DOWNLOADING OLD SHEETS OF NEWSPRINT.

14 APRIL 2023.

One of the two bit rag literary magazines I have sent my work to, and had gotten a sneering , angry resonances, suddenly showed up again in my emails. I am used to this, as some of the chill subs, with which a well insisting gal seemed to now Id do well with and sent me to to find more accessible places then I had,--although again, of the twelve or so accentuates I heave gotten and amassed, all and I mean all are for art, which I guess from the altercations of some is a miracle in itself. Ah but even last year as bad as it was for me in so many ways, always nice to see the pain Americans are dealing with thrown aside and fluffed off by the dying old drag Cleopatra, as he said with alderman's duty and charm that That's all over with, but then I warned he was the worst of the Welshman artists, and in fact a bullshit machine, anyway.

Even last year I started to see and hear a certain grumbling, if not straining at the hinges of this decrepitude old coots Shady Groves, cored as it is an was by a n unhealthy amount of chicken wire from our less than Clinton charming Foghorn , realizing that the cupboard is indeed bare. I started even then to notice that no matter who sanctimonious any hags of the coven could or would've, that in fact, a certain ...ennui had started to telecast like bulletins about decaying bridges, as rain here causes the cheap cement that his sort has been making up and usurping cheapest sorts in the building of his own less than marbled imperium. So, seeing a delayed recantation from some tow bit site rag, which may or may not preened its sued of power, as it seems to think electrons is magical, power-plants are alchemy, as say some GE pavilion would have said, at Walt's geoengineering caverns would so say, but still I was joked to hear from these goons of the aprons of Lorenzo's planetarium, even again. 

 

 

It was over the Omissions from the festi, I think, that bothered them so, and use of Capote's Father Flanagan's all night drag queen nigger kosher cafe as a kind of Shangra La that bothered them so, as it did bother some goon who has a one man speared sheet with the ironic 70s name of "Bullshit times" or some such thing, BUT THEN, ,Mister mike IS , LIKE SATIRE, IT'S DEAD, ITS WHAT BLEEDS ON SATURDAY NIGHT AMID THE ECONOMY ONLY MUGGING CAN THINK IT CAN GET AWAY WITH, and they don't make bad taste like they sued to. And as Picasso said, taking it as he did much from classical Italy, RAPHAEL'S WINDOWS ARE EVERYWHERE, AS I said to someone, good taste is the death of art, but then, as general Falmminius said of Hannable, this duchy cheiften loves death more so than he even loves victory, explicating why it was that the butcher of Cum-ea, with a wide open road to Rome, would somehow sheepishly march away, lest he ,as a Caesar later would find, conquering is more fun than the mere works of municipal garbage collections which undone can cause a riot at the golden door, which may place your imperium on a slope from which, like falling down a tarmac, you may never recover. Although unlike some, I am sure general Barca never revoked is own dead with the alpolmb and the circumstance of an old coot waiting for his bus. Save the Tiger.

I have gotten my share of sneering RESPONSES , and then having given my email, soon enough get a follow up that indeed that magazine i was not good enough to be in or accepted by in fact has cobbled its edition, like i would care, and they blast out that for the low low price of sometimes 18.oo I too can get this boilerplate and p[pompous shit for my own. But this time it was different. This time and I sent out that piece, " Omissions", duding the first Advent Sunday in which we all sat here and watched Snoopy's famous Christmas additions to the once pagan holiday, so this wasn't that long ago.

But opening it and not sure why I usually avoid this brazen come on I've seen before. But no, this was different, in that, the pompous, self important queens and hags of a liberal , or close enough for gummit work, weer so checked and surprised that not only did Biden show his weather vane abilities to believe in nothing but which way the wind is blowing at any time, that he has according to this,--thanks to looking at his watch amid the noble dead, he knows the very second his Pretoria collapsed that summer day in which he figured the expelling from Bactria, something dangerous Trump never did by the way, was a photo op he needed, alas it was of helicopters in 1975, what isn't with him...? let down his base, which I didn't even know he had, buy allowing the Gas companies to drill for oil on not only gummit lands, but even on Indian lands, they'd get a good three cents a barrel I am sure, it all adds up, as bribes always do in Biden land. Why it is he even fell this far up. And that is showing the growth one must have a Democrat as not that very long ago, but then everything hes ever done was along long time ago in an empire far faraway, he was once vociferous in wanting Leonard Pelliter hung by his neck, like they used to do to injuns, on wagon train, where he and Bush learned their ethics, and it was that terrorist Indian Michel Koalhause that spurred the great beloved old coot to sign amicus briefs to bring back the death penalty, stupidly gotten rid of by Earl warren, who shows us now that what can work as a lifer Judge may not work for an old coot who will be goddamned if he didst kill all those Italian grandmothers in Cuomo land as to have to resign or abdicate, which I always thought was the best third act he could get, by now. 

 

 

Since I seem, they thought for a piece now that they enjoyed, who knew...?, about the early stages of the holiday while old coot Biden and his pill timer wearing watch Wife, the aging trophy wife now as old and probably not as kept up as well as the first husbands Corvette he tooled, around town in really predating his families own being wiped out, were garlanding the bleak house with a lead heavy ornamentation he dreamed of for so long,well, since Biden alas cannot be trusted by these proprietresses and coven of Gaea, an the earth is always in the balance, the jokes on us as Mad said, would I be interested in resounding in something else …?

 

 

 

I thought about it anyway, any port in a golden age and off that, and thought of making them read something of mine again, and full it up with sweares as Homer once said of the great Mamet. Or I may shove another anti Jack Kiby piece at them, as that always can illicit anger from the hacks, as I've come to realize as the distinguished competitor said to me about dealing with people who come to the halls of DC THEN IN 1992 even as speak of their love of Kirby and trying to make the bullet more like the banner, and the planet more like the bugle, either unaware or not caring about the straightaway history that DC has with the grand genius during this days of dollar comics and incessant ice storms, and double digit inflation, unaware of the annals that they rewrite about Jack the hack at the house that Jerry and Joe built, as he wasn't schlepping submarines to the staff in a sad third act, making himself a victimize as he somehow couldn't sell his own cheap and tawdry work and scribbling at a mark up to the gullible idiots of his frenemies cult of personality, which he ran with, Boleyn salesman he was. Do I resend something in, maybe the Kirby piece maybe the All this...and purgatory too, I thought...? I hit reply, and CURTLY SAID, THOUGH TOO, CURTLY IS A WORD THAT BOTHERS THE SCERATRAIAT OF THE EMPIRE, BUT THEN, THE JEWS AND WHOPPY ARE GETTING VER KELMPT ABOUT TREATING OTHERS AS THEY DEMAND THEY BE TREATED, A PYRITE IF NOT GOLDEN AGE, OR AT LEAST BOUGHT ON CREDIT AND TIME, RULE, A GOLDEN MEAN, IN WHICH ALL conk shells fall in on themselves as an old coot waits to, intrinsically like at the Apollo theater, be swept of the stage like an Emit Kelly farewell. Don't do me any favors I said, which again feels better than any backward lashing acceptances and told them good luck when you put a man in power who makes Bill Clinton look like Thomas Aquinas. As again, mentioned seeing Molly Ivans on the CBS Tomorrow show on or around 26 September 1994, a date that I do throw in their faces and can alliterate a pace that before could only come when I asked the sanctimonious how may soprano episodes they sat through,or in fact, maybe even more than that. When the replay came within moment I thought, it certainly inst worth it , and made sure that they were forever blocked, as I had an inkling they were, as ma said, only Screaming at themselves.

UNABLE to finish that slog of a book about Stan Lee, who despite the presentations of some, like my father, I never much liked, anyway, but refuse to allow these marvellete scribblers to think the wrote means nothing , and thinking about the earliest , or one of them, times I thought to even be as ambitions as some are allowed to be, and how I sent in some people library's xeroxed machines copies of penciled work of man and woman I was already , a progeny good at aping out of Adams and Orlando and Infantino, I looked around the internet for a folder I have , like so much, down loaded before. 

 

 

 

All the Atlas comics on 1974 was what I was looking for, and cheap moth bitten, following, yellowing still, or frozen in electric amber as yellowed sheets of newsprint I once saved and held and had, some for a long time, have alas gone away and are never to be found. But, I used the threads of memory to recall the Comic Book Plus like websites where I had gotten Mads and Charleston comics and thunder agents and the divine Wally Wood once, --as I told some mouth breathing Marvellette, the kind that Marv Wolfman, I think it was, told me anyone who showered Kirby at you, you know that they cant draw, trying to search for that bundle of old comics as I sometimes have had to do to find the strips pf newspaper cartoon for the least great interrelation of Superman as a daily comic strip. And. with hunting about I did recall a place I think I got the comics from once , as some places in the histograms I held were already left as ruins, and finding any Mads seems unavailable , or less available than it once was. I downloaded ATLAS SEABOARD COMICS FROM 1974, that last great year, about eight folders of comics, bit not the Wolf the barbarian and not some of the others I had had before. But there was Iron Jaw, SPOKEN OF BEFORE, the barbarian that bothered some, which had made me ask, what would you think a birdbrain barbarian, whose speaking in Latin once was nails on the palimpsest to Cornelius' ear, would be, although to be fair, this was against the equal Tolkien and Howard mentality of predating historicity as they post dated checks, as this muscular god man, white Hercules, was set in some dystopia future where all comic hacks, including the earful Kirby thought we were all heeded, but then, too, there is a preponderance of Planet of the Apes toys and movies in the scanned pages making me wonder how beloved this hairy franchise with slumming Octavian was to begin with, anyway.

Then suddenly, he is a minstrel, like one of the best Batman's starring every-man movie idol Van Johnson, and is DE- jawed on a Christ like cross, but then a crown , a corona if yous like, explaining why the name change, ah Democrats, elliptically some are a cowardly, superstitious lot, a Salem's lot, is elicited to save the man by his secret beloved, or something, and then both take off I guess, it is all a mad swirl of vibrant cheap color as I would have excreted, but again, thought as precocious genius, thought I would bring a better sense to it all, although the drawings by an ethnic as they sued to call them at 8h and Vogue, if not the New Y*rk-er, are well done, as they were just then straining to be used , though the first issue is done by Mike Sekcowsky, who I always have liked as an Anti Kirby anyhow, ...but it all done at a breakneck speed which makes me wonder if it was just a satire of the dreaded barbarian comic book anyway, or just stitched together has have been some of old man Biden's legislative efforts there to be a thready flag to show that great Confederacy out there that someone still cared, with all his puny heart. 

 

 

And there was in the way this line of Comics seemed hell bent to ape the dreaded Marvel, a soapbox. I don't forget it was sister Cecilia I tell some who think this shit was any good, that when she saw me with a tapper keeper of spider-man I was given by a relative who didn't know or care that I was all along a dc boy, Anthony, she said, Not Marvell comics, …!, they are for juvenile delinquents. And there on the Photostatted page in this collection of comics, that like Trumps USFL I would have liked to see survive if only to give the monomaniacal monopolies of rigid power a run for their controlled monies, if only to see a place where maybe a Conan closer to the truth, despite it being set in some post nuclear blast feared as a third act, in the age I came in at the tail end of—well not if Bidet has his way and we redivide that graveyard of imperators called Bactria,where Rome wisely never went, --I sent them a letter and copies to see if even as a boy I would, as have heard others do, get a foothold in the cheap and tawdry world of publishing which alas as the Jewish comedians who made nothing but fat jokes and queer asides, now send me somehow invidious clips their pouty self righteousness and their heart felt apologists as the assembly of queens rescinds it war cries, as Jews always do, acting like the money wasn't spent and that in fact others mend sons dint get burned to death in Fallujah. The Remus of Marvel, Stan's brother Larry, under a cartoon character much less photogenic and prefaced as the mask that his brother wore, he announces the line and names like Ditko and Wood, Conway, and others who were perhaps hoping to escape the hell of Julius and Stan and Carmine and do something with the form that could at least be seen as experimental or at least different than the house of Kirby coal powered, and still caught in Lucy's Danville, Stan like Mister Mooney would have to be preassigned to LA, over Desi's wishes, as she took over what remainder of RKO, and mugged the rest of her life, and he would allow, and he said that which I downloaded the passel of books for anyway, as somehow one must be care fool what they say about self important goons like Kirby and nerve bring up that the parts of Marvel that anyone could find objectionable were always Stan's, and never his.

And there on this ink ful, Saturday echoed copy of the page, the new Editor in chief, he didn't get to play at being his brother long, Larry, whose sad existence is seen in the abandoned book, which again I left when Jack gave up the ghost and never in those equally newsprint pags did the writer tell that Johnny Carson Story, as yet again when dealing with the ruins of the age of Norman Lear, attentions must be distracted in our imperial game of thee card Monty. He, though related to Stan, not beholden enough to be devoted to him, again, a victim of his brothers ambitious plow, left for dead on the blasphemed walls, he admits here,I knew i recalled it in me somewhere, that he was a writer, in the beginning was the word, humnnnn, he said, and he stared as an artists at Timely before imperial brother in law Stan was brought in at all, and he wrote the first Thor, --imagine that, the whole family is against the great god Kirby, as Alan Brady would say—and he wrote the first Iron man ad what Stan taught him, and here the best part, not yet having been as deified and beatified as Kirby yet was, and the truth of things before they are barnacled with the bamboozle and blarney of layers of coral, he said in type, JACK KIRBY JUST DREW, I believe the Jesuit and Olgetree would call that extemporaneously, or contemporaneously, anyway it was said as the SINE QUA NON of truth before it was converted like rice of Jewish wives, he admitted the truth and then went in to say, he drew, like six pages a day, of that I am not shocked, as can see the less like the infinitely superior, Fletcher Hanks , oh hes an tracked enemy too, and more like a fifer freelances on the tout sheet, crib notes, cheating aspects of tracing as all his figures never got so good that the arms ever looked like they belonged on whatever carriage he had just drawn, and there were only three facial expressions, if that.

And, on this ink stained sopped with cheap color all for a quarter page, Stan's brother tells his his plans for Atlas, and yet again I realize half my life was lived being too young and now tediously it is lived being too old. A gal liked that line, and liked that I mention. I sensed the sulfur as now even George Will realizes far too late that he made common cause with the string men that as wrong, that at easy Trump was a Republican in ethic if not in name and back account only and that old coot bidet would as they always do in epics, or is farces such as this, that he would as i guessed, angrily still that his genius wasn't appreciated ,he'd make everyone pay especially those bethought he was decent enough to not go after someone after he had sided with them so legally, and was pulling Anita Hill by her hair across the Senate floor, and too, telling fat old hags and vulturous white women of NOW that they or he or we or whatever pronoun really matters, don't mention things like Clarence Thomas's negroid love of anal porno in such a hallowed hall of segregationists such as this....will Cory be at the funeral, as Gore said, Caesar finally made it to lying in state...should he...? Now Georgie porgies Pudding and lye knows he made a true mistake thinking, as my mother warned me of The Local Hoods, the Orange man, no not everything is about savages now allowed to play Heath-cliff and costumed Englishmen., we dont all dream of the day we can be powdered barbarians, that anyone who would kill their own family as he it was alluded, it always is gossip, that he did and it would make it into Coppola Sicilian Aeneid called the Godfather part two, is someone who must have business done with them as my mother took a plate of Calabrian sardines , like nothing this greedy Sicilian ever had away from him when he crying admitted to the killing of the son or the mother or whatever the hell it was that men like him have to find themselves having to do. You know to stay criminals, grimmalli, which you'd think wouldn't take such a Roman devotion, Lucius.

As see in the page in which just drawing is admitted to by no less than someone who isn't an acolyte of either, did Larry Freeman ever think that Kirby would to get even or that respect that he liked Dangerfield, he never quite got as took credit for everything, escaping maybe the art, as that was Vinnie's fault that it looked that way, you know, did Larry ever think that Kirby would ever have gone down in vouchers and payments and page rates even to get the freedom that he was certain that now bad mouthed DC editors now in his sights, always he was tragetting someone, well, such a step downwards would never happen to he who was probably just bitching about not getting the extra ten dollars a page that CC never much wanted , a shaker and not a Chosen person, never seemed, amazingly to some, wished to bother to collect.

I left the house, around after Easter for a first time again in a while, but these days recalling my mothers passing seemed mirroring so nice days, that I had to go and get some components for this machine, which I lingeringly try to treat as gracefully as my thick fingers and heavy touch will allow. Waiting in the asphalt parking lot, as my brother went in for me and I asked him if he would look and find me the off brand yellow boxed creamy crayons as he may always find, and I never seem to, as talk of Atlas and boyhood ambitions has me wanting to finish the hundred page version of my Decameron, of THE AMERICAN ONE in cartoon form, with at least, the prose written out and printed and copied and glued onto of the colorful page. I took out a few Crayola Crackola bits as wacky packages called them, crayolas bought again when Ma passed and kept in the satchel, but I found after two years of quarantine and us-using the crayeens or whatever they are called , a Chinese brand somehow made it through the walls of Biden land as he thought of everything but the ending of the tale, as I warned in my Answered Prayers wannabe that spoke of how wayward queers and perverts are now shooting up the place, as only the CNN drones would not have thought they would. Meet me at the cafe, near the stone walls, I am not queer as such, but the nuns loved me for a reason. 

 

 

 MY FAVORITE MARCIA. 

And there in the now rather hot black top, it seemed winter only days ago, doesnt it always...?, I noticed at least the trees were full of green sprouts and springing forwards growth, and I heard for the first time, as opposed to see, the singing music of the spheres or at least the trees that was uninjured all of the winter, a bad one, as the Robins, just seen in the parking lot, with other birdies came back to the turning northern earth. I was behind a small Yugo car, not fooling or kidding, it was a cold war aged, a zil or a eastern block Bauhaus monstrance covered in chipping paints and more screed pasted placed and politics diatribe in bumper sticker form. This seemed not out of place as two channels have brought Archie Bunker back, and I thought of how my father hated the television city lovable bigot. Nixon Jokes,...what Bob Newhart wouldn't make, well, now we do call how Maude ended and how she had to lose her mind to make Frank James somehow praetor, or wherever that was. The man who owned the car plastered with chipping paste, came out with a stuffed carriage of tin with a bad wheel. He portioned into the liberal car placed enough meat to feed a Colosseum zoo of lions between criminals and Christians as the Romans saw them once. Anti Trump was alluded to , but the H with a fuck you, like early Atlas , arrow was seen again. After the eleventh bag, I was counting, resentment is the mothers milk of the political, Niccolo, I saw the great American liberal drop the bag and chunks of jigsawed meat, fatty and red, as they now fell onto the now rainy asphalts. I recalled the nuns and their anti war guitar masses, hypocrisy is its own third act, Gaea does double duty on Earth day, will they ever learn...? Still, it is a better year than last, as the stereotypical ex hippy in his stereotypical car, full now of butchered blood staining its cheapest, hung unto dear life upholstery, was dumbfounded as my brother came out of the Dollar tree with a 48 JOT band Crays de cire, AS it was all he could find, and he saw the bearded man looking back, as I was openly laughing, and he yelled out, what the hell are you looking at, motherfucker,...? He has had, like many Italians, enough, as they green light Mafia movies and super Mario and then are schooled at the lack of audience. That caused him to sheepishly enter his Yugo; leaving the hypocritical, to my eyes, in pink baggies, and now left on the floor and the to the birdies, I guess, meats behind, and strewn Wonder bread , as the age of Biden seems distilled in a perfect image of a age of Scorpius, bumper sticker mentality man losings his collected and horded meats. He left marbled briskets, in a broken bag in the rains, and drove away in some sort of Susseian existence. My brother tossed me the small box of creamy crayons and said he had enough of all these goons anymore, and I'm sure the liberal was as quiet as he was, as unlike me who takes after my taller, paler , of sorts mother, my brother can be, elliptically by good liberals and by the prerequisites of various crime bills some voted for, though that is not as recalled as it should be, I am sure that the carnivorous, and again, no fooling this actually happened, sycophancy in the new Rome is our lib-era, scales, thumbed exchange rate, and I am certain that this aging old liberal , or as close as you can get and still vote for a man who sided with guvnor Reagan after Chowcilla and again, wanted Leonard Pellieter hung by his neck until dead ,as a good American would, as the driver of that paltry car was stocking up though the next shortage we are assured is for potatoes and beer,--{the garlic, to continue the stereotyping we'd find out was all rotten]-- I'm sure on some level, the quiet came out and this good liberal left the meat that bounced towards our car, causing my brother to bitch and go in reverse to back away, not to slide on this shit strewn as it was, because I have an inkling like various nuns who asked me if me and he had the same father so much darker he is than I am, I am almost assured and certain that this aging Dave in the back mahhhhn, was certain my brother had to have been black.