TATTERED STANDARDS.

 

ASK BY EMAIL, Anthony we are awash in bad Xmas essays at a lit mag...do you still have the Saturnalia story where your departed mother was Daphne and sprouting leaves? Unlike @stevenking, I made the jump from EC to the Inferno years back. 

I HAVE perhaps as i have been told giving too much Italo Calvino Italianate magic realism to this tawdry cast of the fall of the American republic. As what i really noticed was that the night that Marcus Aurelius came calling to give that d student  segregationist Bidey his third act, that principally, that night CBS showed a latest wop minstrel show called Tulsa King, showing that murderous Jews and over fed lesbians in the media might have to preen a new found love of drag queens, but the Italians, ironically no matter how much of this cesspool goes down the tubes, will never ever catch a break, as they will never lose them as they have westerns. But as I was expecting Bidet to be removed as there would be no balloon drop for the coot who has been at too many Dixiecrat funerals, and now he has to be trashed as saw one of these Kelly girls actually described this goon as Cincinnatus, a big no no to those at shady Groves, even I was shocked to see still mustering enough bile at his dotage end, that Sweet old Bill would at that horrid consensus convention, that looked too much like the Neil Simon's written Bilko, the last round up, when I saw Roman Bill purposefully and iridescently refuse to call presidential lottery card holder Demi by her new name, a last ROMAN AMID THE PIGS AT THE VOMITORIUM TROTH, I KNEW THE LAST JESUIT WAS UPSET AND TOLD IS ALL, WATCHER RACHEL MADDOW LIKED OT OR NOT, SHE WAS A FRAUD, A PHONY AND SHE DIDN'T DO HALF OF WHAT HE WAS FORCED TO DO.

 

And that convention of a coven is bearing bitter harvest, as when people are hurting keep N rich Obama's and god knows Oprah from the barricades dripping in Versace, and Bulgari, that BC admits no bump, menacing shes losing, cause all those free abortions gave the game away cause no one there as I was put off by some self appointed avenger making sure a flag wasn't desecrated—whose broad strips and brights tars, Jack—i turned it to Rocky and Bullwinkle and left this alone where it vulgarly was. THE FREE ABORTIONS ON A STREET-CORNER AND NOT A DARK ALLEYS WAS TOO AMERICANA DREAM FOR ME, AS I SAID THAT THEY'D PAID FOR IT, CAUSE NO ONE INVOLVED IN SO MUCH SMILING AND TRASH LIKE WHITE WOMEN INDUCING VOMITING AT THE PIPES OF EMPIRE, no one there, I noted, gave any one suffering a god damned piece of rye bread or a free beer, showing the ethics and the lessons of the fall of the roman republic, and maybe the empire itself has been lost on you all. My favorite part of the fall of the house of Joe, that night he was taken out as it were by strega Pillozzi, who I fingered as Brutus BEHIND IT ALL, as seen on my X page as proof, that night, to show signora Fortuna bats her eyes at losers, CBS didn't show The Rope by Titus Plautus, but instead showed Tulsa King. 

 

And to show again, no good deed goes unpunished, as father Gore, our Petronius said, last night, a war criminal named Dick Cheney of all people came to the aid and succor of a hag who may have lied about working at McDonald's in that firstborn insult called Reaganomics, and which she eagerly piked up, waiting for her cue to go on as Medea. Personally, I would have said take your bloody Idahoans and smirk and cowboy all hat charms and keep walking as I would think the great MARIO CUOMO he would, BUT THEN Ann Richards is dead and gone and she isn't coming back. I think, as have had a resentment and dislike for the political class since i was twelve, despite  their own chicken hawked, in the Juvenal original minting of the word, and not far from its now WALTZ affectation, but I guess vultures of a feather flock thereto. And back then sister Barbara Ann told me it was a natural Pompeian dislike for the war consignees, even then, and now with the democrats for war and abortion at the same time, they might as well start giving free bleeding in out medieval, if that time ever was, Tolkien admired dark ages, which my father told me as late as 1979 hadn't receded as of then yet. Then to show that once again that Roman Antony was right, of my own readings of Roman and Italian admiration of a Satyricon that that larded FELLINI , NOW NOT AS ADMIRED AS HE USED TO BE, it appears that indeed I was correct in an essay that remains unpublished, not that I cant get anything out there, as Free Conan has been so published, asking the casual question why did a company Titan, who called my own roman Herculean Capt. Mmagnus that dared by lesbians TOXIC MASCULINITY, WHICH WAS AN AFFECTATION THEY came up with in the quincenyera of their perpetual war for perpetual peace, Tacitus s101, but were fine with the openly anti MAN AND ANTI CIVILIZATION CRAP FROM THAT SUICIDE MOM-MAS BOY HOWARD, as some of us lost a mother we were devoted too, and fathers too, and we just keep going and don't drink in the anti oxygen of a stutz bearcat in the last picture show world of weedy Texans amid pages of the less than noble savages. I was as right when in '21 in a piece called THE WINTER IN POMPEII, that that afternoon of miss Saigon helicopters fleeing Bactria and handing everything over to the woman hating Taliban, hummmn, this old coot loved Oliver north too, be careful who you give the keys to the Preatorium, Gaius, that all else was academic, and he was dead as that pope at the inferno, a mere demon living out the string and he would as ABC would admit, too too late, never from that he wapi;d recover. And now the architect of the war on Terra is nearing show up to cleans his hands like Antony, in Trumps blood, I don't think-so from wither this pig and smirking war criminal, the kind that Guilani didn't prosecute on command, company wop, my farther called him, and his Lady softy hands and his cowboy crams, and that piggish oafish daughter of his , PEPPERMINT Patty  ugly daughter n Basile tales, WHO GOT DADDY TO cry through Rent. Like Lindsay Ellis, I too was ver klempt at that misuse of Puccini, too. But most of all, hours, literal hours,  after this egregious meeting of the lack of minds, hours after Dick one of the only neocons lefts, Mork another satirist who couldn't survive another Saturday night, it seems that George W Bush, the last of that only roman word he didn't efface like so many so dreadfully awful Saturnalia in his barbarian behind silk curtains, lace curtains,  as ma called them life's, he came out on the first Cowboy Sunday of the year, we missed you Zeke, and said he donated no part of joining this so far beneath him Frey. Gee, once again, the prince-ling little prissy couldn't be like some mere half breed or low rents apparatchik, wishing to play Marc Antony himself someday, the barbarianism have been dealing in Roman drag as much as many, maybe more than Scorsese and some dagos ever will. That monstrosity of a convention , the smile-rs indeed with vaginal knives, always as the nuns warned me willing to earlier than crib death make every holiday Passover, of blowhards and ninnies, drag queens and smiling garbage like Klobacher soaking of joy amid the wreckage, it as more than the last Bush could take and he deferred to go watch the Cowboys, as rooting for them makes him feel like less of a Maine cliffs sissy. 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFSMwNdpmqI

 

As the hinterlands are crumbling for Kamilla, [ as post this a white woman in Michigan says confidentially under the darkness democrats hoods think it is always midnight save for TINKERBELLES being alive light, that she is dunkered in  water and badly. See, Ma was , like the nuns right about which women and what woman and take that Colbert and your dem dese and dose bullshit, having gotten the ELMO  humps up, from the lowest levels in jail perchance...? ]  So,  never the kind of women my mother told me the angels of the mattina never cry for, as the Prairiea sinks and dives with even blood sport last night as corrupt as any pageant of Augustus, ONE WONDERS WHO PAYS FOR THE BACON USED BY THEY WHO STILL HOLD Hillary SHROUD AS THEIR BLACKEST FLAG. As I had called this all as early as that colder than ever , sunless day of winter, when old coot Bidet PORED HIS POURAGE IN WOODEN BOWLS, AND A NEW Augustus SAW A THIRTEEN SCRAWLED ON A BIRTHDAY CAKE COLORED WALL. THE PLEBS COUNT BACKWARDS FROM 13, AND DEAD SONS ARE RECALLED AS POUR-RAGE IS THE DISH BEST SERVED COLD. And too, again, not falling into the pits of Roman decline and fall so often hurled at me since i was a kid, and my love of the atrocity called by some, the Satyricon, beloved by me as a boy, was suspect by many of those Teutonic German nuns, as meaning something , as now the perverts cover the land in maydays and maypoles, a decadence told to me by trash like the Bushmen, barbarians in seer sucker suits, not long past the dwellings of the trees. Lets remember that Boss Hogg, The last Waltz, here voted with the Republicans to not only censure, ah hats that MOURNING Joe word again, a first black AG Eric Holder, but to do the bidding of the GREAT BARBARIANS prairie TO USE THE LATIN LOVING JESUIT TERMS, REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT THEM, Maureen dear, AND HOMOSEXUALS TOO, HUMMMMN, anyway, they aint what the Priests were, they loved the butch Romans to pieces, Roman circus too, lets not forget how many times this chicken hawk was caustically the living embodiment of the Roman line and that indeed one can tell the diffident between as a Roman standard and a weather-vane by the caliber of bird that sit at its crest.  

So, at this time of year remember the admiration had for me by brethren sisters and others, especially at this time of affirmative action skin game Negroes doing Zamas with D students to keep a stolen earth. And how as these factions shutter and move, hook-nose and prattle through a summer stocked Caesar in cheap dressers I recall how papers I wrote made them pleased. And how I was seen as not whitewashing their beloved Rome but not like s bigot white man Tolkien demeaning it neither. I wrote a paper in 2980, and if you were a Male between 12 and 35 your recall of  Patty Fairinelli as a stapler navel-ed Beatrice, and it was that awful year for me that I wrote of sadly the end of Civilization. Constantine no longer called the  great,  and his own astrology, fuck you Swaggart, and Bidey too, and I wrote it essay teachers reading the Twelve Caesars by Vidal said well,  of his moon over the Tyber bridge, a vision. And how he took the blood of dead and dying Roman warriors never to be the same, and made signs of a bloody cross on their taken and appropriated swords. And this made the Jesuit there wet, and all I was offered as they lived tje Roman fractured fairy tales and as I knew, old men looking at their watches were doomed to a less than Roman fate as appear not on any trails or campaigns, but on chat shows, a vituperative Virginia Graham show, Oscar,  under cutting stupid brunettes that Hillary finally found. Somehow that vision on faggy chi chi PBS became a dream. Less catholic. And the signs of the cross were not in human blood so red instead in that most unbroken color of chicken yellow and on shields. As it all seemed fixed in the editing.  And wt that I noticed at this time, the crickets began to sing, as Ma said. 

 

 

THE AFOREMENTIONED YOU.

 

I spent the whole day Saturday watching the first season of That Girl, as I have always found it a prefect piece of television, as sophisticated to boyhood me as any thing written by Neil Simon or Paddy Chayefsky. With dinner we watched to me the epicenter of that program its high point and its fulcrum, to me, Help Wanted in which pretty Ann became, on the prodding of perfect airhead friend, only Rush Buzzi was as cute, Bonnie Scott, the secretary for newsman when they went something Donald Hollerenger. The ending is as sweet a moment as Jimmy Rockford getting Lt. Scanlon's black hat for him, a rarity on vulgar television that would soon enough go down the drains of Norman Lear's toilets.

When I was a little boy gathering the laurels and huzzahs of nuns and priests and the brickbats of others, usually over Roman literature like Petronius, my mother, a woman who refuted to ever vote for stone faced fascist Goldwater, unlike some, told me, that I was to never traffic and be dealing in the businesses of death, or collect blood money as my filthiest profit. She, past her more thin woman Italian ways, and now not as old as I had thought, older woman of the kind seen as the backdrop of my beloved “Marty”, she warned me with her old woman's hands, to me then over used washer and seamstress hand, which the only adornment she told me was a golden ring from my father, no chakies and baubles for her, intuition the end when I and my siblings did give her occasional present of jewelry, with hand up and pitted towards the out there somewhere as if she were in that painting of the school of Athens by her beloved and somehow hated by English queers Raphael, a Michelangelo with grace is a perfect disciplining, she opined upwards like ...Plato, who remember...?. and told me that those who use death will be sued by it, and that all the blood money they can gather will eventually when Signora Fortuna came to settle up the bill, she would leave the money, and take out out in the blood that had collected on the rims of every coin that makes its way to GE. I think she meant mostly the mafia of little Chicago then, and too, like the nuns, she despised the white faced the lesbians who seem to have an almost sentimental devotion to abortion, the equivalent I said as a young student, to the chicken hawks who always manage like John Bolton TO BLUSTER and bray at the Mars in the speckled with blood stars above, and then, with the kindness of cowards demand a mercy of their being ninnies and sickly, and show us the wheat bumps on their backs, showing they can never themselves hold the reaper that they foist upon others. He and the Neo con coop, so those people have somehow taken over a nondemocratic party which now, thanks to that purple grange, yes, sorry to say it Marius, Bill Clinton shows the degree of vulgarity that bribes and fat jokes can lead so many astray, who think their blood money has been somehow foreordained and legislated by being collect at Banks, chemical and not. I TOOK THAT AND OTHER things my I called them peasants as a joke parents said to me, perhaps more than I should have, but then, no one expecting me to carry water for the usurper of a cheater.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Q9T-T9tfu4

IN 2012, the Julian calendar so mixed with the year those en-most noble of savages said that the world would end, and them not being Christian, this Armageddon as actually treated with more seriousness than it should have been by those Stone fitting genius of mezzo America who used to tear out the hearts of virgins so as the invidious sun would rise, but then again, their blood sports like mega death in the laughingly called holy land, was always exempt for Lutheran fallen women's contempt. At the end of that summer, in which the chambers of commerce taking wholly of the republican party, and since the coarsest mule train democrats are a bunch of good for nothing yes men, old George Will, and the Romanov's of Kennibunckport set afire the Terra and get what they want anyway, a great political scribe named Marc Shields who was an every man whose Irish eyes were always at wits end as he tried vainly to understand the mars decaying system, and did so with aplomb and verve sand a kind of liberal charms rappelled by ridicule of the suffering done at the armimentarium bu toughs republicanism who cant in good innocuous ever vote for anyone like Trump after such goats as thievish manga merdas who decided we were a homeland and that the local spies musty self deport, if you wont work for slave labors lost, what is the point of the American dreamy dreariness be...?

He was on the ruins of the McNeil Lecher news hour, now in total dilapidation, and unhatched, but as a rennet of those old days, Marc, true to his name over the corpse called the republic, said that then, both political parties had had their conventions, Obama's magic spells and card tricks, gaining by a fraying GE, I SAY THAT so as to make some house coon tell us of unthinking and then I can speak of my own play early written out done to the poor dumb but movable wops in fort Lee New Jersey, and Mitt Romney, then seen as a chamber of commerce, like a Egyptian crypt, a wunderkind would in good farce sand with always the acquiescence of the bought, like Newt would back off as so friend of the Bushes, the Black Narcissus, COULD KEEP THEIRS WATERBOARDING GOING ON AND SOON TO BE LOST BAG-REM, AS WE DEIGNED TO MAKE THE PATRICIANS wash the blood off the torture chamber toilets there. Marc said, in both television specters worthy of ABC's Hollywood palace, in our middlebrow, middle ground, middle-marching flag football a go go, he noticed that neither party mentioned the word WAR once, which to him, a relic of the days of Gore Vidal, the era indeed if you like, was almost, as was much indecipherable to him, ah but some enough General Electric playhouse, theta-re would own enough house Negros and bullish dykes ti make sure that those who were on television for a five night a week prestidigitation, ==watch as we make the bill of rights disappear! poof! -- was never enough time to speak of the ethics or lack there of of a dreariness of drone armies, drone warfare, and its push button warfare.

I was therefore glad to see and notice that the very footballs less Sunday afternoon that the poor man's loser, Dewey, said indeed bye bye birdy to that imprimatur and its bird of prey stance, that that very might better they even the ending to the piece I race through to get out by my Leonid Birthday, which I write with a kind of bluster, we know now that Barry the fairy hates such Delilahs of you know, sensuality and thus, caring that much if at all about the god and guns plebs of opens woods which is a giant Prairiea-- Jesuit America--to his lackadaisical, and bored eye, that I returned to as a kind of full out slut of Antony the roman loving Student . As I have this past year gotten a lot gotten through, but did it in all in a more Gore Vidal AT HOME WAY, and retrofitted and reverse engineered back to the filibustering, full throat-ed, Roman carnival loving bravado of my loving the taming of the shrew when it as still Ariosto, youthfulness. And it was a perceptive time to have done it, though haven't heard back yet, as its amusing what cowards that at heart,might these hypocrites be. 

 

 

Phil Donahue, who remade my mothers television at daytime as much as anyone ever do, pera is a mere hanger on and wanted as they all do in America as walk in closets as proof of purchase, but his best line to me, with Posner when only John Birchers hated Russia, laughed at right up till Mitt tried to tell them all that like so much Democrats would be sold soon enough who and what to parrot this time, was him saying, dear Phil, real life Ted Bessel, see elsewhere, that after all these years he was alerted that he was indeed not a liberal, but instead PROGRESSIVE. Like an insurance company, a virus or fungal infection, that will be next on our Julian days, given to old lady Italian erased with impunity once, or wile E off the mesa cliffs, he was to progress. To what and to which and to where we are never told as Soros, so again demands to know true to his credo, who had the diet coke...? To this, the host with perpetual uneasiness, to quote father Gore as must now as Biddy has lived his third act, was he wake for it, gummadi Jillda...? Phil, accompanied with his own brand of Irish every-man quality of being a pilgrim lost, OH WERE ALL PROGRESSIVES now, well, LA DEEE DA, HE SAID, as once you are at a Jesuit Institution, middle continental Marquette if I recall rightly, with no less an alum than Mr. Carlin, those Roman goddesses and words sued and poulticed by buffs like Marx and Freud, die hardest of all.

The Democrats national convention though this time, has a MOONEY, the reverend not the banker, quality of mercilessness to it, all the charm of a cable real estate seminar at its most pompous and devoted, as I thought of Robert Klein on the divine and revered Carson, now, then, This is the house you can afford, bought with the money you aint got, ...as the silly putty that is Kamilla, again no personal animosity dartboards her, I don't really fully care who she fuked to get ahead, though were I she id get rid of human flotsam like jimmy mid-nights,WHO GAIN SHOWED A KIND OF HIDDEN Hesperia MAFIA KNOWLEDGE AS SHE, WITH WEED LAUGH AND ALL WENT to no less the New York Post, and said as Sicilians must do when confronted by the end of the comedy, that his days were roman numbered, as even he, a mere bag man at the bowling ball network, by now even now this braying idiot, could easily tell. Handed over as it as to Steven Spielberg no less, WHY WOULD I HATE THE man who made Duel over this miasma of happy talk, the convention showed signs of being the first one since Goldwater and his Draconian devotions, to show an actual Dip and the re-footing of Donald Trump on the pools if any of that Honeymoon was true at all, and it wasn't again CBS usurping the word in a most ironic form. Despite being the man who made Jaws, and Raiders of the lost Arc, an almost prefect film diminished by its endless serializing, and even 1941 which I much liked a kid, he made film films unmade in the age of big television now, the withholding as either incompetence or malicious deadpanning again as Niccolo said, on where YOU, second person is all, are standing. The first night was a lover Hebrides where all the circles were to be cast adrift, although that could have been the whole thing as it me it has the sense of rag. Bliko, and his squad of Top cats going to the last round up, a masterpiece of television as Neil Simon once worked in that cesspool, pop, I tried to tel him, but alas that as past perfect then and now we have...what we have.

2 AUGUST 2024.

I asked my brother if he would take me to the large parking-lot here near the house, as I had made a deal to send out work to mail out and too, a girl bought a picture asked to be drawn in a way that the others I went to arts school with called a commission to pad resumes, a trick that can get you thrown out of Noter Dame football, but not the ticket to be praetor, showing just what is important and what is not. As I had expected, and had thrown to me in the paper he read and I forgo, by now, the literal wet blanket, George Effing Will, though Trumps Javier, is not enchanted with Kamilla in the least and says so, as worse than mere tariffs, is a 48 percent capital gains tax, as said before that 2021 convention for the Hannibal kick line of elephants had a whole night devoted to the death tax, as blasé house Negros made sure we didn't speak of any such things as perpetual warfare.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PluTNOcx6UY

Wait,...?, my bother asked me as we toted along and I carried thick almost Christmas package like brown paper large envelops as still and sending out cartoons, drawings and most of all, excerpt of Roman Mythology, as it wants lost on me that the day into night that Bidden has lost THE PRAETORIUM IN ONE OF THE WORST POSSIBLE, as I HAD INDEED augured back in the snows of Pompeii, a winter unrelenting and inculpated with heat spells. This meeting isn't some EBAY charlatan, carnival barker who wants to rill you while i'm in the post office is it, you, he said, otta be careful with these internet goons, now more than usual. No, I said, Its a girl I went to school with, you remember Lisa Ann Volocheck from valley high, don't you? He thought about it a moment. Valley high he said, You didn't even go to Valley high, he said,. No, I said, I mean not at the catholic school, I added, I knew her, or of her, way back in public school. I told that old man, he said with some distress,Get Tony outta that catholic indoctrination camp and send him to public school, and away from Gus-co that moonshiner priest, who thought he was fff-ing pope. WELL, HE SAID, I don't recall who I want to school with much less you ten years later, Ton. We parked at the post office, but I didn't see her, not shocking to me, really, though she had gotten in touch with me on something called messenger where I am gotten in touch with by girls showing their only fans pages to me for companionship. Is it bother you, I asked, That I am meeting woman, I mean, she is my age more or less. BOTHER me, he asked, hell I, id pay for it, if you'd asked. NO, I SAID, She is a nice girl. He shook his head at my mid- century rather more CBS than id like to think I am, more Persky and Denoff, than the Steal this book that I liked to pretend I am. He tsked at this assessment. A hopeless romantic, he said, as we parked before an American flag and postal trucks readied telling the rabble to beat the Christmas rush.

We, or he, went into the local zip code sub station, a joke once on Green Acres, amazing how preciant that farce as they always are was, and then we, or he, went into the local grocery store as I was too damn tired to tend there and boil eggs with expansive bacon, the price of which has been a harbinger of doom for the catsuits in power, but now that we steal open;y elections and call for do overs and the cyclopes and its clowns acceding, who cares bouta an unread by all but me and Roman Bill senator Cornelius and his Small, or large craft warnings, depending on the winds at Ostia. He went in and told me, Whatever you do, kid, he said, When she sees you, while I'm in there,--i think he knew I wanted privacy with a girls s in my mid Fifties still, I am still tinge tied amid the much fairer sex. And, aging snow white here was as fare as they ever got, still even at my age, he said, get the hell out of the car and don't go American graffiti on her and make her bow to you. I nodded, but hadn't thought of that, as my brother chi as he was when i was a precious lad, her is a virtual Fermi in dealing with the atomic partials of dealing with women. He got out and walked towards the taped paper specials of the local supermarket, whichever if there are as we have heard Mice at all, they do not become variations of Superman, and the dogs are ferule and not reluctantly voiced by Wally Cox. Then I saw her emerge from what I believed is called a escalate, white with blue trim, I am an agronomist at writing a Weller wishing Sister Margret said to me, making me read The Right Stuff and Mister Sinatra haaaaaaas a cold, and other like classics sure that I had an ear for creative reportage, when we still had journalism, new or old, and weren't just told what to think until again, prissy baseball queer George Will realized too late that the like hated Romans he had indeed tiled himself into a Praetorian corner, and that as far too catholic for devoted he. I was not shocked when his trains of distaste for various Cuomo and father flagers and the rabble in general showed its cotillion head again, when he was first and often, as he voted for that segregationist, to dismiss and demean the idea that they'd be stuck with wage and price controls, Its phase nine, meathead.

Eyeing her, I got out of the car-- Just like Hemingway, I thought of my beloved Ted Bessel,--and didn't so much wave but allowed a broken marionettes hand to jostle back and forth and she midfield grinned, and jogged up to me as I stood next to the red, although I cant find a more maroon colored paint I had used before it seems, and all red seems to cherry to my eyes, and she came up to me and surprisingly h=gave me the tow handed hand shake. A man-boy, looking the part of hippie that I have seen more lately, it ensures out there is a real ribald radical aspect to this party that papal conclaves only exacerbated, as even Scorsese no less once spoke of the hatred that even northern Italians, yes, mister Bush have for the barbarous and the barbarians now diminished as we must weep openly for Indians crayoning over garbage. He zoomed past us on no not a segue, a Ebb, speaking of Green Acres, scooter causing her to return to bitchy, jail bait form, and look askance at the semi bearded man racing to get into the small strip mall here. Her body was in loose costume, but predicted prepossessed for her role, making it of course seem a;l the more beguiling, accenting and not hiding curves. She wore a cotton like, stretchy like ling sleeved shift of wool, or it looked like long johns more than not, and a pair of painted on jeans that on her revered and returned to the national uniform of Italy, and the south where the satanists and communistic are replaced by less sanctimonious sorts in the repeatable noon of a midday sun. Ah, the unmarried women and the dog faced boys and the Jake the snakes, they merely,as the perverts warned me, found a now vestal, as ill thought he had, for all of grandpas beliefs as it was a hatred of the roman circus and a love of unsweetened Corn Flakes that were held on all those foot-washing baptists who made their ways over the bloody trails of tears and worse. We might as well been again under a mile marker that said, this way to the Apia Road and the beehives of Virgil that once populated the soon to be remarkable ruins of the city state that ate Remus first.

I gave her the overwrite butcher paper pre stamped envelope that I had bought twelve of and only have about two left, and use to send my work with my brother to Staples to get scanned, but have been us using my own cheap track phone more and more. She opened, it, almost acutely like a girl getting a present, which I would make sure it was, though my brother again hates me giving way sort, there are those who think they are such hot shit and get nothing done and demand 500 dollars on places for their own lil Abner that have never seen the light of a newspaper press, which, frankly I have so...She opened the large brown elev ope and saw the drawing that I did from a penthouse sketch that to me most resembled the girl of then that I saw in those bought pictures as a hefty mannish more than not 15 year old, when as my father thought, the sight of bassoonist Reagan was a diabolical visage for which wed all pay. Funny how as bother the good and healthy and wokned so much they never seem to recall or care that I am vociferous in my hated, like pop of that acting president now ancient history, and the ninny sissy silver hoof in mouthed queen bee who died, as did Mumsy, early on ion the black death that the man who vetoed health care and didn't pay, not even in this wake of coup of owls, that o would have made him pay signore Fortuna and how. Her hair as in a fashion called pageboy I think, asked my brother who saw us from the large grocery store window, but he didn't know. She had allowed strands of gray to take over her straight er than I recall, or maybe it was straight all along hair, and when I mentioned it, she said, as if in almost a kind of reverence of our fellow Italian radicals like those named Fonda way back when, that she hadn't been touching up her hair as she is older now, and doesn't much care about it anymore, but it looked nice on her, I added. I told her that a new found spring had opened up for me, as now suddenly some how found my work egregious now see me as a vizier, a auger, as even my brother was amazed that as I had foretold, I the soothsayer in the last act of the Tragedy of Pompey, remade into the first act of The Comedy of Julius Caesar, and now a merest minstrel costumed party, there would be no balloon drop for Bidey, as there assuredly is not and will not be, as only hours ago,m like Hillary for meathead and his own Jewish parables, Spielberg found that a late night slot was perfect for this Chiller theater corpse, who was alas the last make up job out of a Romero black and white horror satire.

I sheepishly brought it up to her as she eve as an older woman had an unbridled sexuality, at least to me, that no Clinton am I, I have never eschewed merely for cheerleaders at all. I had, I told her, gotten an essay from that Dick Van Dyked and gastro intestinal flue Saturnalia of last year, ACCEPTANCE LETTERS IN THE DECLINE AND FALL. Poo-pooed at the time, now, I am the auger to some, accepted at last, along with cartoons as returned to a previous incarnation my own aping Gore Vidal and Serpieri and his heavy metal Beatrice without underpants in the form of always wet post apocalyptic Drunna, and a part of that larger essay dated and stamped WAS just accepted. And I added, The essay excerpt, see, it was the part in which you figured predominantly, and I, I said, wanted to give you a heads up, as it where. At the end of that part, I said, I recalled having paid a local leering photographer a few bucks for your pictures you'd sent to penthouse I said, sure of a coming slap. She looked down, and smiled almost to herself. I have, I said, Ruined things with girls for less. But see, she said sheepishly, almost alluringly, I am no Girl. You're not not, i added. Yes, I said, But...I read it she said, aback hen you posted it then...I, I said, Expected it to be in a magazine I couldn't be that upset about you buying the pictures, could I...? I SAID, If I had been in a position to, I would have printed them myself, as it still unnerves me that these creep with their Gucci bag liberalism and Bulgari decency can be such sanctimonious squares with Bill Clinton at the stage door always wanting to play Aida in drag. She laughed. I thought I took it down, I said, As I got static from some rioter at some rag I sent it into, especially about those pictures, as I was some forty years old then hanging around Ridge Ave. Junior high, like some did. Tell me about it she sadly grumbled, as once again, girls like her and even I, we had our share of those perpetrators that knew as Italians, juts as they did with the mothers, used bad based the children with glee, as they knew the Pollock and Irish trash that ran this then just minted as blue state at NBC, and did pretty much as they palmed. And now, as the Italian women were thrown into mass graves worthy of a catholic purge, we were told incessantly by the Hillary coven to cry for those hags with blue eyes who would, as ma and the nuns told me, never had the life that the apostolic sun baked into us to be anything more than the lovers of death and mere housewifely sex that they always were. With I and Lisa, we were not that far romped from the temples of the sun at Pantheism that it is now said, was a civility that predates those accretions of either creation or plagiarism, Judea. She took the large painting done on I've Below bulk paper and watercolors or at least acrylics, and put it, as has have done to me before, in a satchel that she walked with as a kind of ditty bag. 

 

 

She stood near me, again having an effect like I should have seen would be coming the moment that I agreed to meet her while my brother was in the market looking for the grapefruits that he can find it seemed no where in the world where they bring good things to blight. Again readjusted my hands in my jeans pockets. She took out a ten dollar bill and handed it to me, I folded it and placed it back in her hands. the FEEL OF HER NOT AS SOFT SKIN AS I IMAGED-ED IT WAS IN 1979, STILL SENT A CURRENT THROUGH ME, AS A LOVE OF CHEESE CAKE SKIN LIKE WITH SOME PRAETORS HAS NEVER BEEN A FETISH OF MINE, AND SEE BEAUTY IN WOMEN AS OLD AS SHE. I AINT, I said with vernacular charm, Gonna take a dime from someone I....I, she asked with a gum-be grin. AT I HAVE KNOWN, AT LEAST OF, this long...i said, and sighed. Her mother, and older woman smoking like a chimney, has happen once and still with some trellis of that republican wall of bricks, came up to us and I reintroduced myself, as this was the closest thing to a date I have had in twenty years it seems. She spoke to me, gleaming there in as I said, Italian docker, peasant girl perfection, in cotton and denim as she was. I remember, she said, Back at homeroom way back, [in which I thought I were invisible to her massive gun- blue invader eyes, in her young starlet Ann Southern girlish voluptuary interning,] That creep who hated you, that faggot Albert Curio, she said, as seemingly liked reporting to me, if only I heard this then, butw as surfe she didn't like many even tolerate me much, Well, that goon he took your mead tapper keeper when you were called to that pervert Hazers officiate for some incarceration, he asked or said he wanted to spank me one day, over being twenty minutes late to class cone day, she said, When I wore a skirt and i ran out of there and told Lucille--she gestured towards her older mother from where she got her Italian roots--and he gathered everyone around, and, she said, He went through your papers and your collected notes, wanting to make fun of you sooooo bad, but we gathered, you remember my husband I'd marry then, the guy with the vestal mustache, Strooncie, that wop with that wavy hair and giant nose who thought he was hot shit, the one who wore all those Popeye t shirts he got from Goodwill then spent scads of money at Luigi's billiards room in seventh street, we all gathered around as he was out leader in all of this, I don't know what we were going to find, I mean people had nothing against you, not really, but you were second to the Abraham kid, the slow one who he tarted mercilessly, but he knew you were smart, always smiling that queer, anyway, she added, We were supposed to laugh at your notebooks, but I thought looking at all those pictures you mindlessly drew instead of taking any notes about those shitty classes, I saw the women you drew, the solid gold dancer, the penthouse pets, the roman superman, and we were spellbound by all these drawings and Police story quips, and his fairest one of them all face just fell as eventually we and the chamber kid who was the local detective's kid, we looked at these drawings of women, and I, at least, was strangely, hummmn, pleased and complimented when I realized some of them, at least seem to be me. She smiled. Now and then, I said, immateriality transposed back to that awful room and that awful school and thinking of all I did and didn't do, someone is always there to call it pornography. Truly hoped to keep this somehow going to have a girl at Christmas time. Poisoned by the Decameron tales.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFtcnD8kOmA

 

The retentively deposed, the republic forever one can hear Tyberius shout, no not that one, but anyway, the corpse left behind called Bidey, he had to wait his wrong turn as Steven somehow brought the joy, their oft sued word, of a self congratulating Oscars to a Hollywood for the ugly people on the new Tyber. There was talk openly that the white house, or what is left in the green painted ashes of that antebellum hell hole, were openly bitching and kvetching and moaning about the fact that Misteah Praetor, or more commonly know as the Goddamn President, if not the goddamned Batman, was left in the green room to cool his heels with Shelly Winters, the mighty Carson Art Players, Truman Capote, and Joan Embry and Kreskin. He would be on this telethon right after the beauteous bitchy brunette goddess Adrienne Barbau did some gypsy Bump and glide to Bill Macy. I turned it to Bullwinkle soon enough and saw after the great Bill Conrad told is to tune in next time for ROCKY IN THE CROSS HAIRS, OR DON'T MAKE IT WORSE ITS BADENOV, he still, hadn't taken the stage, as once again, they got their licks in, Madam Pillossi, as she smears on the Piccadilly more fore every indignity she thinks, strega to the end, she has taken in the expensive teeth. Slave camera that I predicted would be sued by the cyclops did indeed show up that night, as the freight wigged popper gummadi as shown, with preponderated sign, waving signs are after all a perfect replacement for speech when one cannot like the man at the Roman wall speech, but are even better lest one on ask you why that creep Joe Scarborough, now a plastered republican, who has a delivery like he is eating saltines, and bowling crumbs at the camera, why the dimwit who thought a censure of the senate meant Billy the kid had to go is doing at all in these wings.

BUT, the best moment happened that second night, novene over to fighting crime family the Obama's, both husband and wife, I can tell you as a Clinton watcher, that that episode of Bewitched never ends well, as both the peculator and his make room for Mommies wife had to get seen at this best satire of a Coconut Grove Hollywood Can-tine since I. Freling. The human cappuccino maker, Barry the Fairy bumbled and troubled and boiled and rubbed away, not so much a human emotion but more like Spock in heat, but not by the way Pigments cone who sided with Hillary eyed his perpetual stance on lecturing the world, why, he was never a criminal, or thug, as he made sure to say once he got the wire transfer, and then the wife, black Lady Madonna came out to extolling how her parents were good house ni88ers sho nuff and dye never what'd more than they was allotted by the Principe, shure enough. I am superseded she didn't elicit more laughs having been in Oprah hand me downs, she is a woman now, and not back, or ate last some, and we were given a course in house niggardly socialism by those two bicker-sons who somehow managed to make being men of the people work out to have her swaddled in Versache, and with golden earrings one could see as I did, adverts ed in the new York times, for you Jewish house wives and cheating husbands to make your way to Bulgari, of course before the riots and Shanghai's and grabs, bit alas showing they believe in nothing Guvnor Gecko in Sacramento has automated a bakers dozen of crime ills, showing again was was right hen said as did the Roman archaist that the men of the people in that senate, the radicals are there to always wash the floors and when they incarcerate you, well that means something after all, like you, know, I've to get elected and Allinsky is after all, a bigger fairy tale than ET was.

The two aging rascals, as Ed Henry would be shown, live at Love Canal, Amity ville, where the only horror always was the Clinton marriage, in a grand palazzo, showing of course the Bedouins of America, if play they're cards right can, like Nero do their bleeding and bleating and ingraining in the best ermine that a Julian coin can buy. America is after all the city built on Spartan after all hypocrisy, but elliptically when it comes to war. Of course I didn't catch his, but seeing her explain her parents whichever had not wanted anything any more than they were allotted, that is soooo Sicilian, after all, as she is on as I write this a third explanation of excitably what she actually did mean or meant, as soon enough a love of the stage can make certain sorest, capitulate those who vote against it, think of welfare queens and the like, but, I thought of ma as am at this back to school time always full of recriminations as l let a little fag-it named Albert Curio hector me out of being a good student as he saw enemies wherever as queers do since Alexander, although, without me around, he damaged to find the golden mean himself and I believe he is a college drop out and is now merely a bartender at a local gay dive, as I resisted to use the proscribed words and letters as it makes me wince to think the BUSH FAMILLIA IS still out there trying to desalinize English and make us all speak on prattle as the word and deeds of patrician is a latinism that never dispatchers, but alas she all in the en Best part, Kamilla, and was lectured to me as somehow me calling her KAMILA'S IS SEEN BY the colored chicks as an insult, to call her after the name of the Italian amazon in Virgil is seen as diminished and perhaps to them it is. But, showing I was not far off in my assessment, as I have liked the Kamilla of the world since i was a boy and had my share of crushes for them, our miss Kamilla was taking that day to have a side trip to bolster the last waltz, now he is doubling down on exactingly his wife's, not his,private gynecological exams, proving once again, when you hurl your pioneer fields fingers at others, fur other parts of the hand are pinpointed directly at you.

 

 

Say way you'd like about Trump chorus, which the Romans eschewed for a single umbroggio or drunkard or woman or retard or clown who told the truth, ah me calling, as when the Brutus card is playd Barry, strega Pillozzo, it can only get wosre from here. Hell, ask Phil Donahue. Hell, ask Marlo, mom probably told her well, juts don't get Oprah anywhere near the last hurrah is all. Who needed this I ask, as mere Machiavellian that the priests adored, why buy this much horse shit thinking it was chocolate ice cream...? And, without even daining to be on the same Terra as that wife who prattles on about the glories of the state as god only knows how many pillowcases are stuffed with hundred at casa de Barry, she wasn't even in this same building as the two she blamed for pushing her in a situation she may or may not have wanted this or an other way. Still, I am hearing despite some distaste at July is the most...some have tern openly to calling him Brutus to Bidey as Caesar, leaving sweet ole bill to merely be a old man weathering away before us, a ghost without the decency and juts dying a thousandth times, on and on and on, passe as anything, but, Harris wouldn't be caught dead to hear them, applauding them, as she must, as a smarter dark haired girl wouldst know, that they would do that to him, do I warn again as remember my mother and her fractured fairy tale about the parable of the retarded boy and the scissors and the rug, and half is for you, pop, when mommie the American whore slut gets rid of you, as my brother has noted before I even heard it in the caravans of the lefty internet, that Barry seethes with righteous, what else...?, anger at yet another missed recital, what would they eventually do to her...? ....ah the reason I don't hate her, Kammila, as these Italian women looking more like her than not, Hillary's in signoras unfortunates plowshares, One must take heed of the dead ad holmium Italian women even more as they are found as vestals of discareded bone, entwined with lovers in Augustus white lunged soils, still, SEE WHAT I was looking for, as boy genius progeny Barry steams ahead with anger that he was, like Colbert, not a season of comforter for that smiler with a knife, tho, before a merest coffee bringers, and those quote mus be washed away somehow, lest ROMAN Bill BE CORRECT, O beautiful for spacious skies, I was the one who got alas admiration in old Prairiea, and never ever thought to tell my pop over a merest wop solicitor general to me, so la dadee dah. Now it is visible to all, as the soot falls to earth, that why and how, to a smarter, shrewder, brothers distaste of my Roman quarks, and yet, why I would never take a coin with “Brutus the king” struck on it anywhere near me.