ITS A SATURNALIA MIRACLE!--PART 2.

20 DECEMBER 2018

As close as they can come to Saturnalia or Christmas at the Pinko enclave at PBS, saw a show was made and presented about of all people Saint FRANCIS, now not as demeaned as all things Italian can be as long as people don’t think or hear that Hank Azaria is Spanish, and even if they do, you always have Dan Casteneltta in tow, as like BENDER, ITALIANS HAVE BEEN GOOD AT SATIRE, OR AT LEAST MAKING VOICES since they were schoolboys being drilled in the Aeneid.

WHEN LAST we heard of him, he was being trashed by a cartoon ten year old stand in for all the liberal goofballs of Hollywood, who at ten, I guess like being an American pervert, knew she was Siddhartha or something like that, although when they tried to make her a lockable figure, Bongo Comics found a crater was made and they were back to the last Dennis the Menace, which Matt Groening had gifted America with. On this PBS show, Saint FRANCIS was only decent since wanted to end the crusades, as did Cato want and end to Caesars’  perpetual war, a voice we don’t hark now that GE thinks it owns us all, and was of course, Francis was played by a handsome Englishman more radical shown than roman warrior which invoked saints as much as it did English noblemen, the ethic is the ethic, and they like not to Bring it up. Also to give the whole story some class, it was narrated, which Alan Moore thinks is useless, but I must admit like a Scout or a Caesar or a Dante to tell us what they’ve just seen and such can be the whole being of a story spoken into being by an English voice FROM BRIDES HEAD REVISITED, YOU KNOW ENGLISH TO GIVE IT ALL CLASS, AND I QUICKLY TURNED IT OFF TO SOMEWHERE ELSE, MAYBE LADY SPOCK WAS ON, ANYTHING BUT THIS.

I had seen on this same channels Italia reduced to back drop and setting, told the etch opposite this saturnalia season, that I make a place completely and then was passed over , a wholly Un-roman word, as a scene it was nice, the same story OCOPillars, as didn’t give it enough of a millue of 1970.  Oh, you’ve got to be kidding, my brother said when saw that rejection , as he’d know in many ways, I’ve never left and told me now that channel 19 is back and can watch the decay of the Stealers in real time, I should, he said as was watching Hill street, You should do my own police story about the Hill with stories I’ve have gave you, about Wiley Ave., and Bill Clements ribs and the Pittsburgh Pipers he actually played pick ups with at Wood street, he said, imagine Lebro getting near anyone now not for a photo op. He, like many is a Jordan fan, as thinks Labrador isn’t even Julius Irving,or even Moses Malone,  and I may do just that journey back to the Hill, in the coming year. I had seen on that sanctimonious  station hell hole that has reduced all of Italian sad imperial humpty dumptys and commutate Frittatas then made,  to shows about old bags making Gnockies,  that the small church that a first mad monk protested not with nails and treatises and 99 loft theses, but with tamed wolves and song birds in the Borgian gloom, had been kept alright. But a large grandiose, pompous, marbled Basilicata had been forge around it, a place to see the Italians in their wild bunches as it was shown in a some travel show, and I was bemused to known the Italians get there first always, there are images of Tomatoes plants on Villanovans walls in Pompeii,  and of course, are the first  to corrupt it.

In mid Saturnalia seasons, was called out to by my brother as he read a rag called the new York times. He w as watching a horror called Law and Order, the panty patrol, as Sypowitz dammed it the only one left from the Bochco armamentarium, as what else but child abuse would be the ultimate crime in abortion land as sister barb Ann warned me as Sybille of earth day long long ago, from where the Hollywood machers now get all there prequel films. Look here, he said, This crap has a defense lawyer being brow beaten to give up some privileged information, and now they wish to put her in jail for breaking Privilege …he said with incongruity. He, as was I, was Jesuit pre law, as later we had enough Franciscans to make us blanch about being credits to our race, as later wed see the cultivated Negro and hillbilly and lace curtain Irish perpetually is. As a stayed in a event horizon of old television as dirt bags like Colbert asked for do over elections , that is until he was told Marius the Great  was on line two, and he was pissed, I watched Playhouse 90s each night, including Caesar, as I said, Coriolanus was your play of choice, and in a reshow of The defenders, saw young William Shatner, a hell of an actor before he gave in and Adam Wested his way through his old age, why not,…As Young defender to be played in the TV show by Robert Reed, in words written by sensational television CBS writer when they sued them and didn't just read tweets through perpetual beer goggles, Reginald Rose wrote yet another play informed by a kind of liberal Jewishness that is verboten now that weave all gone to the Hitchen- posts of a new West. Shatner goes to terrific caricature actor Martin Balsam, and says his ethical dilemmas to which, we dont have those anymore now that doctor evil is Horace, and all rats are the same in the sub urba, bless his heart, the little Jewish man as DA says well that’s not my problem, is it..?, as said sadly there is a level of sanctimony and decency fayed devotion that is unseemly this close to the Clintons and there marriage out of Ariosto.

                                                       

He was dumbfounded my this, but then ironically a little Jesuit student named Billy has doth made Mulers of us all, Bend over, and everything is as fungable as a wedding vow. I preferred my lawyers as pontiffs, as in the Golden age of television made them before they all stood  on principal at least like the Times until found out the envelops from Chappaqua meant the milk train doesn’t stop here anymore. As maybe in the same Christmas editions where once that devotion to Clintonism, meaning the nothing that Aquains said all evil is, and that 300 percent or more people were living in poverty unnoticed by Hollywood types were busily bundling money for Bills dream of being first lady, between rapes, and that there are stretches on Prairiea where the foetal survival rate under Obama was dangerously close to hated Venezuela, anyway, if anyone cared. So, with hillbillies and niggers would so obviously be and become.

Now, it appeared that the second dog barks and the parade comes crashing to the ground in our Garlic day festival to quote dear Maureen, who was taken back by praetor Bills love of the mother country, and not the one festooned with its own bribe, where you too can watch everything except those things owned by PBS, including mostly I Claudius and money python, what else is there actually, as they have their own streaming service and being communists an openly socialists, every little bit does count.

He, beloved by Jesuits evermore than I was, and disdained more as I believed a whole swath of it all, where he saw it all as a con early on said this Rat, this cretin Martin Scorsese is actually saying that  its Italians own fault they were being dammed in this cesspool, as my father called it all those years ago, that somehow they didn’t assimilate as well as some did, meaning I guess he said, Like he has, who was willing to as our  father said, be a company man or as the guy in Barney miler tells Leavitt he actually came up to here, and places at hand at his belt, delineating that Napoleon sort so perfectly who are like Hillary open more than they think. Can you imagine this worm, my brother said, Saying this after forty years of demeaning his own people to go to shitty little openings and La Brassieres, he said, taking my La Cote Basque and updating it now that sadly Tony Bordrain has been yet anointer of the corpses that Hillary was always good at making, as making herself actually look alive was an embalmers art she could quite pull off. He said, As opposed to who…?, the Jews who stand on principal against every lawyer joke and who make sure no one can own ww2 memorabilia, if it isn’t that private Ryan SHIT,  they trafficked in, or the spics  who  demand Miranda be said in Spanish, if not Portuguese’s. This made me laugh, but again, he cut to a point I’m sure our masters will all call hate speech soon enough,  as father Gore said, Satire gives the game away, and it was with all devotion and decency and alas thinking of the Roman people all the time when Augustus demanded that Plautus be burned for ‘trashing the town’ with unlovable farce in ways new Sparta he dared of secreting with Carrere marble, as I said, monsters have tried to destroy satire, and with Colbert CBS may come close, satire is something that monsters wish to make illegal, like Octavian, Queen mum Victoria and George Lucas have  all tried.

I didn’t want to antagonize my brother at Xmas time, but maybe the little weasel, Scorsese, was right I thought, but in reverse. Maybe the Italians, unlike Jewish and Greek and now even no less Arab and spic cousins, maybe the wops laughed once too often and far too hard at being dammed in a universe where a fifty year old man named Jimmie, a drunkard and a letch and a laughing hyena can somehow have made the Tonight show a safe to land and do Karaoke. Maybe you whistled at one too many blonds, maybe you did too much of your of that ginny emeritus ‘mob act’ as Gene Siskel  called Joe Peshi’s carrier early on as a little worm named Spike is trying to at his best pretend he didn’t sneer at Hillary as a Goldwater girl to and at Rachel dear, now is preening he’s back to throwing garbage cans at wops small businesses, and his Network and mad as hell moment of television apostasies didn’t work out as well as Chayefsky’s or as it seems Colbert’s experiment in Vox Populi  have gone kerplock.

But look here he said, showing me a page of this dirty rag paper, this tabloid in the best tradition of Pulitzer, This rag is going after Alice Walker, hummn, he said, where’s Whoopee today, toots wheres Heir Spielberg, wheres anyone today to tell printer devil fucks, [like Dante and Pirandello our family talks are like the notes of the Inferno but with playboy jokes and Dangerfield and remembered Steven Landesberg thrown in, you know, civilization…}  clerks and high priests to go drop dead, or do we wall have to sign loyalty oaths now…I didn’t use this rag to start any perpetual war, He said more impassioned than the Machiavellian man sharpie can get , as he does seem at times more Romantic even  than I as I have to keep telling him somehow, nothing is business everything is personal, a s that Sicilian ethic of yours has never really been that quite true.

As roman schoolboys we know all about such, I didn’t hear any dictation from Uncle Chaney, he said, so don’t bother me about your shit now, after the forty years you gave Italians in this new Poland…here is stealer kind he told me, I have to be lectured to by these in-laws,  by these scum buckets , go tell it Harvey, he said , showing an almost Giucciardini like sharpies clever devotion to the patria and to our forbears that anyone who could take Gore Vidal’s Burr and set it to music could never understand.

I stood there quietly as the Christmas ads shone on the television screen and he held up a paper that thinks its some sort of college of cardinals that has some kind of ability to black ball anyone at any time, and thinks it can say anything it dam well leaks’ , start any war it wants , remember what happened, Mister Kane, can do as it anything it wants, and tar anyone at anytime’s, as Gore warned us when wrote a piece about Calvino Funeral in which some white woman was sent there to Italy to be barbarians again and spit on a italic genius, literally at his grave as  they are more than always willing to do the bidding of anyone with Stockholm syndrome, unless of course we next find out what Tony Morrison thinks of Jews, but something tells me that careerists doesn’t let any pesky feelings about any derail brand, like say Lebro, get in the way , but then have heard some inklings and rumblings from him that sooner enough Hollywood sorts may have to vouch for him to fill up the temple once known as the forum now renamed a staples centre which god knos no roman despite their love of cash would ever do.

Yes, where is Whoopee and Steven and Oprah, as my brother asked, where is anyone to say maybe Alice Walker of all people shouldn’t be dammed in your petulant antennas out sonar for the slightest slur and hate speech as have may actually be reckoned and rebooted for now, which serves you all right. As would love to see the midnight monsignors somehow sweaty and drunken and scared ge elite  through those interviews bald facedly as have known since saturnalias past that its been tough for the toothy grinning jackals of the national Biscuit Company to pretend they love Palestinians  and brunettes and much less when they are dancing together, so again we see the face you’d rather not show, as you keep your double chins up to speak down to the Plebs.

That’s why they sent that email to you, he said again sharply, These fuckere they don’t care about what some wop thinks, who loves Virgil, or anything like that, they need blockbusters and they need spear carriers, and they need black faces to replace the ones they can always get rid of. Tell Ugly Whoopee to go suck a dick, he said. Like I said, he’s more studied in Latin than I ever was.

How purposefully intimidating to see that Alice Walker, of all people,  has been now made bitten  by a newsprint yellow rag that once told the B’nai Brith and the sons of Italy and no less than its own writer Russell Baker  to cool it about the Sopranos, as in laws and cousins had a middling hit, that as all such things do did not all well end well. How about that, a genius and a beloved writer when ousting down the correct people who this rag allowed, but then might gave gotten too close to confer For the yeshiva= curia that somehow despites leanings wizards of Norman Learism and limousine libbers stand as it was the Trojan horse of principal. Ah but the wop you are allowed to hate, Niccolo wouldn’t be shocked that a rag son devoted the liens office in the Hampton’s and tickets to Hamilton, tres Roman , did find it in its calculator hearts and HAL like fears to hagiography all xmas the dead old coot who gave us Willie Horton, as again all in forgiven when the rats all start to row in the same dictation, as he said that the true believer is merely the second rat off the ship as again we aint ,married to any of this.

Funny you can caterwaul all you want as long as Corporate is behind you, or at least  have a cugine somewhere on the payroll and all, but this week told me much as the cracks are as obvious in your defence as they are on old lady hilly’s pumpkin face. As this week again sorry the sopranos is being brought back, no Carrell in that bunch ,  as isn’t that sad to think that somehow would tactilely see themselves as an actor of a creator of any kind, and worry about any freezing, chilling, censorious, climate, of any mass of white women, or even care about being devoted to it, as I always thought wanting be a satirist means pissing on every imperial wall you can find.

I did get a email about how they were trying to make the Jew York times, yelling fire only in theatres they don’t frequent of course,  more amendable to Race as such adhering friom some, making Alice Walker into another of the Nazis the beushes always see everywhere, helps to get queasy Jews on board,  now that the gateman  of the gentleman’s agreement ,  is dead, and Iendai didn’t know about how they had chain burning books as said before the color purple means something different to any Italian worth their salt. See, its the hue and dyes of plutocrats and clowns, didn’t know you were just looking for bagmen in the perpetual west side story you dustbins are perpetually in since the stoops at Levittown. And from which you made sure Italians Romeos and Jewish Juliettes were expunged  from that story , but bless his heart, Lenny kept the Neapolitan Mazurka nothing is Spanish but vinegar  as ma says,  which all in all, stopped that show.

27 December 2018.


So again send this piece about Roman saturnalia whose silver bells are a death knell to Brother Savonarola and any one  to the always evolvable unless they don’t want toe hear it rag, snowballing for the burning of classics like Lonesome Dove and the color purples as the wife of a dislike of the  major, he wasn’t allowed to be doing a show after a super bowl that would ignored rapists lost again, and this time without a net. All I know is that cbs and America seems to be about to getting the blue state super bowl that it deserves, I can feel it now at this writing in late  December,  the tenth month literally as the Tuscans only named ten and called the rest ,merely winter time, but doges needed to put there names on the calendar, you know, as had an inkling the fix was  in when they told perpetually elbowing dick Colbert a firm no as I write this, as again it doesn’t make any sense off hand, but does to me, I was taught by Jesuits, you know,  but then, it does if one has read the books Bill Clinton still preens he may have skimmed. This week, he was told in no uncertain terms, a grumbling of upset negroes that the America’s team doing well can alas out muster , and the Sopranos were cattle called back to New Jersey an allocable target as Jews say, even though they and my father a Regium émigré didn’t keep you funks out of Harvard of la cote Basque no did they, but then, why not shoot the wounded after all…?

Whereas now, we are all in I Claudius without a Blessed dope, the blower Shatner has dun gone away and left us with bag men and hags hacks and slugs, trash preening they are saints, lectured cultured from the clowns, which is a no no in  this farce stuff, midnight monsignors lecturing us as the audience dwindles away, and Bilbo still having that moment of Yellow laurel, fittingly, in which he told everyone listening to all his shit latest breaking in on a Dallas Cowboy game, Know they audience, as what Plautus said, to give a mea culpa that as the great Dole said was too much mea not enough Culpa, as a hag has to as the NFL does slash prices  at her stadium gigs, as CBS fresh off telling me everything by telling television city rat Colbert there was no way hed be at this Hillary Bowl , where the magna Garcia, I’ll forecast now, would show what that election would have been without the bloated human decent maybe plutocrats amid the Trimachios, as id like to say in his decree and all those Dogpatchers even the white woman Grundies don’t speak of as the rats and the hacks trash Alice Walker for having dared not hate who she was allowed to hate in imperial sickle, I say a toast to Roman Bill, more or less, to Jerry Jones, and to the Italians who knew as Ovid said, a play you censor is one you cant sell tickets to, and fayed and fake devotion is beneath, like cleverness or Trojan horses or hording in the cellar and emending love as you give hagiography  to the old coot at Saturn time time that gave us Willie Horton, I say, were not all Rachel Maddox, a warning to the earshot’s and the wall dears, and in ft, Sallust wasn’t my forth favorite book.

I sat there in that sad and festive Saturnalia darkness with those sad and yet indomitable, the reason for them, lights. They twinkled and shone on now black images of pine leaves, with small bits of Regal red and silver on a tree like held in roman homes before Jesus ever even read Virgil much less decade to fulfil its forth book demands more than any Old testament horseshit.

That’s line did bother so the Sicilian trash that made a godfather and hearts of darkness and went to a vineyard to live out its passivity yearned for creed. Merry Christmas I was meanly told, as though Christ didn’t stop at Palermo if as  a Milanese woman would maybe say he was never noted. AS HAVE SEEN ALL YEAR A COMMERCIAL FOR BRIT COMS ONCE GOT FOR FREE ON A CHANNEL; 13, BUT NOW I GUESS HAVE TO PAY FOR, AS SEE The Office, I see fast of Janus this year, as its coming on to  replace a show with aging dancing girl and fags on parade, who dread defray a republican channel be on their dial when they were dancing for wooden nickels,  as my brother would say, for a limestone frescoed light bulb empire where the ghost of Marley forest taught us to be misers all that time ago when some little kid got killed and for sermons this time it mattered so. Recall the Office from Brittan, meaner and more savage and such than I guess they’d let a alum from the daily show would be, but then looking at Colbert,…Again I show my magic at saying something anything among  the censors that seems to prick their balloons, as again someone noticed Bullet Bob Hayes want in the hall of fame before Lynn Swann as which is a travesty like a Times  of London rah putting Chaucer and Machiavelli and Boccaccio over Shakespeare which did bother some, but left Dante off s a writer of that millennium because they didn’t think of it, but not as mean as say the exhortation that a Jewish man took for saying that Lucretius was beloved by Thomas Jefferson, showing again there some people who will never get the Jews like back I guess.  I watched it when my sister was addicted to the britcoms, along with ‘ello ello, Are you being served…?, the one with Judy Dench, all funnier than anything on NBC lately. How sad that it preens itself as osme receptacle of honour and classicism, and that happy little island of mud preens its sophistication, yet Sicily ash been reduce to what it has been reduced to, though pot marked and lousy with roman Greek Etruscan and Carthaginian , aha there’s the rub, broken walls.

So I sat there in the darkness and readied myself for something, unsure what, as then the resurgent cowboys had won to the chagrin of those who I just bet wanted Alice Walker silence long ago, before she said nary a word about Jews or white women, now as the Jesuit would say fallen closer to that hanging tree of rotten fruit than they liked to think. But strains are showing, as city arts a classic like so many demeaned and detested by darkies on retainer, it was the nicest moment of the saturnalia season that night on the 17th, which is something in the roman calendar Ill look up. I SAT Thereon  WITH A SISTER ONCE AN ART STUDENT AND sophisticated, a watcher of old films as that generation  would be before nimrods and sissies would rule the mommies boys day, and smart and how in an matter of days with a heart problem or something I w as kept in the dark, a medicine mixture almost made her die and had my Verdict moment, what they saved for even Roy Cohn who they had to hate lest they’d note that RFK was first chair in that dragnet the Jews all so hated lest they’d be seen and bribes be counted, which I always thought the echoes of was always Sweet ole Bill making sure I guess as eventually that box would blow snakes, if not worse, into wife’s belligerent face.

Ah, I love it when things go Giucciardini, which is Machiavelli with a tooth ache, italics have been relegated to even then, as now the curia is losing its mind, and sees problems everywhere. I sat there in the dark watching of course a nighttimes Dallas cowboy game, and they won when no one thought they would, against called the saints, they won like men would have won when I was as a boy and Bill and I and my brother were still infatuated by the Candy Loving Patrai Fairinelli field gracious ladies types beefier we all to tip our hats to mother superiors he and I and Bill always made trouble for and shall again.
As I would get a acceptance from a magazine, all starting to like Miss tits Peggy Noonan, feel conscripted, confined, as ah Dr. Frankenstein is strutting to wonder about that thousand points of light and if they weren’t ,as I would say, Jesuitical a ton of Barbarian Lanterns. They took another Bunny cartoon of mine as she a remnant of a past I’m not so sure Bill will let go of, not so sure the midnight scalars can preened they did imbibe in, as I said, I wasn’t the one who gave America three decades often jackal and now have to hear how decent all you sholckmiesters  are. And lets hear from Whoopee, a snarled tooth again vizier a defence of Alice, weather or not someone she sees as a possible broker-investor. Since Joppa all devotions are in flux, all accomplishments are fungible, its just all sales are final, and of course a title for the next Clinton book he is trying to peddle, all others pay cash.


I sat there and watched the Cowboys win in what would be the highest rated game ever shown on television on a weekend night, you think a lunkhead like Gödel would care, no the age of mister bills comes to an unhappy mostly unwatched end, as hard sell is what dies on Saturday night, as Alec BALDWIN SEEMS MORE EMBOLDEN THAN I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT HE'D EVER HAVE BEEN. Ah mugging through the snowfall of subpoenas and desk appearance tickets are we…? The Romans hated kings and love manly defence, as am sure  a 52- fifty game as had that unwatched money line degenerate muscle memory is what Lurch wants, I am convinced now, but wonder of after this Cowboy year is anyone will take heed from someone who was incompetent enough to parade a beaten woman about as the Roman paraded Etruscan girls as Minerva. Maybe Mahoomes but doubt again, they ate that smart. But am sure they shove either the Rams from where the Roman beget the word for tragedy, hated by them too, but think a well rated weeknight game in the history, will out do a depressive depressing super bowl that isn’t self aware enough to be Virgillian and Gödel alas done hated the Roman affectation at least since the L showed up. Alone, with silent holiday joy alone there, as for a Moment a dreaded twentieth century had gone away, despite what was said by some literally barn that doesn’t pay but gives notes, for a moment I was that Romanesque schoolboy again when America and the cowboys were great, before Crips and Bloods and Sopranos and Starr reports and GE doth made Cheaters of us all. I sat there and watched the Cowboys win and knew they weren’t going to any super bowl will be bad, this fan’t going to any  Super bowl , Gödel Nero dons like them, but I have a feeling I’ve read enough Machiavelli  to know that this farce has gone on too long, and Cincinnatus don’t grow on saturnalia trees after all. I will I said to myself, have to go to some store around here, and buy a box of crayons, maybe all 64 for old time’s sake, may take out may jaunt to the malls to buy a large box of wax sticks which reminds me of Virgil’s bees and the schoolboy I was, to finished these pages the way I had wanted them to be all those Christmases back.