THE TRIAL OF FIGARO.

You are watching Curia Television. Part IV.

New York Versus Weinstien.

14. February 2020.

17.

I  was heart warmed to see a show beloved by my Mom called That Girl had returned, as the last time i imbibed in this wonderful fantasy of the emerald city of Capote, and a land of Perskey and Denoff, just a hair removed from Neil and Mel and Carl’s wodnerland, I felt an inner peace. She was a lovely brunette and Italian girl respite from a feast of Janus OF THIS PIG, AND TODAY ON AN IRONIC Valentine’s day, she was on all day, as a Roman girl of the sort that made Cornelius Tacitus eschew the men in drag in Euripides, as that never took off in fashionable environs of Rome. As if just discovered then Pakistani sweetheart Archie Penjabi could cool a raging soul about losing a mother days after it occurred as she had with her dimpled loveliness, then, the return of Don and Ann as new York pilgrims adrift in Merman city, could, like Bob Burgers did twelve hours later each day, allow me to calm a not as vividly angered soul, as i recited the punchlines right along with them.



So I wait to eat each day I get up for Ann and her ABC mod Batman before the grime and Aids cocktails hipness, as see a whose who of great actors beside the late great Ted as boyfriend per excellence, but see Richard Dreyfus, Dabney Coleman, a truly peppy sidekick girl named Bonnie Scott, who unlike  Mary and Lucy, CBS monstrosities, Marlo, ah sweet ms. independent, future gummaddi Marlo, didn't make 15 pounds heavier under threat of perjury, an actual crime as opposed to the bullshit of impeachments now, but whose counting...?

I watch each day as Ann strolls and in frantic Ingenue thrilling goes about the great city, spinning through the fountains at the then spanking new Lincoln center, thorough Soundhiems and Loessers brilliant Broadway, with a tyrant based on L Strasbourg, perfectly played by Billy De Wolfe, and act sadly not dons as well now on the ruins of the Columbia Broadcasting System, and there is Don’s brilliant career as a magazine journalist, we had them then, before, even the vaunted New Yorker would have in its vaunted pages of incomprehensible cartoons and now those left out showing Trump as a war monger as even the rabbinical order of now has its dissonance. And I think of the vulgarity now fashioner as news, anything but showing unseen coffins coming back to unseen mothers. I sing along with sound effects with the Vivaldi of television themes, Earl Hagar's brilliant theme song as the camera pans across black-rocks, if still there, might have been torn down, and not just by Al Kida for the reclamation  project, as opposed to health care concerns that the newly baptized as Mike,  Mayor Bilko, pushed through, with Imam's and Madrases not invited , not that again Barry the deity made anything close to a fuss.

I watch almost pleasant, hard to be now, Ann, as she bops along fifth avenue, with ray bans, and I find, maybe its her black hair, or short bantam chicken like touchiness that my pop always liked about her, or maybe a sister who loved her who had to become a victim of medial circumstance as italics seemingly always do, as i have to hear about spics and their sharecropping American dream when all I got was Talia Shire. A previous years essay called then Fior Gore Vidal, then re-titled as a scattered novel , a first one really written, called Other Cities , Other Pillars, as I am a stinker, about the cesspool the new Yorker and Publishing had in my schemed to become since the golden age of Don Hollinger and the old woman I had seen,  on the then shown Tomorrow shoe, a tomorrow that was never gotten to by Scarlet or Macbeth,  or us, I alas was seen somewhere, where else, by a scout for this PEN cabal. I felt like it was 1974 again and the Jesuits came to St. Peters, this one here, or there now, as the society of Jesus had heard of a student they wanted to recruit for their bulldog kennel, as they were constantly on the lookout for point guards, cheerleaders who wore wool skirts well, and Jesuit lawyer students, and not always in that order. It wasn't  the blond polish half breed queer, to his and church ladies dismay as I looked like just another wop hood, a dime a dozen, and wasn't even frail looking enough, like Obama or Martin S, to even seem as smart as the priests thought I was.

It was seen and read, the essay against Will an Grace that made a woman at a known magazine actually stop and think about what she was laughing at, as she emailed me back. Ah concern and interest is nice, but, if I cant place it on my resume, at page 13 now as devoted each acceptance to my Ma on the other side of the Moon, in the noble comedy and not Tennessee’s joke book, as admiration I’ve  have had enough. And how some f*g on parade here, doing a queer Jerry Helper take, now suddenly not as vanguard or as beloved as it was in the age of Monica, but then, what ever could be...as they try to forget where they had been and how they all got here.


21 FEBRUARY 2020.

18. The shamelessness that my father and the jurists said was at the Dis ice center of this cesspool , down where Brutus now a lesbian or a poli sci hack weeps with a Cassius meant to play Too Jewish, was shown relegated as much as anything, and ever before. The bloated, jellyfish skinned, Jewey,  doge, worthy of a hidden Shakespeare play, batters and buffers himself through unhatched unseen debates that lost their charm,  when Cornelius grandson, told the plebes to not actually applaud for Newt, their champion once, as there was already too much money and soot wrapped up in the smarmy little negro who'd they'd make a saint before he had to be a liberal.

Now, with stop and frisk again acceptably grandfathered in to the black trash, whose captains are always looking for the charm of a post dated check shown in commemoration  for the Bloated Jewish Macher, who runs for praetor in a worse year than even fellow chosen golden boy Al Al  Franken had to deal with, Bloombergh tries to get enough spear careers in his commercials of hard sell,  as in antidemocratic politicos, as my father warned me, ethics belong to who got in the bigger check.

Maybe not a year in which a distracted DA is trying corporeality to walk that line, as certainly doesn't want to make any precincts lost, by cobbling precedents,  by getting any fat bloated piggish rapist in jail whine he has this many pictures of him beloved by the uninitialized Gods of novae Roma. The Frankenwienie case drags on-wards, befitting someone who thought wrongly that Annabella Sciorra—and by the way why does singing Waiter wiseguy mob councilor, Arthur Aida whatever, the bald one, why dos he keep calling a fellow Italian , always the best names for pleb victims as Tacitus and the Clinton marriage shadowed, why dos Lex here keep calling her Sciorri, as if he cant say the name correctly, like a  Bush brother running for a presidency he will never get…? Too much time, I fear at Fox 5, AS HIS WICTHIPOO COMPILER MAKES A MISTAKE, I THINK, as even a wholefoods producer of two films about Harvey, ah Capote merits, but what do I know, as she sues a tactic I thought was discredited of what were you wearing …?, asked of a rape victim. She dared asked to rape victims, which my mother in fact said was a gimmick used by an Italian lawyer, one step above Cahlhoooon, if that, a relay I mentioned to Rachel Maddow, often, a thug  named Mumfredi, who she said, was brought in lest the Italian girls then dare to cry rape as the cheating husbands knew that they could merely trash any Italian woman vociferously who dared mentioned that husbands were depreciate for the Beatrice factor. A belladonna effect as she called it since I was a kid,  that their white bared, mayonnaise wives could not even pretend to give. There is a reason that one like Harvey could  lionize Huck Finn, dimwits blond hags like Gweeennnittth Pal-trow E Pal-trow, and not succumb to beguiling Annabelle as he did with chocolate dicks, and DVDs of Roz Russel as the girl Friday...see…?, as his Madonna whore complex was there, just as perforated as he did everything. A man cant constantly lionize and hagiography white women, slaves and holocaust victims without making his darker parts even more darker, a kind of Jewish Strombolis chiaroscuro, that came with a serrated edge. I mention Rachel Maddow as used to bothe—hect--connect with her, as was asking even in ‘16 if she knew who Ambra was, and how she could cry and carry water for a hag who had Stromboli on the payroll. But then if anyone has decline and fall written upon their foreheads, as Mom said, it was that two pigs from Hot springs.



AS  let Harvey Korman, the ruins if Mira-max ‘s gray flanneled hack on CuriaTV say that if let go as he thinks he should be in new Judea, that Harvey will become a Schweitzer and build hospitals, maybe Rape trauma units in his name, as shamelessness is outre business at least since Colbert came from buying crullers and underage girls for his Rob Petri Louis CK, and became the heir to Merv Griffin, whose very same theater marquee and name shines there as Donald Hollinger races back to Newsweek magazine, which now I take it would be allowing a dago hag like Rotundo would be suing for jury stammering. Sorry, Tampering, as if!,...like shes that sharp, as I’ve gotten sued to hearing Curia Radio play Donnaluch stammer in transcript form, when she got answers she somehow wasn't  expecting, as she  made the mistake of actually believing the filth-bucket she was reduced , when child killer barristers and Old Eli Wallach looking shysters said to Harvey to take a walk, in Bay-side Parlance.  But again, my mother spoke of the belladonna factor, and I think of its Machiavellian equal opposite, the Coppola factor, in that eventually there must be some Jews not on the clock, not with bags to take from here to there and back again, as the tragedienia isn't that big and west sdies and west sdies aren't as divergent as you'd think as north and south happy lil islands are, I wonder how much shit a jew can eat before he thinks, as I did with the Sopranos , that I and we don't deserve any of this lawyerly, clever, shit.

So, Harvey made  the most jeusitcail of mistakes, though it sounds wrong, it is not, he stakes too plainly and openly how many angels dance on the head of a pin , but does so at the Kremlin of my boyhood where they all , and I mean all, said how much they love Mayday and not in a Dante and Beatrice way. Harvey, true to his puppetry form, has in fact, shown my dad was right when he said to me, sad that I had been given an interview at Stanford, but for cinema, a fake art form which is what it is cackled by Martin Scorsese when the old wop with snits while making films with aforementioned Harvey, or filling the days with being a commercial pitchman, for Rolex's and jolt cola, again jokes of mine coming true. You're boring Harvey, as each nano second that goes by, each interview Seema must give to the great Gadzoo, or attorney Ratso who shysters woppishly for the cameras, as Jewish judges were there, but there little proof of, - like Sasquatch, or Gloria Allred that sadly and prefect brings up Scott Peterson as your doppelganger—Ouch!--each second is more dirt on your unkempt, unnoticed, unwanted grave, as burn in an Inferno that DA sonny boy, never wanted and by looking at a disjointed strange butterfly ballot of a jury form, poor Cyrus the small is unsure which bribes to take at all.




Last year I write a piece that got the usual accolades, IE, send more later just not so, you know, called the Manzoni papers, about my Mom's favorite writer  , Alessandaro Manzoni, and his tower of a masterpiece. It is a brilliant book, called the Betrothed, about two poor shlub Italians, the real Romeo and Juliette, say, the Italian ones, caught in the gears of imperial, or worse than that, medieval power plays. The ratios of power it is called by Calvino, a way I have tried to write my own small new journalism template at the Harvey trial, as sometime think I am the last one who read In Cold Blood or The Right stuff, as now ewe know women who laid it on thick and won awards that should have been given to Mia Farrow Junior, instead were sued as ways to cleans dear old yen-ta Jodi and such, who we know know, when Ambra did everything that woman are now pilloried for by various Jewish pontiffs on Curia TV, well, she was instantly and immediate called deranged and other vicious things, a basque connvivio for the Italian girl,  for some reason we had to save the blotted Jewish creep who was raping girls, probably, like Tiger and Rotheleisberger, the right ones, meaning sadly brunettes, to show the waste yard that he and enemy Scorsese helped make a pit that my father never liked, and never was stupid enough to buy into its con of decent tenements, and nobelsets savages kept in North Dakota winds.

So, he goes against the Roman rules of circus and becomes that most un-Roman thing, a bore, not even willing to take his bow, hiding as he slithers into a courtroom, looking like something from a Warren Comics page of horror comics, as I rethink, the colorful four color goriness of Wally Wood in EC pulp pages was alleyways beyond and beneath him, and that is no compliment as he lives out his infernal creed by poetry written not by an Italian genius but a hollwyood hack, a front lets say, with no Zero to make it at any point sad enough for care.

02/24/20

19.


As was boiling eggs for a late breakfast and a magazine from the Writers guild I joined came, almost concurrent with this bulletin, They at Curia TV cut into a  usual case, I.e., about blacks either killed and or caught by 5-O, I was altered by a Brother, that the case of the modern Fatty, came to a dower, dire end. I was peeling eggs when saw that a hallway showed that he was found not guilty, which angered me. No, a voice said from the other room, No, hes found guilty on the second charge for which I thanked Libra, the Roman goddess of justice, still hovering over the courtroom temple, whether finger-painting patricians like her or not. And again I impress my sharper yet more romantic  brother, as  one count as found guilty against Jessica Mann, a girl prettier than any i've ever had and wouldn't have abused so willingly as gave again Caterina's one part after a next. How did I figer that, he saked, as knew , some ingenuity part of me, still a Jesuit schoolboy that I heard the chimes at midnight and he abused this woman, and making a rape victim race from the box in tears is stupid even for a woman to have thought out. I was glad to know again the inferno has a pig that ate its own tail, and the Orobus is encircling itself.

I as the jury lets him die as say a Polish Pope had, to the pinpoint that all drama is bled out of it, more like pig at slaughter than anything any Jewish minion can use to any advantage, sorry, have to say here, publicly, as have parts of Artist and Models out hither and yon for your considerations, let me get this straight….When ten years ago, I was being lectured to by Project Green light, for scripts about Italian killer bankers, Etruscan myths, Italian men hung in the Klan fortress of Fort Lee New Jersey, and the crumbling Roman Senate, that while that was happening, the doges of Venice himself, I could be sharper than that using your poems of imperialism, was raping and tarring and abusing every cute brunette that me and my buddies in art school loved….?  Cause again there is something sad about that.

Despite , maybe because of white hags and c**nts of the court page who seem investing in letting Herod here rape whoso ever he liked as long as the bought and paid for character witness that was paid to testify, not their daughters, god knows. As I always wondered what would have happen if Monica was blond and a Wisconsin heifer cheerleader type, but then that might by lastly we I never liked as a Jesuit pre law boy, hate speech and hate crimes laws,. As the wolves in cheap clothing know and even telecast which sheep to mangle, don't they…?

Yes, now with breaking news that in the second actual day of deliberateness by hour counting, that indeed Harvey, HarrrVeeeey, has been decked again by the image of a Sad Roman clown, Ralph Kramden who waylaid him good. He is free of the top charge, as that would necessitate that this jury would actually believe pretty ANNABELLA, and my mother warned me, not too long before her end that this  was the way we chissel  now. That is sewer system, with me and others as a Black coated Lime, certainly not that broad jumping cartoon gumba jew who wouldn't take his bow, that Martin Scorsese helped make into a cesspool with Marble walls, as Caesar so long ago aptly covered the dying Roman senate. Another Stromboli falls to the earth and cashes as Jews finally have been want to do in the shadow Interregnum of a hag who never knew when to quit. And there, just as I said, floating over our Hollywood Salo, a Beatrice above the Jewish Sysosste cesspool this thing was, as actually found it wearing and regretting the longer it went on, there was Ambra, the Italian girl who desperately begat the whole thing.



It was no yentas nor blonds not Fox Five hags who started this as much as Ambra did, a name meaning much to me, as used it as a name of one of my cartoon anti heroes, Ambra Rimea, which means Dark Poetry, as I had as usually rewritten the story of Germancius, one of the first Roman stories, that I had overwritten down as a kid. Ambra in the new Amsterdam  sunshine stood firm and as a Lucia, who was the one who brought the Shylock doges down. I'm sure Shylock is hate speech by now, as of all days to show that Signora Fortune is turning her pretty, dare I say, Orange Cheek against the curia, and when that happens, daffodils who lunch dinner and midnight snack, woo, watch out! Ambra stands vindicated , as the bowling for shysters has crashed and burned again, which is why the brethren adored me so, as kept this law fandango from looking too much like Jewish theater and more like Roman farce,  as it was meant. I wish to say here, placed a screenplay called PYGMALIA, on a vineyard pretending to be a Cineretta studio called Zoe-trope, and it was taken down quickly, as the haled full wops, and such of that vineyard called me Anti-Semitic for having a bloatware buffoonish character in that play based on Harvey and his rivealry with Victor Glissando, Scorsese, who in real life, though.



There was no Metamorphosis that Martin was planning as was Victor under the Bolted doges hooked nose, but those are the cum stained hands with which Martin made sure he mad another Gangster  Movie this time with the dared Irish. I feel my dad was righter than I ever gave him credit for, but then he knew the Roman books that Billy the kid pertains to have read and read them in original Latin and Italian, which I dint want to, and yet thought him the peasant and the paranoid. My mother wanes even in dreams from THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES AS Chanley meets with Ambra on a sidewalk summit, as the shysters cons were made mute with her. That who you did business with , Hollywood creeps as Jack the agent-producer who liked Roman Mythology, at a distance, told me. That whose hand you had on Sicilian puppets in what my pop said was a minstrelsy show and a puppet show without the artistry.

And on this day no less, wop trash like sash wearing sonny boy Cuomo bitches at the goys about a prescribed love of Jews, irony as the Germans call it, as I do think how sad it was that as I was being lettered to about jokes allowed in the age of Mel Brooks that I was being tutted at and lectured to by  girl Fridays, lets call them Claudine Pimps, who let this animal run roughshod over only it seems Brunettes, who like Ambra weren't playing to the tenth row. And, affable good-fellow, that's fellow well met, a favorite on Curia TV of mine, Ted says sadly, Ambra had her life taken away from her, as even being a rape victim in this crucible with rabbis allowed in as prosecutors is a finish line to women, no matter how many twitter followers you collect.  So, good night unto you , Harvey and the hags who came to your defense against one too many deadened brunettes, always be casting Harvey dear and learn that the dumb brunette act put Dame Hillary where she is hiding today. As pretty, lovely, Chanley stands at the hall of Justinian, as a later Vestal as I have said, in the sunshine and the now breaking up crowds of plebs and as Harvey is remained and fingerprinted showing that again the Orobus has started to eat its own, I say give me your hands if we be friends and Pinocchio shall restore amends. In the piece I had sent out that amused some, and angered others, about Manzoni, I had stated back when Epstein was still hanging on a –yeah, Rope, I said that all this dump needed to be more like a medieval Italy without the warmth or the charm, medieval doges crushing the poor Saps who merely wish to live lives outside of the Rodrigo's and Bilbo’s who wish to rape one Lucia after the next, was a Shylock, a pandemic, and somebody raping the wrong brunette.

SATURNALIA DIARY V.

PART TWO.

A KNIGHT AT THE CIRCUS.

 

6. Tiredly, sat there and watched, and even looked for, reruns of 2 broke girls, but found I couldn't sit through the Conan to get to it. Dont know why I find him an awful performer, I think his mind is razor sharp and said before the Simpsons was over the moment he left, but something about all that red and pink bothers Mediterranean me.

I could nigger up and say that people of his barbarian ilk always demeaned and detested me, but that isn't true and Harvard sorts always seemingly liked me, including the sorts of Ogletree Tribe sorts who were always looking to get lawyers for the team, the way Patreno recruited linebackers. Still, I found it a horrendous show, and yet, watch it intently, called as I felt as it seems angelic creatures like busty Kat, as have seen her type sued in Lutheran and Jewish hated as Neapolitan perseppios, Anglicas as crafted and baked into painted clay by the divine artisans of Apulia as a boy. None of my business but think shed better go by Kate, quite Ariosto, whose story the taming of the shew is, as saw some Shakespeare hagiography try to intimate that Katherine of that story, played by busty Liz perfectly, was something unknown to the continentals, even though as said was taken from a short story by Ludivico which is harsher, meaner, funnier, because not written by a fag, as I was warned that Shakespeare was a fence of stolen Italian goods since 1975. She is a prefect Kate, like Beckensale or Ariosto's smart bitch, as again, the story changes from Ludvico to Willie, as they always must, and she is a perfect exemplar of the busty and yet smart Italian woman we find in Boccaccio, a gracious lady which is why I admire her so.

As her type has done to Italian clods like me, up until Romano and other Jewish footlockers, it could be worse, were made to be Cyrano's who were supposed to be as besotted by sexless blonds as they were. Did I ever tell the story that Roman Mythology as dismissed by Tribeca sorts as for no better reason than the love story, as was told Italians don't feel love, one of the first go tos for Jewish in laws looking to advance in Athens barefoot or not since earlier programs un lionized in films. I have alas have taken to both the chubby Jewish bitchy chick and even the daffy blond who is always the sort that deep thraoted football lovers disparage and hate , like the boys at the Czabe show, who for some reason I get up and hear as toss and turn in early morning, who willingly show a hate for blonds on ESPN. I knew when saw the star was named Kat and the other Beth, I knew Kat or anyone who'd call herself after a cat was by definition the zaftig brunette and the twinkling, irritating blond was Beth. I hate the name Beth...

A dreary unholiday drizzle descended over the decaying city, as I was out and about doing Christmas shit. It doesn't really feel like Christmas, a pall has descended over America, as we have all taken, thankful to the Virgil, so fuck you lesbians, English teachers and Russians, and we all find that a Trojan horses is beneath a Roman, even a new one made of plastic. Barry, thinking all the world is a stage, or a mausoleum, is never ending in his now flag draped and generalissimo laundered moments of assuaging America, a ball he fumbled a few weeks back when he lectured America about Arab discrimination, it was his biggest fear he said until more bweeving from Daffy assured President Fudd, it was in fact Rabbit season and he was told in no uncertain terms that until he is swept off the stage at the open mike at the Apollo this Praetorian is, at least pretend you are an American . Again big talk from a nation once gleefully at the jersey shore.

Like how a bloated house niggler, Mud bone, who by rote, tries to use Donald Trump as a verb, and equate him with being a bigot, again big talk from the man who dutifully didn't growl about Rylee Cooper, but then thanks to Simmons, he the latest Shutlzie, there aren't enough envelopes in a downturn, we have seen the memo. Once that memo went out saying root rot root for the patriots or else, suddenly his nigger ethics changed on a die, and suddenly he said that the Patriots, who he railed against, were great and they cheated. Hummnnnn, I take it the Georgetown recruiters I had were right about the cow college called Northwestern, as those Jesuit schools in Prairea, to mention Tribe again, were there as a way station to hell, here comes mister Styx. He of course hates Trump, always nice when Rachel Maddow and that a like are ob the Bush payroll, doubles you chances of a date as Woody said, ah but, The Roman Republic was a warning of mine, all along, me lover of Sallust as opposed to Amazon where I think about taking my book off as was never happy about that Rapprochement with them, but did feel good about making a top 200 list from a sever I didn't like , its hard to explain but it meant much to throw that in some faces, after all.

As much as anything and the Jesuit were right in their beatification of Machiavelli as their black saint, hated as he would be by Jews and Negro saints all taking the bus now that the dnc has disavowed knowledge of Black Lives matter now that that shit has lapped up on Rhamluous Gucci loafers, always the hidden vigerish in all of this. I am tired of the son in laws of power, as Gore said, Satire now that is one of the few things each hack thinks his own, that he can do without a gummit paper, or maybe mostly with, for giving the game away, when he said that the republic was closer to a circus and the empire closer to a tragedy and that in fact, lighten up Lorne, as somehow you amusingly bring out Donald Hollinger to make Bushie the younger into some acceptably form, the res public is closer to the farce and that in it, the man who spreads Homilies is doomed. But later in that same afternoon yak sports Ill hate you tomorrow show, the keeper of the flame, fat bloated lughole eyed nigger mud bone did call Jerry Coangelo, Jerome Many angels lets call him, he did call this quarreled man told to clean up the once proud 76ers, and that team perpetually looking at the next draft as the one that would count, the next great one, the next star, always in the next draft, as a Cowboy fan I have seen this done more by accident then they do, and Doctors team when I was lad, this bloated house everything nigger Buddha called Jerry 'The Godfather', you know just to show his good niggardly heart. Drop dead.

But the worst moment of the season came when guffawing ho dee doing, Google eyed faces making nigger had the acuity to speak of obviously peaceable negro cowboy wide out hated TO, who had some anniversary on this awful show, which is all which is bad about the society of Jesus and nothing any good. This bloated nigger had the nerve to speak wistfully of TO, who he lambasted and hectored each day as a good nigger ought when given the pad and directions, and he had the nerve to say that the NFL could sue someone with the theatricality and grace and talent of TO, especially with the horrid Ofella being gifted catches as the new better and improved Dez, like spic and span and American cheese when I was a kid. He gets catches gifted to him that no way would stay in the Dez tally.

You fucking coon, I thought, and had to turn it, again I was taught by a better caber of Jesuits than the Negros and the house Jews who play the Nance on morning ESPN radio, lets say sent to Northwestern, and the thought of this coon right now made me sick and saw I had been missing Laureali sent back this fat into the afternoon to play old hallmark Christmas films incessant adn lingeringly by that station. I thought of how this coon went after TO all the livelong day shoonuff, huk huck huck, day everyday, showing the genius of Bill Walsh that he was a last pick of his, as in fact Aikman and Mike Irvin were finally picks of Tom Landry in that Romantic way of a fall I have decried before. I thought I want this nigger to get his, in real life, no less, not just pinks slipped as loved seeing that Pollock, and soon enough the Irish spittoon and young mister Olbermann to be.

I WANT THIS GUY HURT, AND HURT BAD, TOO ROMAN …​?, I WANT THAT GOOGLY EYED COON TOO GET IT AND GET IT BAD...STILL TOO ROMAN? As his act distressed me, as he sits there behind a Lucite desk, laughing it up with Rothelisberger, saying unjesutical things like the 'patriots are great and they cheat', ETHICS FOR DUMMIES, or at least ESPN, menacing this affirmative auctioned coon doenst know what he says but will parrot anything, as Bill Simmons told us, anything the consortium needs to have said, for fun and prophet. I want this coon to get his, I want as Romans have before me, Iago anyone, to see this good and noble understanding nigger to get his, and bad, as he can so willingly and eagerly call men like the Cowboys and the Chargers dogs. As if they don't win as much and as well as say the Stellers and Packers do, whose great tradition have fallen on hard times lately, and they have became more gorgeous Georges than Gino Marchettis and doenst matter any more. He tore into the Cowboys, yes AMERICAS TEAM, WHEN BOTH WERE STILL GREAT, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT, those wearing Caesars star, the star that one must follow to fortune as it favorite will get upon you coon, and will burn you up as eons foreboded any Arabian meterorite falling Tasus came to earth in a stone rocket ship, a first revealed truth of the west as much as any, and bright civilization, I call it corruption as Ovid said, and that italic meteor eventually becoming the Tarpean rock will, I warn, fall on you. Cry Havock. 

Oh look, the matrix is on again, as a riff I did about the matrix as Christmas movie as a joke last year is sued by the  always wholly independent though owned by a war consortium poison war gas company station , is using that now to shill this crap,  which I must say again, I DON'T GET IT! Another sci fi crap show that steals in bushels from Ariosto, if it even knows, and dutifully fills itself up with Negros now, as blonds were once, and again showing the American dream, the Italians even in space travel will perpetually be not out there, but taking your bets and getting you whores, as i was warned by sharp Jesuits there is a reason Columbus must be somehow demeaned as getting 'lost', not knowing he wasn't in 'America', though Amerigo hadn't knocked up that Medici girl yet, as the mere basis of being a explorer and daring to go to where the church sad the dragons layd their eggs, like being a cowboy, is verboten to men with dark brows now.

7. Again BY SHINING PROOF OF Kat and Beth, will watch almost anything, as long as a pretty girl is in it, much like my Roman forefather's hagiographer Cornelius would, as he was once caught seeking out the dancing girls and farces in a city becoming then filled with political screeds, never good.

I put papers together and send out more and more a little bit ago, looking for lines in the resume, and little more than that, though maybe made a few hundred this year as attest a best hall ever, I did see the always horrid and easily beloved television performer Chris Matthews, actually have the audacity to question, I mean like openly, like this cow wasn't an oracle or a saint or a recpeticale of truth and Twinkies, a white trash fat gal piglet petunia pig named what else in our decaying John Ford movie, Kathleen. Oh god the Irish have won, as was warned by doomed priests , as only the petaphiles and thus Celtics survived the brothers deaths of Venice, like say Andy poo did. So, fatso Parker, and her beady eyes bickered away, as if seeing Adam West at the con, or say, Wicca like , or at least more like the witches of a Nazi inspired and rebated Stonehenge, more than any cites witches once available to Caesar in Rome. 

The fat little pig bitch has a look on her cartoon moon face, a look I was warned about by Eucharist explaining Jesuits, that somehow she a passvante in Ella ways was being actually questioned by this thug creep whitish sodden bag of sour mash, and her look screamed a how dare he. Though truer to a low end Jesuit education than I am, to low rent brethren who end up shipped to holy cross and the hinterland for things a joke in Boccaccio but now sued to hide the pandemic tingled upon them by anti papists weirdo Jew clerked America, he does have a jesuitical lets call it suspicion of the woman kind, and has tripped up women with the shiv called the unwanted question, and will I think bereft this is over do it again.

This wasn't supposed to ever happen, she was another Caesar's mistresses, above reproach, and she demeaned almost Margret Hamilton in her facial tick. It were as though this Irish catholic, again the hidden vig of the Gunner reproaches and approved, this thug tossed malicious water out at her by asking him to , as a commemorator exercised by something he said, which like all political bullshit is now is best taken at face value in the three card money game all has become.

She seemed insulted that this spittoon did dare to question this living bag of supplication and summers eve, despite the handling by the brethren as initiated before it isn't all women I dislike, see Kat elsewhere, as have weakness for the Laura or the Cynthia, as the center of poetic for all Apulians was never leaves of grass.

I was just moving through the channels looking for a comely frame, a funny show, Roman that I am and weak at such things, as her eyes flared with Hillary like umbridge, she seemed actuary like insulted as her sort would be, as Capote New York is gone, and the ladies who lunch are of a lower order, like she. In a matter of advent days though, our corn fed bloated, myopic cow, our Nebraska cheerleader showed up seemingly moments after being hate crimed, you know questioned, and by a papist no less, as I have been warned since Christmas pageants long ago, paid for by hangers on of the mob decrying and deafening a Christmas party no one asked he throw, and whose finger banging fat daughter squeezed into our catholic school by the always show offing dago rat would ruin my life, throw it on the pile, and this cow without words and lyricism by Steven Sondheim, quickly flitted away to be at the CNN tower of Anderson, where we still go off on tangents its now that we have paid off all the upstanding debts to and of the Mac martin case. So, with the last versatility of la cote basque, there she was, at the new salon, worthy of being the fat woman at the vomiteorium I saw her as elsewhere, with Andie glimmering and shining truth at us, Andie poo, who still amazingly holds a grudge against Capote, as all swans like him must.

She now has found her circle, more clutching than any of Dante, and knows a good fag like well bred Anderson would never interrupt her memorized soliloquy, as the generational scion like he, who know the best placed for Irish is as the help, no really, a dignified and rose red Irish priest with flame colored hair named Father John told me as much as a kid, that liberals know the basic set up of things, and wish to make sure it inst changed until after fat woman like her are long dead. As for Chris Matthews, well, the training of Jesuits cant go away too much, explaining why Bill is out there speaking of the disaster, which would befall a Bush attempt at brokering a convention to set him up, the holy sportscaster himself in a lead balloon, smoking a this time five dollar Romeo E Juliette, perhaps, as Republican Bill, hoo boy would I commence, still, he knows that that family has rigged one too many elections and should now gracefully bow off the stage, and concierge the monies they gave to smiling Jack Meechem got have been another of those books that Tacitus would write for the praise and or the key, but whatever, that operetta is done. Poor Christine, to show no good dead goes unpunished, having actually asked a white woman to explain her argument and not just write given on that side of the geographic proof, or is it a speared sheet, this is after all corporate TV, he was ambushed by some fox news rat and he true to his Leo Gorsey creed told him to drop dead and other street wise tethers he learned when Tip was grumbling about niggers costing Red, buddy Red lose a first round draft pick, causing Draconian punishments for crack cocaine as opposed to fleet street and wall street masters of the universe powdered, the world is yours, and so I didn't feel badly as sometimes do, as figured he got what all bag men deserve.

I finally turned it from the ESPN hacks and afternoon yaks, as bloated nigger queen fatso baldy Mudbone likes kicking the Cowboys when they are down calling them no account coconuts and like sanctimonious Barry can sue the word Thug agreeably as why else is he on the payroll...? This fat bloated coon was trashing the decimated Cowboys, insult to injury is our national creed, and I thought, that was enough of this bag of farts, click, always an answer that fat girls and niggers cant ever use, but which distinguished rtierns may have caused both Rome and Sicily to disappear from the HBO lineups without even a whisper of a faggy boycott.

 

Today, as the incessant sad holiday rains continue unabated, and no one is even running for anything yet. We are days from the Roman good year that end up with a man standing at the south face of the Capitol hoping for the winter grace of Cath to allow him to not crash the imperial chariot as Cato and Ovid warned can happen.

The Trump hater, he gets his sense and his instrumentation from the wind and they call the wind zeitgeist, and he started bellicosity and trashing the Cowboys as of course behenth his contempt and dogs accuse, as he calls anyone who like from the downtown in as much as he would like like the Chargers who he says sleeps walk through their series. Id like to be Praetor, let me be queen, cause like with Krauthammer, ah a name worthy of Stalag 13, and Rushbo going into war, Id like to see that steel wheeler go to a war he braying for incidentally before told to preen his decency against vulgarian Trumpo.Too Id send that coon onto a field and turn the neronian thumb on him and lets see how well you do with behemoths coming at your heed with a blood sport ethic,  a schoolboy punk like you likes thinking isn't there as you openly, like ESPN bathroom attendants do, call the cowboys names as you openly root for a team with a gbh pocketed lunkhead dragging girls into toilets for the closet to heavy petting a rapist or a aging Praetor, can get. Sadly, wow Bill looks bad, the old knight at the circus now has taken its toll, and finally i have found the old transvestite wistfully thinking of both Heasparia and or Teri Hatcher sadly, as i isnt no nigger on any pad and don't root for the stillers, not since Joe Gilliam, which Mudbone and the faggots are paid to not recall. 

 

Ah, but, it is a republic, Stella, and too, Id like to hurl fatso Mudbone unto a field of men, lest see how well he is at Romancing it up and watch to see how long it is before this coon shits his sears boys department pants. I cant stand this coon, and even more than jewey Kornshier who seemed to be more ver klempt with this guffawing nigger each day, Id love to see his bald head busted open, but then I have a less decent Roman heart. The Cowboys have actually been quite game, losing late and keeping even the beloved by Bankers and wall street-rs, hummmph, dreary Green bay and Seahags to a defensive struggle, but then, what does it matter when a nigger says you're no good, what can one ever say in ones defense.

They are after all is said and done the exquisite victims, saints among us, nothing unsaid by Metternich, retrospect showing what they were headed for in 1938, and yet despite their sanctimony, somehow all their vouching means nothing and we have more people per capita and in actual numbers in jails than do the boys of Mao. Ah but the persona non grata was a Roman affectation, a trepeain rock they landed on eons ago, and thus, don't be shocked when it falls on thee, I guess, as it wasnt white knuckles on the triggers that took out Malcolm X was it...? I remember to the other bad teams left off the hook by injuries to Dez and Lee and Tony, they will be healthy next yer, I suppose, and wants this coon to get his and still, hope the Cowboys, already at a top five pick, hope they win a bit more as losing is beneath a Cowboy as Passover beneath a Roman, and yet, with high rounds pick in all rounds, they'll play a losers scheduled, like the Romans and politics this ash been booby tapped by the spirit of Rozelle, and you'll still be everything you already are. You like that...?

8. I thought 2 broke girls was gong to be on, as have taken to the chubby, gorgeous, bitchy,big lipped, Jewish chick, and even the atrocious blond inst as awful as she might have been. But the guide was wrong and instead saw parts of the dreck without saving grace, big banged theory, which tries to place the universe into a music of the spheres that some Jewish hack can contemplate and feel enamored of. The truth I can sense that is palpable in the waitress show seems unseen here as this geek think is entirely fake and the usual TV shit that I avoid. No Kats or Katz here, and the blond is an ethnic trollop who thinks if all power comes out of a barrel of a gun, all beauty if not cheapness comes out of a nozzle of nice and easy. Conan was started then, even though the guide said 2 broke grls, such is my be-dulled enraptures with these gals and the strangeness oaf a zaftic polish woman and a strange ad sweet mixed race new York as has been seen since Damon Runyon and Alan reed and Robert Alda were the first radio play of guys and dolls to try it out. There was something sweet about these two chicks and their fake new York, as it recalled Allens Alley and the underworld where all the Jews now trying to short their way to Americanism try to ferget ever was. Like Oz.

Conan was one and again I must say I admire him in all ways, except when he is physically on the air,as he makes me sick, why I don't know but again think he is a consummate wit and writer as maybe he would have been better off in those dark ages before Obama and such, when smart raconteur men were hosted by Bill Cullen and Mel Brooks and Alexander King on Merv and Johnny and whats my line.

Tonight was the star wars show, and recalled and watched much thinking that perhaps would see the triumph the dog puppet when he was at the phantom menace in what was a masterpiece of mans on the street stared by Steve Allen, speaking of a better age and time, sorry if they let you niggers congregation for fiddies now and protest, but I recall an America before the destruction of the middle class, and right on time, with misers being not frightened but lauded by the ghost of Marley GE stock king of the year Welsh, we hear that three days before Xmas, that the numbers have been revised again, and indeed that bullshit economy you thought you had at a paltry 2.4 percent growth is actually reconfigured at a more truthful 1.7. Well, 5000 plutocrats cant spend that fast. It was back before Peanuts cartoons were antisepsis for the patrimony that white women dint seem to realize they are now wholly owned subsidizers of, again don't be shocked when as Augustus said, thou art outnumbered.

I watched anyway, as Conan did his geek act, like Letterman one thinks one would know when being a smart ass like being a letch is too much for the cragginess of ones face, and that one should move on after a bit. But on here was the horrid grave robber JJ, who I really cant stand, I am after all told I am an anti Semite, you know now that Kunsler and his ilk is dead and the remaining are all blond fuckers with pink Christmas trees. And being as Romantically anti Drones didn't help, but I found this an overload of dislike, especially with Jewbaccca here doing his act and on the other channel as Charlie Rose talking to Lawrence besotted David O Russel and so I felt set upon on both sides by credits to their races, and the American dream that I have always forwent.

This was awful watching this, as somehow the family aspect of Star wars has been forgotten, I have seen before that this was a story about one family, as is stolen by the dreaded Marquez from no less than Vidal and Politziano before, it is again an Italian affectation no spic would ever give credit for, as they preen somehow their overly lyrical BS came from Hemingway and Faulkner who didn't write this way at all, but what white women actually read any thing...​? The star wars was the main story that of SeJanus, the last knight who became hatchet man for a dying empire, and then for some reason and in pages torn away long ago forgotten had some sort of conversion scene that has meant much to later Italian masterworks, of evil to reclamation as important part of Italian literature which denies and desists the evil queen trying evil to the end or Lex Luther as loser perpetual. 

 

I found myself feeling badly for George again, why this ninny was allowed to come in and Saroyan and deface and reamer the works there since recognizably 1975 when he wrote it. George Lucas had to stand there and shill, and act out his story to a Hollywood which didn't trust him nor his ideas, as back then we were all acting like gritty Pacino and Hackman as grungy cops running under L trains and brilliantly so. But George, with Sylvester Stallone, my model for the pudgy, lacrimose, slope eyed italic strong man Captian Magnus, knew something they the always frightened away clever welling always pink treed Jews didn't know about the jesuitical ethic of the Venus and the Hercules, and the hero being all. George, as a founding member of zeotrope and who was slated I heard to make Apocalypse now, Id pay too see that one, he made the Star wars into a universe of its own as would say a Altman, bringing a Sergio Leone sensibility to the space operas as that Italian had brought to the western, as its always an Italian who does that.

So, Now, watching Abrams tank his way through as the tasteless Jewish hack to have sucked the correct cut dicks to be an auter, and like with Toni Morrison I find and have found people closer the centers of new Rome hate them even more than I do, as I cant relay care, as am at heart a graffiti artist and deal with others who realllllly hold a grudge, again don't mean to be mean but have heard my share of true disliked and disgust from a lot of these people who took me into confidence as an outsider. I sat there and watched this sadly, as the hack did his act, and really jewed it up, and I just kept thinking when is Kat and Beth on...? I cant take this shit, and then turned to Charlie Rose and watched De Nero, who I didn't find as awful as at least they were doing something new and something of his own. As have thrown likes gotten from people like Bill Clinton and Alan Moore to me to hacks who hold them in higher regard than I do, I once got a like from Robert DiNero on Facebook before the unpleasantness, though couldn't relay that into being accepted in Tribeca. Though I could tell the star turn of the ingenue who now must play the prerequisite long island ballsy chick, Oh Gawd that's played, still at least it was the great DeNiro, whose Jewish cheerleader did once tell me as I said, Italians dont fall in Love which makes me laugh when our new Hepburn and Tracy, Blond and sandy haired Lawrence and the horrid Bradley Cooper, are constantly in love that the other, but then figuring with janus calculus about Italians, maybe as usually with Jews she didn't mean sandy haired ones after all. Roman Mythology, well, in it and on those walls, like my rats, I made them exceedingly black.

I felt badly that this hack had somehow purloined his way into the as I said, restriction of a Sergio Leone universe, he seems amazingly to have become their Virgil if not Orson, which schooled me, as his done by similar hacks like Tarantino who at least could have some of the genetic predisposition to the art of decay, but I doubt it. I sat and turned back after that was done on CR, and there they were still pushing the procurement, still pushing away the password here is Pushy, as I flt badly that he was here as interloper in a universe created in flair pen and manila paper long long ago.

Who was this creep to come into theses creations and muck them up, and of course with a healthy Jewish disdain for the Roman-ism of it all, as after all, there were no theological tests in Rome until as Tacitus said, wherever there was SPQR, there was the cross, a impediment in a chapter called the Jews in unread yet lauded Tacitus, soon enough dropped as a favored Roman, mostly by FF Coppola as I script blasted the email that that chapter appears in the annals of imperial Rome, as Coppola pretended that he had not only read it, but that Tacitus was his favorite ROMAN. IM SURE THAT GANGSTER MOVIE MAKER THOUGHT HE HAD THE GIST. And then they called Tacitus dangerous.

9. But then, on the feast of the immaculate conception this day Ironically a festival of Chanikah, which appears in no Bible, and yet seems to keep a close allegiance to a similar Etruscan Italic festival my Mother still calls candellera, the Mediterranean is never that wide, actually, the senate, the assembly of Queens, oh wait no, the house of deputies, came together and voted 407-19 to bolt the golden door from the inside. Senselessly the Arabs that niggers and cheap tricks of the democrats to go after Trump did have enough of a snake clear eye to vote to close the door to America, as could never happen to those Jews, oh wait, no, there were Jews returned to the Reich as Romans to Mussolini, humnnnn, and now suddenly with Barry making an gaming mea culpa that he didnt cry enough while tap dancing about men and ladies cut apart in Napoleons mud town and van nyes by Arabs with choppers, well, suddenly the waning days of power have given the titled closest executive God a sense of decorum and even humility. 

 

How about that, the two faced God persists shows us his middle throat, in which as the Etruscan said, Tarchon, their Aeneas senate arrow into the air to kill the two faced presto in mid song, why would I be wearing this one, in bibles long forgotten or meant to be burned in the next go around unavailing nothing bit the sopranos and Seinfeld, those unlike Roman gods bother no one, ever, and whatever Roman numerals endless episode of star wars we have come to. On the feast of Lucretius rejection, all the good democrats proved the floors were washed as the Romans said, and all but a hand full of niggers, perhaps the same rag tag crew who didn't get the envelopes not to riot this close to an election year, they all came tethered to sing patriotic icy songs in the mausoleums cellar, and they voted no matter what all the white hands on deck say on cooperate news stations, hoping the last Bush campaign is not as doomed as it has seems to me since oh, 2007. The provosts of the senate, they call came together to make sure only the most jerimandered were against the golden rules.

AH, HOW CORRUPT AND ROMAN, ALLOWED AS OPPOSED TO JEWEY, WE HAVE BECOME NOW, we all on the literally west bank of the Potomac. Somewhere fat old yentas are either glad or horrified by fat blond cunt fish wives, as occasionally I see the American girl like Wendy or Molly or Kat somehow berated as they breached through the Abrams walls, as old snide Jews rail with anger at public displays of secular Christmas, once grandfathered in, as rabbis who speak to and for Gods unseen rail against even pink fake trees, until told, like Jews still using Nixon to trash the black MIA flag and then told in no uncertain terms to zip it lest uncle Rupert names sure you are sent to the outre Hebrides of News-max. There, a jewey hack screeches about Chris Christy of all Ralph's for the audacity, Sicilian he is, as opposed to Italian, but then that must mean something to his in law masters, he is pilloried is the poor soul for hvainag elevated an Arab to the bench, without even asking Micheal Savage and other bankers what they thought, as an Arab you know, even a republican one, is suspicious as the women who lunch once thought of them.

So take your honied sconces with the patricians who churn and rattle and hum for power can Dare call anyone a vulgarian more like hubby than not a bully for having the temerity to stand in the way of our legacies of frat house imperial sees of power. The word Bully, should have been avoided by in laws and sons of damned gestational power, like say the words Rape and corrupt and free trade, as again, the ethic here is that when one says Lucretia, the next word is implied , and doesn't even need to be said. But I warn you Arabs as I did of Ofella Beckem, how did I know...?, like a Stealer rapist or beater of women with Crown Royal bottles, only the Cowboys must be lectured or called a circus, that strange disparagement shows me that the Jews and the niggers the Irish and the lesbians don't know the business that they have chosen, as without the Cowboys and the Stealers again hanging on for dear life with lee press on nails, the ratings, the only truth, are middling. See, their transvestite quarterback who is not Manzelled as the boys in the band and the bus never came to notice that fact that Big Ben was a drunken queen drama cunt who raced through Pittsburgh like a white tornado, slovenly and unshaven and threw up in overhangs and threw the finger at god guy Italian sportscasters told to burn the tape, and maybe, again Rooney being so penny wise doesn't know yet as do I that he has paid for keeping Ben around in more than just the fifties he tosses about the old Pollock of the Post Gazette. Maybe he paid more than just the pennies he keeps like Jewish villain in literature, always Ebeneezer and Lex Luther, the white girls have it no other way, he has paid with the fact that Mark Madden is pushed back to midnight by the always pr demanding Rooney family, and starts to actually tell the truth about what he was thinking all along anyway. No one, Machiavelli said, is bribed enough to forget slights, ever. So when Ofella or Stealers do things that don't even registrar as important the house coons of ESPN just don't notice as they yo yo yoo dawg and do their niggardly act, ah but as I warned before dont make the same mistake NBC did, as the last peon before Mudbone I couldn't stand this bad was Eddie Kiss me goodnight Shutlzie, and in that dismay was joined by the suits in legal who had, one free trade won, got enough. Why I am the Roman auger, take your choices, Abdul but don't cry at me, as this Christmas a channel as usual, filled with Jews who cant dare go up against the low hanging Lutheran cunts they have coveted, will be showing Mob wives into good-fellows again as a last minstrel show allowed in so decent and noble a slum archipelago as this.

But then we are all Sicilians now, as opposed to the credo still inculcated in me, that I am a Roman citizen, as praetorian with conversion scene Paul so eagerly said, Jewish was just a accident of birth. Happy Saturnalia to us all, as the bag men blame Heat Mizer for ruining Christmas sales, ah hes too much. And perhaps somewhere a fat old yenta fish wife could say as beady eyed fat men like Frank Rich and Kathleen Parker blow Oreo dust in hot breathes on perpetual enflamed television, perchance a old Pinocchio like wife could say to show how far we immigrants have fallen, but as we all live out the lives that Plautus and other Romans wrote for Sicilians thereto and yon, a credo for the new colossus, not quite same as the old one, OR THE OLDEST ONE, not to me, a yenta wife can say encapsulating the cycle epic of her levitown house to the New Rochelle suburbs of Jerry and Mill now not what they used to be, always the sub urba joke of the Tuscan quarters, 

LOOK,  all, I lift my lock besides the Golden door.

HELLO, DOLL.

With the feast day of Ceres, the blond Roman goddess of wheat approaching, the true pagan roots of All saints day, distorted by Germans into Halloween, which after all is just dirt bag barbarian carnival, I came to end my filmed essay, WOP LIKE ME, as enlist a first cut. I didn’t have the wherewith all or money of almost anything to get it done as I wished, which again gaining admiration from Jesuits and Flavia, the last Nun of my schooling, I can make art out of anything, but then, those days of admiration and the like have been recoiled by dower business and atonement long ago. I could never find the Lear I needed, as Robert Di Nero and Marty find their wholly black arts palmed in the usual vomiteorium of Hollywood independent zombie movies and Halloween ghost stories, which have lost its punch now that they is all they make, as this October has been from hunger at the mouse factory, them not the first to find their dower little puppet shows as anathema, if not boring entirely, and becoming a middling product with lessening returns. Not surprisingly, the nickel plating icon status of Marty has begun to chip I note, and more and more people discover a certain empathy with how it feels to have been Sicilian. The usual liberal shit about American Indians now just seems dirtied and cruel.

Most of all, I am quite proud of my totems here, the first since 1979 to make a film, issuing only a small Sony consumer camcorder, a block of dick blick paper strong enough to make paper skies, posters, graphetti, the Romans art form, paper dolls of recalled great playboy Italians starlets before the Reich became insufferable, and less than five hundred dollars, the least amount one can spend on a movie at various websites, and made my argument not so much against Martin, but for me and my fathers race of affable scoundrels.

And most off I couldn’t find the vestals I need here the most for whom I caught the old coca cola chipping walls that I had, hoping to return to them with the goddesses in white sheer lace if possible, whose imagined storyboards in my mind I placed in the thing as placeholders to where I wanted their images to go. So, My film is complete and done, as much as it could be said to be, under these conditions . Still, as I completed the film mussing as much in the public domain to make my points, smiling black hand white shipping frescos of there own of beautiful gorgeousness like Jane Russell as queen starlet per excellance, before horrid Marylyn made Hitler’s dream real, sound effects of Orson with Jiminy cricket and the Looney tunes cartoons in the dole, the roman affectation of public domain another example of their impiety, by that meant that the nation that burned civilians alive in Hiroshima makes up for it by keeping Daffy Duck cartoons in vaults, I found enough to make my points, at a bargain.

Un willing to dismiss the Oviddian night dream as mere brain shitting at night, I had another dream in which remains of the vivid bludgeoning of the bright and shining leis of day meet and smash up against the recalled senses I have of Franciscan poetics, Italian artfulness, nuns and their holy cards covens of barley hidden sexuality, and the inamorata I so seemingly need. In this, in a Panavision age recitation dark poolside of Randolph Scott party preparations, surrounded by my inner recesses fakes and hacks and constructors of a cinecittta kind, a girl seen in many commercials now, twinkles like so much leaden laid Christmas tinsel, dirty and sad and plastic smelling, A blond too big and Blond to make that jump, in this Hollywood hills almost constrain era closet everything Capote era patio was aloof and distant and both resentful and toying with me, yellow pages of Cattiline bound under my arm. Jewish cartoons were everywhere, as sun drenched creatures spoiled around as I was in black suit and black ray bans ala Fellini, not a favorite again, so, again don't know what that signifies…

I was again, trying to gain the attentions of this forever starlet , as I played player as heartily as I could. She was aloof as I SAY, demanding automation be paid to her grotesquely maden form, in commercials where she sells razors to men who actually price razors, she was not this fat, porcine even, sadly, enabled, squarely large form, a Marylyn of rots allowed to be a diva of carbohydrates due to the silver Anderson Fox tint of fake Argent in her helmet hair. Into this Altman esque scene,  to the Patrician delight of the Trimicilian crowd, a lovely nameless gal, rounded and sexual, but not in the vulgar bikinis and one pieces of the hostesses, but a maids outfit came in, I had been thinking about the cop maniac whose killings and pistol whippings of maids were not so anger enduing to smirking high yellow times tokens on dying television game shows, and stated giving out drinks to men who looked like Jack Nickelson in various stages, from the Raven to last detail to yearly Christmas old man star turn, of life. But this time, she had hair as black as night and cut like shit, cowlicky, and cropped as in a style Lucy Ricardo would call 'the Italian starlet way', allowing her to vamp in ways unallowed when one was a fallen American red. She asked me if I wanted a cocktail, all were Vodka, why who knows, as I said I am not so Cavalier to throw away the night buses of the internal mind. No thank you, I said, as she sat down tired and relived the venation of a round butt that was pored into a…of course what else…?, pardon of a maids outfit. Would you like to be in my Film, Doll…? I asked sheepishly. Are you kidding...? the brunette as even here relocated to maid reverie in Blond turgid Hollywood said. AT this, she tore off a black maids outfit, and reveled herself as a Venus in a white one piece, ample and supple, voluptuous and healthy. I had envisioned this scene before, --and even once for my film. The Jack Nicholson’s, of a sort all took notice as per usual, the queen bee found a rival to something more and other than the mere sugar daddies and old man stink, secret boy friends and sperm counts she collected. The girl went into the pool as a reverse Venus, and bobbed back up with smile and I took it all down in Sony DVC Panavision, as was my want. I do get a certain resentment to having forgone all I did to eventually find myself sneered at by lower case filmmakers, bullshit artists, and this was a dreamland reaction to always recall to stay true to my anti Blond anti Cicero polemics, and to always follow that girl.

The meaning of the film is that I was shocked to notice in the land of the free and the home of the bribed, that house bag men like Copula and his ilk, seemed almost insulted if anyone, or was it just me...?, dared say anything about their blood operas and over lit pasta bowls. After forty years of his tripe I have to show my bone fides by somehow watching what I say about the black bag artists and the white men in drag...? Well, I am this way because I knew a better class of perverts than those who smile and wink and dance on the Rachel Maddow Show. Big Tony wasn't shocked that more people go to health care looking for freebies than looking to pay, the praetorians are aghast, but is just Roman 101. As My brother told me I aint a guerrilla anything, and fly Cesarean flags too red for that. I now merely wait for Movie maker to take the hour and half, I really did sweat out and over do and recut only about fifteen minutes of film, but it was that last section called 'Cattiline' that made me feel as an artist, like I once was. I await for the slow process of making the clips and taped together images a Movie file, as Wop Like me, is done.



http://www.youtube.com/v/cLZOjROpfVY?version=3&autohide=1&showinfo=1&autohide=1&autoplay=1&feature=share&attribution_tag=DDFVfLnPN9VFlnxPS7eGcg

BONA SATURNALIA.

12 December 2012

As I was in the garage and was preparing to go out and get some stuff for Christmas, a kind of enjoyable jaunt, which would incite the wrath of Jewey Hercules Jesus, who found an anger for Jews preparing to enjoy Passover, a self righteousness I found he didn't share by throwing any fits too close to Fort Antonia, while telling suddenly his followers that the problem, you see, was with themselves and not star Caesar. Ah, the first imperial JEW KISSING CAESAR’S ASS, starting a linage of blue noses praetorians unbroken from him to white washing fleabags today. While here I found an early thumb drive, applied here in a last spasm of going out around 2007, though I think it shall take hold now.

It didn't even look like the thumb  drives now, it had a lipstick colouring, smelled like Dior, because it had come from my sisters Purse,  and she had given it to me to save my work, rather than lose it again every time going to fat girl sites made me have to swipe my computer, or worse. It flipped over itself and would be packed into the old Emachines I had in the port in the front, and so, seeing It, almost strangely circumscribed, or like an art thief, which I like to act at anyway here in so decent and honourable and dissolving America, I flicked the thumb drive into my coolest pocket, less salty and without change to plink into any kettles, with a coin trick slight of hand I was quite good at once, and I went to the mass up that woods, and to the Macy's there, to buy an elderly mother a gift, as whatever Jesus, Savonarola, or the crew of soloists at MSNBC WOULD LIKE IT OR NOT, SATURNALIA COMES OUT OFFA BOX, as apposed to their beloved president who seems to pop out of a bag.


Once home, as the Mall seems rather empty and lethargic, the rich you see as have since Lorenzo are pulling the reigns on the economy lest talk of mandates go to Erkels head and he does something crazy like stand for something. But while there at a fast food place where I bought a breakfast while the Golden arches symbol of America was deserted and pretty wall mart girls stood abound as giant televisions boomed ahead with strange Peter Jackson like garishness, unnoticed, and certainly not bought.  was deserted, I picked up a hand fill of salt packets and shoved them in my pocket. Now, why, not that I don’t have salt at home, or money for salt, but then that is the receding point of all empires isn’t it...?, but was more about getting it in packet form.

Since I was a boy, my father would tell me, --despite my cold dismissal of him, I was the apple of his eye and his beloved, tow which I gave a worse than mere adolescent, Feh,--that before going out, where the evil demons and bankers did dance through fire, as all in Italay keeps a decent whole, a sweet and romantic golden mean unseen and unthinkable to those red skins and women who see the universe as strictly good and decent, no, here there are no repercussions, and no one has read Gibbon, as empires of the largess can last forever, or until You’re foreclosed upon, now that’s a fall. And boring and cleaned is the spheres that Move, as Galileo said, much as are their own toilets, one was to have packed a small packet of salt in their cloths to ward off the evil eye. If this if source-ary would be seen as superstition to any Lutheran, it would be as would be the speed of light and the distance to the moon. I did by accident, as was waiting for a Charlie Rose show, as was  pushed back because of Christmas doo-wop specials on pbs, see again in even feigning a distrust and dislike of Lutherans, that Jewey Jonnie, when daring to even preened himself capable of Jesuit thought, that the audience, gasped and murmured, their whooping howling American injun like, Germanic barbarous bellowing of acceptance was puled back, like the commerce is being now. And, with anger as one would get from the whooping cough mezzanine, who are most provably all Lutheran, and thus remember, their admiration is a curse, and the applause as a warning, as Plautus, someone else he’s never read, would know. Now, that was funny.



I see an Ameria in disarray, sensed even back when this thumb print was made. I could smell the decay and the destruction-ing in the air, as what makes Italian folktales so wonderful, the keystone of all fairy stories, if not literature as known to all from Walt to Willie to JRR. It is that unlike the sanitizers, in  the trees of the woodlands of silver Giotto painted leaves, within the woods and the towers of Italianism fairy tales, it is not so much a horrid collection of Good and Bad, such Jewish delineation is beneath an Italian, when sharp, Clever as they’d call me at Copollas vineyard, a real to them slur, but alas, we don’t all wish to be admired by Lutherans, as does he, and so when I say something it isn’t usually so I can gain an acumen of likeminded, liking, admiring white women, like you Jews and blacks can think of nothing else.

It was a fulcrum around which my life started to spin to a energy making degree, being dismissed by the man who made the Sicilians, of all people, Romantic, a wholly disagreeable legacy if you ask me. I changed and became different after then, the equal opposite of what he and his ilk likes Scorese are hoping for, as they are given peanuts and a bunkhouse, that affection to which the niggers haven’t yet escaped not really, like political owned coons, until and unless they make sure, like niggers who’d dare speak of civilisation as acting white, that Italians are made demeaned by men of olive skin, puppets of the white mistresses they collect. But alas, as had happened scene the days of Diocletian, eventually the usurper finds out who was in control all along, as they always end up, like so many Marcus’s, so many Ohio state discharged coons, for the crime of gathering Pennines for things they own, as opposed to the socialists and communists of academe, who are making millions from ESPN without so much as a coin dropped in some niggers direction. Stereotypes are usually, I was warned, left on imperial roads sides without the dignity of a cross, just meandering around looking for anyone top remember like Maurice Clarette WHEN they were great. I look out for the Wendy’s, and the Lorna’s and Chloe’s and the Tawnies and the old time pets and the Danielle’s and the Rachel’s, not every fat white woman who drinks Port with her pig meat thinking herself a sophisticate. There is a madness out there taking hold, which begets a nation of the con as this, and don’t look so glum Ezra, what after all where you expecting but the art of the deal.

But Niggeralia, a word I censored not embayed of any love of the house pets of white women, sanctified and sanitised black trash, but the connection to Romans irked me to use, came to arching halt too, besides Rice, and fuming Valerie. Ur, it seems again, Erkel shall do his master voice bidding, and place another Republican white male as war Caesar, I guess out if tradition. And high pitched Jew trouble makers on the radio ouch about this, as that Hegel isn’t republican enough. Well who is for the administration …? Arrogance has its discontents. War and Fiancé, after the Roman Fisca, was signed over to the republicans years ago, soon enough someone on the payroll will call this brilliant, and some idiot woman will concur, but best laid plans…Though Bless him, in the golden silence, or showers that GE has paid for, as long faced women keep their mouths shut on demand, our buddy Dan Rather, said with usual Big D adroitness--, talk is cheap. Ah the credo of the Obomo age. My credo is,-- HOW BOUT THEM COWBOYS….!

[I do not mention those things that I do not wish to mention. I got this from Manzoni, the master Italian writer, who is unknown as thus will never be so honoured by having two bit white trash pompous and preening filmmakers and their trained starlets explaining his work is some latest Christmas movie with an eye for Oscars, also it means thankfully, he is mute to those low rent Cantors and Ebbs who wish to take his master work and make it a musical, and place in just enough toe tapping melody to the conversion scene as to make it acceptable to pig men like Frank Rich, slumming as a theatre arbiter again, when he isn’t doing his Clausewitz impression explaining it all to us, as if a rabbi or Mother angelica. America has reaped the whirl wind, as all is connected, as the politicos and step men of cable wish to preen a sense of austerity, virtue and dignitas, but are alas more hatchet men than they are centurions on any watch.

As Pig meat Sharpton, says that which he is allowed to say, for a sad second heard him trifling to connect a tragedy to teachers unions, always good to have a load mouthed nigger on the pad when its your children they are warehousing in gladiatorial schools, as if someone should be getting merit pay out of this. And to show we are doomed, monsignor Oreily, like a bell ringing priest is looking for bonfires, announced on his toxic spill of a show what and who is evil, by the transfusing he got in divinity school, or at least west 57th. He thinks he is a republican, as he demands punishment for all, our umbrella wielding Penguin, actually, as Manzoni reading would show, he is merely a Sadist. So, I wear the salt, I didn’t vote for anyone, I avoid the fall, I WANT no part of this morality play, as Bill Clinton scurries to be above it all and pox both houses, sorry fat man, you got away Scot free once, do not  tempt fate, that was your biggest mistake.]

As again, I, Roman Antony was right, having recalled that last great Christmas of 1974 as the year the Jesuits started making me read Cornelius Tacitus, and it didn’t take until Saturnalia istlf for two faced Joint Erkie to show you what I have known all along. It is the Roman aphorism, never let a wolf into a church. The New Numa is a fraud, and a cunt, surrounded by frauds and cunts and I know, Roman me, that cant be good. It didn’t take until Sergilla yo see, that Susan be thrown aside, a black woman no less, say hello to Jesse Jackson junior in the drink, doll. Why who is more arrogant than those who have sold their soul, ah but is that cello music I hare playing…and am be sure the pawn ticket is kept here you can get it, kids…Romans hated Homer and hated the Greeks, as  a Trojan horse, like the bluff is beneath them. The horse appears as we know it not so much in Homer, but in Virgil , who shows the detesting of the first Roman , Aeneas for the art of the swindle, again beneath a Roman, and thus though was lauded by mother fucking Greeks, when writing about boys and bumblebees, ribbon-ed as a good Roman among the lot, eventually if one is worthy of  anything, they cant be Erkle or Ray Romano or the jug headed football wop Jew who made a point of trashing Connie Francis, as not white enough for his tastes as no less a grunt as Tony Bruno looks on in radio horrors knowing Connie Francis was another Italian girl raped for sport in the golden door. Did the wop know that,…?,  does it matter…? But Virgil eventually writing a book he didnt want to write, Poetry in the thought process of Augustus’s as an imperial trinket, no different the Greeks, or Jews, and yet he couldn’t pull it off as inhumanly as do they, a book he didn’t want to write, not everyone is Ezra or smirking boys, who will be boys of the hissing Chorus at Texaco star theatre. He had to say, I have had enough of smiling alter boy queers tell me how brilliant Ulysses was, as even the gay poet was roman enough to think, fight like a man, not a eastern middle sea Semite. Stand or Fall, its what Erkle and his ilk fear, more than anything.

And sadly, as always happens, as Lucian said, the empire gets to the point where it places the cutlass in its own guts. the disasters, like endings to hobbit movies come in waves. In the never ended American  old west even Christmas shopping has become a blood sport, so much for you noble and self loving niggers and white masters, its hard to keep up. But, for the third time since a woman at Four Swell Guys, Tarantino Inc., called my work 'unmitigated trash', a bit too Ebert for my tastes, but, still, it seems our lantern jawed hero finds another movie like Roman Mythology on his slate, without a Brutus around. A Jewish producer told me no less that a Killer can be a hit man, and Italian, but he cant be a stoic, a banker, liberate and certainly not all that stuff you have in there about falling in Love. He, as more attuned to his enemy audience than I was, said, it will bother too many people should I make this movie and show a mafia as vulgar as they are and a banker as a killer. But, he told me, he enjoyed it more than anything else he had to slog through that year, just before the fall. Did I ever tell my Vincent Pastore story, --? So, A Christmas  movie about another lovable killer, how unlucky is that...? And the girl mentioned  in the last essay was named Jennifer De Guzman, not Guttmann, a name I have used often as a pseudonym on poetry reportage and cashiers checks. It’s the least I think she’s owed.