On the mountains of the moon, a line cribbed from Calvino  who styled it from Galileo, it is like life itself a continuum, and don’t ‘begin’ anywhere, but why be Jesuitical in a nation in which PBS no less harbors its sexual deviants as  bested  if or better than a den of little foxes. My anti Harry Potter, as try to endeavor too return the hippogriff and the chemra back to Ariosto’s  Lucca and  Neapolitan beasriary as much as  anything was acceptable in the winding up of days  of  this waded through year of  Hellcats eternal political autopsy, that’s weaves out of control, and takes out more than she had ever suspected lesbians is sooooostypud, as bless Joe Valcchi, Trump, he maddens the Bushes to stammer and the Clintons go MUTE, SHADES OF CICREO. Ah,the new year means a next election that ninny CBS had called for, ah but like Cattline’s  parades and riots good luck getting those permits, in the middle of our  lives. It is accepted, is this from Asimov’s…, the last people I think I sent it to…?[ Turns outs isn’t Asimov’s,  as there a woman urged more work, but this time in what is called standard manuscripts format from that New  Yorker slit  Shawn I believe, and is acutance from somewhere else, so will joyously  remove the work from the ten submit bale lines, which is a form of vendetta at least to me.]



“On the mountains of  the moon” has been accepted graciously and thankfully by me as it was made in those mid  summers days when the trees were here full, and thick with sprites and leaves, and now dwindle away with more brown and golden fable book pages  colored leaves than  I recall elsewhere at this late a time. I am heartily glad these editors took the booklet,  as is about an Italian take on all that magic slop and sewage of the many entitled wizards of Anglican magic, AS I took Calvino’s Italian Folktales as  my guide, and made the smart princess in it, recalled from memory, and the real  Iron John, I told a buddy Alan, a PhD Viking of a man that basically  there’s nothing in English literature I haven’t seen before and may have read, or to me in Italics, Jack Frost, this time as Colombo villain Jack Cassidy, Magnus  leptis,as a  set, before an embraced thug house everything praetor now wished for, as  constitutional’s redrawn elections or tarp, since his travel bans went so smoothly, busted whole pieces of an Unseco world heritage sight  to s ay nothing of the people trapped in Roman Lybia. But it was funny to see how clumsy oafish come ons and passes are equal to a Masher circus pig raping daughters of Argentos who worked on Hercules movies with Nino Rota, well, I guess again, you’ve  all caught up. Personally I was warned by the female equivalent of Jesuit breathen, the much more willing to take a punch Franciscan nuns, who both fought for my soul lest the one think I had become a mere chiseler, the others wanted me to be, to never as  I  was told by sister Carmen, an affable short haired italic nun, never make passes at girls who wear glasses, no really, ugly girls, those with agendas, are to be avoided, which was frankly, ironically, the same as what  the Jesuits thought.

As I figured when it came to picking up chicks a nun knew best. See, that sort of joke made heatedly and often by creeps at the senate auxiliary of Jon Stewart, if I may, and which is an aside Mel Profit must have thought acceptable, ah but  despite the milieu, our Curia thinks itself so much better than the mere Sicilians they laugh at as if still in Augustus box, in more ways than one. He thought that as acceptable, the connection between queers and boys that egos back to Truman Capote, the blue nuns of Santayana or at least Maureen Dowd, patchable, not just  wager and a white queer is still white, not hating someone for w hat they are born as, a strange  epithet  to my ear having been unlent to Copolla for thirty years, or so, from American perverts always struck me as white privilege  at its Athenian, or is to a  Spartan,  worse. As I am flush with pride at getting Italian wizard Girl as opposed to a blond hag I named Gingold Rheingold to homage the nuns, in print, though am not expecting any castles in Spain or worse out of it. One place would not accept the work of my smartest Italian princess wizard, they gloried  in this explanation rather than just a terse no,  echoing the world Father Gore saw years ago and now verse yet…my straga because  I set it  in 1966, in the pre MS days of Anvil comics, and Alfred Hitchcock’s  67th birthday. Unlike fellow British genius, my bloved Kemeter, Sir Larry, I cant warm up to bloated anti Welles Hitch, and never really will. And  in having her read Captain Magnus comics, and connecting her too a last summer and  equaled days if Carson up in which  gad fly Dore Duvall was selling his book Justinian, well for some reason in the Weasley greasy laws of American horse shit even I, Jesuit trained, cant relay understand. Another wanted it down to 6000 words,  best take out the art about the eclipse, the whole point, and the mountains of the title, but what the hell…AS it  strange to see that almost everyone  I cant stand  is getting theirs, as   my worlds seem on an upswing as am being told my black Knight ahs been SEEN as accepted by people who miss the idea of Prince Valiant off the Sunday  pages, but the long nosed dying hippies if Mr . Doonesbury sadly still there. There  is now collateral damming with Charlie Rose, Wait WHAT…?  And others, but Franken, SHITTY LITTLE CK, I  REMEBER A LETTER IGOT from sending a parcel to Late night in arts school, like Clarence the cross eyed barrister they always pull up the ladder , even Diaper man from  Fixar, hoooo boy!, Ive dealt with them before, and signora Fortuna,  no fan  of fat ugly broad,  I was assured, seems to be evening scores. Someone is, and us Romance schoolboys, like with Kat  and Lynda and Aeneas and Dido and Turnus and Camilla we have such concurrent tastes do we not…?

A nice moment in a hard year, but then again, my resistance  as I said went better than yours as the 31st acceptance  of the year  as I think I may have warned you at the beginning of  this farce, that as Lucian said, eventually the conspirators, if not the  whole would stick the cutlass into its own churning guts. So, Goodnight unto you all, and sweeping dusts behind golden doors and all that, since it was a nice coda to a tough hot year. More than most acceptances this was an accepting nor just of those 211 extra words, but of all I  believe in, the italic chick, the Raymond  Burrish like headmaster, hatred of  the gothic and all the death they represent, and a deification  of the divine stone called the DIANA moon, as all lunatics must adhere  to. A lovely addition to a tired holiday, as pbs has been pushing its noble savages all week, wake me when someone has Dr DNA preside over maps  with Cumea still on them, as his  thin lips cloche, as letting sadly a Dick van Dyke doppelganger I’ve always felt a kindness towards Charlie, who will do an hour about King Lear now…?  Let him run rampante and I have not seen a single Lesbian in Palestinian drag even bellow cone at the Corporation of Public broadcasting, or anywhere…have you, dears…?

An Imperial ninny named Oliver, who looks like a character played by Paul Shaffer in the dyeing embers of a Saturday night live before Buck Henry would disappear,  makes much of he had an eye on CR, all anathema in Sparta, yuckier sex innuendos jokes and wink such an insult in the Spartan state, as he had l, liked they all didn’t, have  anything to say when those hospitals were bombed , probably with the same averments  that pay for his condo, as like the vulgarian who made family guy, there is a false augerism to this, whereas I was juts asking Arabs if they’d ever seen the bel Arabs. Agh but that cannon is being looked overlike a crime scene, I just recalled  it and don’t have to defend demeaned on  postdated checks like  you all do. The jokes was seeing Charlie Rose disappear the same night  that a show , heavily redacted to removed  winkers at the wrong women, no mustache jokes for them, they are  safe above all in the land of Kitty  Genovese, put nuns warnings here, that a made up award  was given to clown emeritus  from the war consortium and Empire state , in the  name of Mark Twain, Id burn it or at least throw that out, so sorry coons who find his name, as they say, Problematic, that God hating bigot, just read what he wrote about Italians,  does it matter, ever…?, is on struck stand ditterious handed to Tina Fey who will under no circumstances add her name to a letter  in support of Al, Al Franken, as empathy is for suckers, when all are standing on principal, or at least not the  dammed  and  the vicious, as the crime familias will fight to the last man, even blacks who snag soprano sanctimoniously for years, and David was given this dower award, on a show from long ago, before anyone had the temerity to laugh at Bill Clinton, or maybe worse now purposefully ignore him ,which is the most unkindest , to a clown of power, cutting room floor of them all. That Charlie was gotten rid of  that same night said what a pompoms obese and eat cactus world in which we  circle that drain of that last imperial aqueduct, speaking of which making Aguaman look like Conan was a mistake, and making daredevil be Batman even bigger, as the justice society falters and bumbled, and Id   like to  know what Disney, naming  a new star wars every Christmas, a great end for the greatest midsummer  popcorn movie, why I couldn’t see what Roman addled, Roman loving, Roman pilfering GL would have done with those last three movies, since when the empire falls, no republic ever comes back. So a buoyed feeling, my relatives quite proud I managed a yell after this Roman theater was already on fire, and got a word in edge wise about the books my distanced father still took time in inculcate into me as much a s  anything lest I forget my Roman roots and somehow play out the part they escaped of  their darkies, as a week almost  ago, a local cop was shot dead two streets away, heard the screeching myself, as a man hunt stated that  day in the rain, as some house coon shot a man dead lest he be caught with drugs,  again showing the string theory of the true Clinton conspiracies that no one will ever even have to demean or laugh at, as no one will ever, like Barry’s bombed aid caravans, no one of the pretty maids in a row at the armamentarium will ever much  bring up. This killing at which no black  lives natters niggers showed up too protest as we protests everything but war anymore, what with meathead on board, a mad stew as America in a nutshell, as it had everything, from three strikes your out, the poverty inflicted by the Bush boys and a pig from Arkansas, and the quiet that came when an ambitious democrat Governor  in a state  he fears they will lose, demanded flags lowered at half staff within moments,  as the days of laughing at the shot went away with the summer days and the trees full of  pretty sprites. As again, without a modicum of a laugh, don’t touch the merchandise bub, is their white girls creed, as being asked if one may masturbate at them is such an insult and some would have gone to the cops had they not been hopeful of  getting a development deal. As if I’d ever make a pass at you hags, with  all the Wendy’s and Lydia’s and pretty Italian girls out there ,like Id beg, anything from you, to be paddy chiaevsky about it, dawgs. So Actually await and look forward to this Roman –est of holidays of Saturnalia, as might  live blogger it through. I await the Roman season of Saturn’s as old roman Bill is as silent as a golden eagle on a perch, seeing all, but then, have been told I romanticize things, as we enter either the third or maybe the eighth circle of this parcel of Roman comedy…


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