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.

 

JULY IS THE MOST IMPERIAL MONTH.

 

19 JULY 2024.

Isn't it a shame when in the middle of your threadbare and moth eaten attempt at reviving Pericles, that the Italian women strike back, and the end of the Inferno shows up. These girls of Italy... I do love it when corrupt old popes are literally at each others throats. Now again, sortieing to the convalescence bed he has always been at, Biden says he wont go. Hmnnn, Tis what Caesar thought. And Caesar was a Rhodes scholar, so supersize spaghetti Bidey, as id remember when you said I was in the imperial toilet because an important bill was up at the rostrum too. Despite or because of overfed women calling people who sent sons to perpetual wars Nazis, when I was a kid, Juvenal's like Norman Lear and Mad magazine said anyone who was against Busing was a closet Klansman. Maybe they were right...

Alas a wise career move to be bed ridden while your opponent is alive and vital after a bullet, but you are dodging a strange word check, amid your virus, which is funny coming from someone who says on cmon man, look and anyway, yea anyways indeed. The gods of comedy and tragedy were doing extra work, like the dogcarts to get Biden to go full out Yosemite Sam, and allow the elephant to sue him as a human shield to kill the mouse, as there was real aspect to the deathbed never far from him, and again it is always heartening to have your messiah be convalescing so once again, sometimes the decorum is thrust upon to you, as since I was a kid, the other party always kept their yaps shut when the opposite party had a convention, but then what party is Biden even IN, WHAT INDEED IS THE OTHER PARTY. Always nice when in the midst of your own dark ages, imagine sorry,Petrarch having the audacity to with blond Beatrice from the De Sade family, to say such a thing as if anyone may recall roman soot with so many n*88ers and Yid always bleating out their perpetual Requiems for themselves, like the ides of March as pop told me, haven't yet gone, in your crappy attempt to do another of your costume parties as plays, to do with Pericles , that the Inferno with zombie popes would come true, and attach the stage, just as I had set when as ma said, I shuffled the cards.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GiP1Q5ZTVsU

The brightness of July was stunning though the room seemed just black. There, laid out before me was a Californian dreaming, Hotel California ice cream colored Costello of some later Generalissimo racing and railing against latter day Zorro s. There as she was again I noted first of a computers screen and then as alive as anything in the magic realism of the later Italians, or maybe even the first pre Greek snowmen of that palace. HERE WAS THE SYBIL. Her Miss Kitty like get up of the plannedemic that seemingly didn't much work was reproached , the hat with stuffed birds and fruits and worthy of granny on the old Sylvester the Cat cartoons was gone and her hair in a Veronica Lake like way was almost a semi sweet chocolate sepia brown, dark and rich, the way we Jist schoolboys like ion those goddesses wed dream of holding hands more than anything else. A greatest soliloquies by Belzer in Homicide life of the street better than any mere birds on a unanimous wire.

Pretty as I'd ever seen her, ageless as anyone, a perfect permeation even a retaliation and a revenge against all those Italian women who were left to die at old folks homes in one time glorious Ann Maria land.

She laid back somewhat in the expansive expensive poll at this sun streaked colony of some rich and letcher A doge, who wanted to top keep it that ways, and since Trimalchio knew to lay it all on thick lest any rabble cut his overfed throat, which for her, many men would and the erst were queer as a nun told me when I was a boy. She lounged there, in red as a fire engine form fitting once piece, that sexiest of swimsuits that has ever been, and two perfect and beefy and massive and yet taught and immaculate legs, a best part of her I think, were dipping playfully in the over blue waters of this yesterdays , what I believe is called, a forever pool. She mindlessly, artlessly, thumbed through a magazine called Colliers somehow, and Truman was on the cover a blurb for his woman's magazine life and children on their birthdays. Sybil mindlessly filliped through the relic of the age she was more suited in and at THAN WHAT Gore Vidal called THIS ANOREXIC AGE. He alas called us the age of Kleenex, but now I recall my pop and ma as having been against in Our republic rime and the bricks are missed. She moved withe the dangerous implied grace of a python, maybe the viper god itself, and kept a strangely cfm settled pimped shoes foot dancing along the chorale waters.

You know, I said, breaking the ice as had an inkling she never did or gad to, It is not just that body of yours that effects me, Sybil, I mean I said, There is something of Paolo Milanos idea of moral imperative to how I feel about you. Id, You are a BASILE FRACTURED FAIRY TALE, an Italian, a Boccasale, he was as a cartoonist put through more hell that Oppenheimer, Kalki in Quaker oats hat serial killers ever got. not Vargas pin up come to glamorous life. She smiled, she had her share I noted, of people, that were angered she didn't give out gynecological exams on her various social media footprints. IT, I SAID, ..YOU ARE SOMETHING INDEED, A BEATRICE OF Instagram snapshots. She looked down almost shyly demurred, or at least I guess some inner cortex reading of third eye fanatso wished it would be so. OH, I know, I said to the divine creature before me somehow, I'VE GOTTEN MANY OF THOSE Venus-Ess of you accepted into art magazines. She looked down with her massive eyes, they engaged me and were strangely beguiling , but sad and dangerous too, and recalled in me a deer in a park which made me wince. I know, she said, taking a bon bon of some sort or maybe some kind of canopy off a silver plate of her sugerdaddy's, or whomever owned this villa palazzo here in which she was greater accompaniment.

She took a ornate fork and discrete;y scratched at some sort of fish like more like a TROITO MAN SCRATOO, as ma called it, especially at Christmas time, though we didn't do the seven fish shit as that was for gangsters she assured me when I was a boy, more THAN ANYTHING REAL. Its Salmon, she said, Would you like to try...? I begged off. Her massive Hershey kiss eyes flashed at me, with just a touch of Mildred Pierce malice all women should show if not a typical Susie cream cheese. Oh, I love when men make their Muse, she said, Woman too...Its sooooo Italian. I , she said, Used that as a credo of mine at one of these sights, she said, but I hadn't seen that as don't get or try to get Only fans. She strutted to sing. I'll always be the queen of pain, ill always be the queen of pain....Id take it, I said, I wouldn't mind. But, I added, hen I look at you it inst just my dick that hurts, Dollie, I WAS MORE CHEEKY THAN ID LIKE, BUT WHAT THE HELL, When I look at you, I said, I think of my father having a letter from Yale saying that I was related to the Roman general Julius-like Oppenheimer- Agricola, and his congresses on the drunkards,...If I just wanted to jack off, is aid, There is always Denise Melani...SHE LIPPED SMILED AND AFFIXED THE LAUREL ON HER WAVES OF ITALIANATE ARABESQUE HAIR.

On real life, A STRANGE ADMISSION TO SAY, my brother drives us past the long road within the woods towards Pittsburgh mills though once there, I did not get out at Micheal's and buy a replacement ream of 12 x 18 sulphite , or even cheaper sketchbook paper to replace the some I had that an open glue bottle Left atop it as placed captions on to be sent cartoons dropped all night and ruined almost all of them. While going up the incline of trees and empty road , my brother, I have alas never ;earned to drive a whit, a use the poor man as a kind of chauffeur though means a lot more to me than that, as have been chauffeur about and around by various girls like PEGGY, WITH WHOM I HAD MET THE YOUNG MISTER CLINTON AS HE WAS WINKING AT ITALIAN HOSTESSES IN HIS 90S PRIME. An there he was in the silver leaves, on the doors of heavy and hell, and Allegheny county where TRUMP HAS OPENED A 12 POINT LEAD. , the ruing magazine contender, old Nick, in a threadbare mantel covered in various assuages and stains, unbowed despite its unraveling quaintness, blowing kisses just to be clever, Legs and the man, the granddaddy of all daddies, bloated, but strangely healthy, too healthy as Stuffing-envelopes would say ans hasn't this sold coots intent getting even tried sooooo hard to get even with all the cool kids in their revenge of Fredo. He stood in crayola, Technicolor brilliance, Lucy and Viv deftness and Kodachrome there off the ways of the poolside where his inamorata sat so elegantly and prefect, as thought of how it bother some creep that my cartoons were all of her and Mindy Farrar and Dominique St. Croix and OF COURSE, Patty F., as if Italian women were just to be housemaids and their domestics and feed them and their half breeds, and I give him back what he deserved, and said, be care when it happened, that Biden and the erst of the viaduct rapist had tempted signora Fortuna enough. Then within weeks, ah the debate, more important to a Roman republic than to Percales, and the democrats small and large d, get what they all deserve from their four and 20 vultures baked into a pie.

The Doge looked at me, with a defeated smart alecks Jesuit vulgarian, but not underwire wink. He showed me a watch on his writs. So, ROMAN NUMERATED , HE SAID, AND THEN SMASHED IT ON THE FLOOR WITH HIS SANDLED FOOT. I, HE SAID, Stomp my foot and all the graves give up their Roman soldiers, as they always have. Like Trump, he said, I beat everything. AM , HE SAID, curs-ed WITH GOOD FORTUNE. I knew myself that that day the dead had come forth, not making even MOURNING Joe pr George Will, gives a good god damn, or a lump of coal, that the old man who looked at his watch, as the dead were paraded before him that it was over, sorry, negro queen and Nora at the cyclops, you cant make chicken salad out of Builtin Joe Biden, he said with a sinister laugh, This is why May Berry never was as iconic with Ken Berry as it was with Don Knots. And I thought I was too Vendetta minded, I said, as he as half in the darkness of a burnt sienna , no lets call it Tuscan Red as opposed to Indian anything, from the crayola box I still have from when ma went early on is what I always said would be Biden's death march as opposed to Roman y Triomfi. There he stood, now that and he was a Romano triumph alas copulas script for Patton that caused my boyhood masculine hero Bob Mitch-em to say, ah fuck, U NEED SOMEONE WHO CAN PLAY THIS who cares, YOU NEED George Scott, you need someone who cares and gives a shit...i cant do this crap, I don't care. I DIDN'T NEED BUSING, the brethren adored me, so it isn't personal. As opposed to some.

As we drove, there against a hillside of weeds was at fist sight thought, a mangled carcass, and I was shivered thinking what I had saw, but looked back and giant sad, ungalssed, eyes showed a kind of roadside taxidermy, as a massive I think they are called four point elk , garbage on the median strip. It was no mere dear, this buck, the symbol of Italy coiner on coins before Julian's tarted the sacrilege of human beings on Italian coins, he was crumpled on the short railings by the road, eyes looking dour from a bleeding and broken body that was consecrated in a sad and mean unremeptive aspect of some kind of zodiac sign. Oh my Gosh..., I SAID, THOUGH MY SHARPER BROTHER DID NOT LOOK BACK AT THE CARCASS there left on the speeding road. Fucking shame, he said, HERE ASSHOLES speed like demons up and down this road, even when it rains, absolute morons, he said. i only saw it for a second, like the mental hypno coin experiments sued by mad men like Della Famina and George Washington Wallace, i think Johnny said his name was back when. I WAS taken aback, as the stagnate weal of fur and flesh was left there. Inst I said, Someone going to come and ...What...?, he said, Give Mister Moose a burial ...please, kiddo, he said, HERE-LL LEAVE IT THERE hoping some hillbilly makes stew out of it. I tried not to gulp a breath until we had passed the trees and the funeral mound of the uncaring elk, sad I thought, that some asshole took out the kind of animal that I had only seen in Penna woods as dead, with giant chocolate eyes looking at the lack of traffic and splinted antlers that were intertwined somehow by somebody with the tall weeds that the incessant rains of Bide's metricate had left the summer with, as some of the leave so this Gustavo Dore set of nautura had been so over weathered by rains that some have ascribed to the Microsoft queer, to the point at one of his and their many conclaves he has had to tractably say he is not like SIMON BAR SINISTER, Lex Luther is out of the question, he is on a stack of bibles , not seeding the clouds, the King Nerd must say between Indulgences, or causing GHuy Marx as in Green Acres to do a in-jun rain dance. Hello dere...

Still it was bewilderingly sad to have seen even in the side of my vision, and I wondred why none gave Bullwinkle at least some due.

We descend to two sitting popes, --Billy the kid is sitting this one out, I'm sire his requiem for either will be heart remaindering, ...Strange dear, but true dear, that Id fall for you dearrrrrrr...eating each other alive. Sad and destined that Barry the fairy would eventfully get even for all those toilet jokes when he walked away, cause something important had to be voted on. And true to form, the Newark-er--BOY DO THEY HATE THAT, —does a strangle hit piece , as I said, when you are a shovel everything as said, does look like a grave if not a hole, on Niccolo Machiavelli AS THERE must be some way that the overfed, marching fat chicks meeting for briefing at the chicken delight, the angels of the Mattina could seem sanctimonious after having voted for a segregationist, WHO DOENST KNOW WHEN TO LEAVE. Did they even know or care that Niccolo, whose Selected Discourses was roman Billy's sixth favorite book, no mere Prince for him, ….hand me my copy of Pastoral Poems, Raven dear,...was tortured by the Medici, speaking of bad dinner guests , over Titus Livy, and yet who knew that Lorenzo wearing of German Armour would not end well. Like this as the great Al Brooks would say.

NOW ITS #PASSTHETORCH as I was alerted, now ragingly passse, by liberal email, AND SUDDENLY THERE IS MORE MONEY ALLIED AGAINST THIS OLD COOT THAN HE HAS ON HAND. But, as a Charon at the Stygian banks, collecting money off eyes if he must, he wont go like ELSIE though I said the Clntons were planning a third act for him somewhere between the Rope by Titus Plautus, the rope by Alfred Hitchcock, as a funny thing happen on the way to the last hurrah. Really Kelly girls at the New Yorker you should have gotten me to write that before you published more garbage in your Saul Strindberg less rag, as I told an admiring gal, I remember, like Johnny Cash, everything...HE ASSURES FATES AND THE MOON ITSELF, BY GOLLY, DAMMIT AND SHUNUFF, BUT HE PROMISES, ALWAYS A BRIGHT NOTE, HELL GET BACK TO CAMPAIGNING OF WHATEVER HE CAN DO LIKE IT, NEXT WEEK,WHEN THE SHOWBOATS COMES TO TOWN. My brother, sharper than I, he SAID WHEN HEARD OF A MASKERS COVID, AT LEAST LIVE YOUR LIES, AND GET THE OLD COOT A MASK IN MID SHUFFLE, HES HIGH AS A KITE, SORRY ANDERSON, AND HIS UNRAVELING AND NEED A WARM PLACE TO SLEEP. But do give us the word count, as anything even close to politics is against @morningjoe 's religion, as one time pretty amid in a row even with Keith Olbermann and now with Lana Lang cutting but not bleeding, she decries that old coot Bdiey, played by Elaine Stritch so ably in Sondheim, that 33 and third percent of white women are feeling the carnival of fools.

Once when asked by a Medici cardinal, like Imult say, to be gotten and gotten gold, the Italians were doing this shit when you white devils still lived in trees, What Sur Machiavelli is evil, the cardinal asked, thinking the ultimate shyster- comedy writer would spin some seventy word sentence that was inscrutable., Looking down a face the new Yorker made look like a monkey we must find our sanctimony wherever we can Hillary ,much less vendetta, he said simply as the jisusts said, only a idiot has to lie and lie badly, anyway, look, pal, buddy, anyway, Evil he said, is a dimwit who wishes to be adored for his vices. End of quote, see just like the ghost of Caesar, you really should say Quote before you say that, but I'm shocked hes still awake at this our. Call all this Monica's revenge, girls, and really you should have allowed me and not some f&g or Kelley girl to write about the patron saint of Jesuits, all garnets all black, as I can think of better third acts to have had than old coot Bidy, as the old master is shown as true again, as I warned @stevencolbert, the true believer is the second rat off the ship. Watch though as George will gets more of a sharp Petra than he and everybody's cousin Jojo saw coming. SHAZAM! There egos the lunchy and weedys and tweedy and theatergoer goes sanctimonious @sharrodbrown after days and days of paddling. In the words of dear @rachelmaddow, Machiavelli,...? you wish. Pass the torch...? I think you mean the drones. Bye Bob. Ill take a swig for you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7a0PAT0eGw

STAY TUNED, at this bat channel...

07/21/24 09:09:44 AM

A world wide internet disruption occurred late at night, a day and half ago, and immediacy to show how beloved he is, everyone thought this was the acting presidents way of ...what even JESUIT TRAINED ME WASN'T SURE WHAT THAT COULD ACCOMPLISH, BUT TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL BADDER THAN THEY ALREADY DID. WHICH FOR A SADIST, ...but he is without without the niece and without the word play, priests even told me, as I was a boy, that De Sade was a brilliant writer, and somehow saying that botched the gatekeepers of the woke-ness, which as the auger warn here is different when its believed in and not the fig leaves of segregationist, Weekly American standard and smirking Jews as fascists, ... who were woke just long enough to read their dire polling numbers and that they bode bad in Westernmost county Pa, from where I left, and soon enough commercials for German named hair henna and Archie Bunker would stuff the television cities of the fruited plains. But, one constant refined from those jowl, having to have a prescient Roy Shieder on the hospital bed as the chorus line sang around him, was that along with word counts, amazingly, and that Biden would as worst Chautauqua meetings, sunday go to meeting tenet, worst Elmer Gantry ever, unlike Satan as a hooded revivalist, one shouldn't be so undertakers in their come hither charms, not in politics, was that some peon for IT WAS MISSED. BIG TALK WHEN THEY START SPEAKING OF TAMMANY HALL AS SOME HAVE ABOUT THE way suddenly the democratization party has become a papal conclave with black balls readied for everybody. They think but Gordon Gecko in Sacramento and the always scheming, the Greens-burgh Tribune review assured me so, emceeing Joshie Shapiro who, alas and alack, always seems to have been juts fallen forwards from a medieval passion play. My Downloading of the LYNEX OS, took up along with Elton John as the pinball wizard took most my time, so cant do as thought I'd might, in that id keep a daily disgrace like newspaper comics strip aspect to the end of B'dey, which all in all ,might be better anyway, as think as writing about Machiavelli and Bill Clinton we are stuck with Stuffing-envelopes, as a Lucius, doenst know from which end to swing the hatchet this time. Circuitry, as you all death watch the old coot and wish to replace him without and pass over as it were the black woman he put there for no better reason than to show to be president he and Gummadi Gilda would so, say, be seen with anyone, although APLENTY REPORTED BEFORE HIS FEET WERE SHOT OFF BY A TOO STUPID TO BE DIABOLICAL PRESIDENCY, that he will not give his benediction to Kammilla with a K, a death scene in waiting, showing at least Sonny Hostile and the viewing nags that again, window dressing means nothing when the department store closes with giant Pittsburgh padlocks of decay. Unity...? Machiavellian heal themselves.

The incessant rains showers of the spring, which again Bill gates, Ralph Phillips without the charms, says he had nothing to do with , maybe it was uncle Martin with his magic finger from the room over the spaceships garage, have made a canopy of the greenest I can recall it ever being here, with the caveat that I spent a good amount of that time as the boy in the tower, scribbling out one masterwork after another only to tear them all away. So now I found myself at that Gustavo Dore sheet of lithograph and hand painted page of the inferno that things went haywire to in the mist of their play of Pericles, with, of course, Rob Reiner as the bloated coward king, who the Italians, like CORIOLANUS , GOT TO AND CLOWNED UP FIRST, as has there ever really been a democratic argument since Busing that Joe Biden hasn't hollowed out like a cheap and kid disappointing Easter rabbit.

We, by we I mean not some strange unpropitious mischief that the f*gs doth do now, they sued to write sad war sonnets to Turn-us and painted masterworks of genesis on to plaster of Paris walls and ceilings, but now in Biden's d student detention hall, well, a rising flood downs all alley cats. Here the overhang avenue dome of greenery, not quite mountain, is shuffling and spinning in the winds, with mired scapegrace than the queen of crime bills , whose comb over and cap teethed charm as he spoke of the animals of the hood, it always pandered upon for whom his bell tolled , it was never for thee unless one was a Dixiecrat like him. The tooth merchant he was, with a smile my ma told me to avoid anyone who had it, buying time they always are, she warned me, and amazing how somehow he survived that famous Marc Antony, an affectation this white house never deserved, when he spoke so sincerely over the torn apart corpse of liberalism more than any the era of big gummit from Pogo loving southern Captain Marvel Juniors down to the black spit curls ever much could.

HERE AT THE endless Sherwood, here at the place where the Allegheny could go into the Cymbeline woods at any time, I saw a wreathed old sign, an anachronism and out of place that said SHAPIRO'S TRANSYLVANIA. The lime and holly colored leaves of the midsummer's trees glissandi in the high Julian sunshine, and only the wrangle of the trees could be heard. Then there, in front of a weather beaten old signage of Mickey Mouse in his now finally in the public domain, --f yew Sonny and your whorehouse gypsy as a defamation wife—black and white and chopped and weathered and beaten by a myriad of rain storms and then heated by the apostolic sun, the little rat smiled his frozen smile, and was chugging a womanly curved green glass coke bottle , as they alas like beer companies never understood the first rile of Jerry Della Femina, or Gorge Washington Wallace, or any of the other mad men that a channel that didn't take commercials could demean until one downturn after the next meat that pay television, and lectures from Vizier Anderson fresh from the La Cote Basque where Mummy is buried, was more than anyone could bear, and alas they were the first cord to be sliced. Ere at that sign amid the trees was the her Highness of them all, the living Boccasale, the living Vargas pin up herself, W., in what I believe is called a Dorothy L amour like Sarong, a large brimmed straw hat and shoes worthy of the Leonardo who invited the torture device called the high heel. Sure are a witch, I said, not in some accusatory , or Anglican or white man ways, What is going on, dear woman, I said, hat is this madness...?

She smiled demurely and fluttered her massive Italian eyelashes. I was taken with how much she resembles a penthouse girl I adored as a young man, a showering pet goddess as we Romans and not Jews are given to having—i guess when one straiten to hide in Sellers as opposed to ROMAN MARCHES, the goddess is beneath the sanctimony of self righteous cowards. She said, as if reading my thoughts, as I bet her mummy taught her well how to living within that frame of hers, See, she said, 40,000 people didn't die at Masada. That was a show when i was a teen utilitarian the great Peter O'Toole to Anglicize general Silva, which none of you have there at the armimentarium, you have mourning Joe seeing it all go away as a , usual for a woman, blowhard braggart big mouth wife calls the dared and dydin Biden as the one between he and the first black Praetor who was actually “Historic”, to which usual the cousin juts glad to get any blond at all to suck his dick, had top be taken a back, but not so much that LUCRETIA STARTED TO notice the cut of the pool boys jib. This year the dons of Hollywood such as they are left, in the worst summer since Klintion Spillsbury, and without an AIRPLANE! To save them, they went back to Truman and his swans, the effect no good as CNN calcimined to removed the queen mum of Anderson, you know the one who didn't recognize his own father in that Esquire suicide note, and ironically and befittingly, they placed a whole lot of scenes and meanderings down streets that didn't happen and didn't exist, when the story had enough oomph on its own. In Cold Cash.

A last bulletin from the Daily Dirt, we miss you Wally, I thought for the data, was that on NEWSY, that with the backdrop of a Costello it is said I reviled and instinctively disdained as a boy in Ma's arms, that the artists at the maniacal kingdom had decried this dreadfulness summers since Leslie Nielsen dead panned his way to a second act, they, at Disney, alas again, were going on stroke. I've told my Disney story before and their aversion not too long before being awoken to the idea of a Basile somewhat fractured fairy tale, and the idea of an Italian princess in stone soup received them as their strangely to my boyish eyes was to them beyond the pale, sadistic and not Americana if i recall what they said, too unlike their usual work, nice enough was I , and I turned it to Scooby Doo and the ironic too, as nostalgia is after all a mental disorder at heart, where they met up with , as they did Jonathan Winters and Don Knots cone, Sonny and Cher were with those meddling kids as we had made a midsummer evening of pork chops like Ma used to make, that no one who tasted them anywhere I brought them had anything like them before. I MEAN, WHAT ELSE COULD HAPPEN TODAY THAT WAS WORTH NOTING...?

07/22/24

10:41:38 AM

THIS JUST IN...

On this date in midsummer as it always seems to happen, at 1:45 pm, a nondescript nameless time, no Gary Copperish high noon for him, like Nixon who again was born to play this Shakespearean part and Biden was just an understudy who got lucky, or worse, he relinquished the presidency such as it is of the Untied states, as the ceremonial pens that they tried to corral uncle Bill with, some of the same people by the way. Still ass-hurt by the way he was sued by the Glen Gerry Glen Ross figures who have bumbled his way along the appointee ways of life and empire all along, Speaker Johnson, almost having given up his trope sash over a mars mercerizing that had to be on that clock, or watch of old coots Biden, and still hasn't been fulfilled, there egos dear-born, he damned that BIDDEN SHOW SOME DECORUM, TOO ROMAN...?, AND MERELY LEAVE IMMEDIATELY, BUT THEN, OUT DAMNED VAUDEVILLIAN cant in good coincides go and be a chicken operative as Fred Mertz had to do in a selling out to a television black rocked selling out to Robert Moses love of the car and the causeway that Lucy, speaking of olden days, never much bought into, she was a lover of Broadway, like Ann Marie, and its collected Zeros to the end.

It was said to me, by a brother coming back in to the living room after a day of ho hum to me British golf that he rather liked more than I did, as my antennas have been whipping madly all month and I have augured much to his delight and his surprise, but today I was fine with waiting to eat Yukon gold potatoes smothered in a oily bay-leaved natural gravy that my mother knew how to marinate meats with since the old country, and too, I made some rice a rony, the game show cuisine that Ma taught us how to always fix and finagle into deliciousness. He came in and told me, he just saw a word bulletin rolled over a golfer unable to deal with the flat earth links of savages long gone, but even did the heirs to Rodger Mudd came on to explain that Biden had indeed after so long and such a miasma of selfishness , and his last act of undercutting donkey parts, he indeed resigned. Or words to that effect. Like Vietnam and health care he is no where to be found.

I got out of the rocking chair he likes to sit in and went over to the couch waiting to see, juts like the last segregationist to bow to the plebeian street plebiscite, that he would say, at least as much as Nixon did, as I recall that final press conference , but then from a better generation than these ones Tom and Dan, this country isn't what it sued to be thanks in much to these explained idiots and their love of farce, but pretending its an epic, as again, the Hatchet man Persistent was no where to be seen, which to me wasn't even an affront to the gods of Poetics, or the gods of Theater, but to Lavrenia, who was the roman goddess of picked locks, thieves and Clinton's in the mist. After three hours, he had had enough, and got up and went into the darkness of the rest of the house, as there was something ,what is the word...?...its Roman farce, so...there was something anti climatic about the whole affairs and well, not surprising it didn't have the oomph of LBJ, AGAIN CARO WHERE ARE YOU...?, as it seemed almost by rote as anything, and was tarred strangely as a fate accomplish, or with a well that happened attitude that doesn't make 50 years of scheming much worth it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbVUg3BuTio

At least when Hillary lost, which looks increasingly like it might behaved again and worse than ever, people and wags said to her distress i as told, any maybe got it from me, like the way a liberal was inspired that anti Biden banners read "We are ungovernable like Caesars said of plebs before , lord Satan why doth thy Deserter me, my dark lord why doth they forsake me, as a kind of Dante's inferno paradox of the sonny boy of the triumvirate heaven toured on a necromancer cross. E, DANTE HAS BEEN everywhere since we had for the first time since he wrote of Clement and Boniface, two living popes ta the same time. I did once, as said, shoot Andy Warhol's ,museum, again one of the few essays , though more now than ever, placed into an art news , which is on nice papers and in a satchel called my accepted works, with a cat-suited girl from again, long penthouses ago. Erroneous wouldn't give us the satisfaction of his own demise, the pro council would actually spoke before the dying predator, sad unromantic and without the gods of comedy and tragedy to be part of this anointing with oil. We watched lastly AOC, prettier than I had ever seen her, as it is an insult to her wisely to call her pretty as the Arrian brethren idiots and jailbirds all dont like it, lesbians neither, but prettily, she railed against this, the horse is empty she decried, and my sharper brothers aid, hats enough, tell them to quit stealing your stuff!, so a wake was held, on Twitter, newly there as was asked by some, including my own brother to hurl paint at the crumbling imperial walls, tweeters or X marks the spot, Four and twenty black birds baked into a calzone, he said, Here, he said, tossing me the box, Enjoy yourself, as he left it, which seems like Dante to me be a leitmotiv of the times of now, metv cartoons and a midsummer's midday dinner hour Bullwinkle. A room with a view...of a yellow wood. Or Frostbite falls.

John chancellor is dead and wont came back round again. Did I ever tell I once wrote a paper that the National Biscuit Company and its attempt to red state and blue state us was a mistake, and thus again I was beloved by the brethren, as I said, despite trying to be a boon to Democrats as they always are, will they vouch for Kammala like they did the sanity and wholeness of old coot BYE BYE BIDEN, JOIN US ONE CAN HEAR THE GREAT VOICE OF Matt DILLON SAY for our next exciting episode, Ice to meet you, Barry is alas quiet as a titmouse, or, Visit to a small Panic!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kx3sOqW5zj4

07/23/24

11:27:29 AM

I find, as lost some friends and acquaintances it seems ,and took some arrows over not ever wantoning to be tarred with the brush of ever having been on the side, or deathbed, of a resignation-- ist, sorry segregationist, too Roman and not Sicilian enough am I, that I must get this Requiem for a fly weight done today. THAT ITS NOT due until the 1^st, as it were, but still, cant in good conscious be an Antony for this lied low CAESAR, who never fit, as it were, the Bill. I was offered a lot more than mere Brownie points and fat girl sanctimony to, as Pop said be a Manga merda and eater of something worse than mere Dunking Doughnuts, when I was 10-15 and I didn't do it then, as I'll, be damned if I do it for the Tom Eagleton at the head of the snak—ticket, as after all, politics smolitcis, its all blood sport to me anyway, and Biden's is tiredest blood at most. The Jews are spotlight gunfight and outta-site than neither dead corpus of Alexander nor Camilla, really I've been told i do overestimate this crowd, pro council, nor dead corpus of Julian is there to great them at a speech they demanded that Blowhard Herod gives, so quickly the bleak house referrers all to the fact that they will be meeting on Thursday after a few more hours of what my brother assures me is old man getting off the the horse, all puns operational, or the monkey being shot and torn from his back. I didn't tell anyone to redo Sondheim Follies, or Commodities or Funny things happening at the edge of the forum,. If not mausoleum, so, that your touch luck as , like Elaine Stritch , Gummadi Pillotta, as ma called her, with no reverence at all, plays a woman who lunches. This corpse as I have been foretelling, soothsayer Am my brother and other well wishers think, never deserved an Antony, as he was sure to ,as I warned, make an absolute Asp of hisslef. Don't you love farce...?

8:12 PM.

Into the darkening afternoon of this most imperial of month, I thought, and maybe I tweeted to Meathead, the next time what you want to speak so glowingly of the democracy of weeds, as pop called it, much less any The Republic, I would were I you, keep the words thought and said by some, Palace Coup to a bare minimum. I DIDN'T ALLOW so much as merely didn't turn the television from Loony tunes again for a while, my sister to sit there an watch the Chuck Jones panoply she has adored since she was a little girl, as the Law and Orders of Armour ham 'ONOFRIO have swerved to their lagging middle with the guvnor from The Good Wife and a rape victim Italian actress who was gotten rid of post haste under sealed orders from Harvey WeinsteIn. Like Biden being a drooling idiota, the curia is always kept in the dark which is strange for a assembly of so many haggling, gibbering Queens.

Into the darkness towards the small green digital light of an older stove I walked towards what was either the Shady Groves of Clinton's I had been before, or the cartel in Daffy's attempt at having JW make him a leading man in the scarlet pimpernel, or the happiest place for petaphiles, the magic Castillo where Collodi went to die and which now deterring in the worst summer in years as the plebs have turned from a circus atoned by a contingent of circus owners who cant stop being sanctimonious about anything, and don't recall or ever heard that Ovid said nothing that has to deal in receipts and box office can ever be elite. By 8:26 PM, all seemed that the sorbet of Vendetta served cold was indeed not as fulfilling as say a lovely cherries jubilee of vengeance that I would have served, again flaming. In fact, despite having had one of the anchormen acceptable by their paper bag and other litmus tests, only servants no masters here, and with fraying whips, Lester Holt was quicker than any, elliptically cyclops CBS which must have gotten the short Friendly straw, and stayed about with a third act of Julius Caesars, is was it the second, whatever still, without a corpse, but someone convalescing and without the willingness if not the decency to play King Lear with CBS ACMES WATCHING MARINE ONE TAKE METTERNICH AWAY. If Richard Nixon was King Lear and Bill Clinton Barefoot Marius the great, and Mario, dear Mario, avenged today as Hillary shall never be, and it might get worse as the little woman is replaced by the other woman, wow, was Virgil in the Purgatorial as the divinity of the literate, then Biden, well, Bent Biden wan-st more much and nothing much more than David Wayne as The Mad Hatter in Batman 1966.

I SAW THE COLLECTION that had come to reverie and to rejoice in the end of Bill Clinton's enemy was has happened since the Apia way first held the bees for which it was named, there was one winner now, and it wasn't Kamilla, as the male democrats allowed on News-max, as opposed to cringing Negros and damnable dykes on out and out Democratic and thus better lines of credit television, the kind owned by toaster and arms manufacturers, all seemed happy go lucky with this...but the women, I NOTED, AS THEY ALL GATHERS HERE TO see their The Prince Bill take his bow and his curtain calls for a death trap well made and configured—again I must get this done and spell checked as best as I can before the first for reasoning that mean nothing to me, like say shutting off my computer and updates complete the night the the while internet infrastructure went reinstalling,--i heard as walked towards the republican brick, volcanic stone of the trees and dark shrubbery canopied by the rains, here out of that black and slightly green fluttering of motion, Shady Groves of Bills own Pentcameron, I heard just in the submissions of gossip, the name of an early play I WROTE as a boy, along with an early play called CATCH AMENDMENT 22, no fooling, the collected for colored girls , who were just shown by Rachel as abandoning the henhosue of section 8 cells, that they stemming wanted no part of it, nor of her. I COULD declared calculate the button down mind of Joshie Shapiro, already clicking and chiming at midnight away to how to tunnel to and louse up a ticket that had all of the Democratic aplomb of the holy spirit smoking a dollar cigar, or Segar as the thimble theater case might have been. From what I gated at the edges of this imperial palazzo, the other colored girls wanted no part of the bracketing jackass gummadi who was white enough to turn Willie Browns browner heads. And there, or here in this parallel lives universe, there was A pretty, sorry AOC, initialed goddess, a lady who looked like the playboy bunny I believe was a CHICAGO BEAR GIRLFRIEND, NAMED Charlotte Kemp, WHEN I WAS A BOY, do they even make tootsies in COLBERT LAND NOW THAT HE CANT IN GOOD COUSCOUS BREAK BRA STRAPS AND HEARTS AND KLEIG LIGHTS ANYMORE. She stood there ala another Roman goddess, she stood there as if Fascicle incarnate, and a spear like banner standard that one sees perhaps mostly in the admonition of tin soldiers at Saturnalia times. The red, Roman more than anything Germanic and pinko, banner read the number 13 in those letters, and it was shocking to see her as a discouraging word, but by sundown now, I was not in the least supersized, as bigger imperial Conveys, Michelle and Barry the fairy were as quiet as Alexanders Tomb before desecrated by Rex Harrison, miss tits and Mackenzie, in technicolor. Don't make the mistake, she warned as I walked past towards the midsummer's night scene, and I saw a hanger on of Bill's an MIL FOB, in statuesque glory as a lipstick wearing man clown was sadly devoted to her. At least I thought, in Roman boy Bill someone alas finally or still existed who understood the basic needs of having a class of perverts that never were accurately to the Chaney or others crime familiars.

I walked past the masonry wall in the yellow wood, and saw the gates that rose Xanadu like into the darkness and the imperial purple skies above. Girl one of his happy dinning retinue came up to me, assureds a vestal as his circle of pretties all were here, and again, fish wife Hillary was again, as in the ouveur of Rob Reiner, dead and gone before the first draft, much less the cutting room floor. She invited me to the other side of the wall, upon which was written a bloody red WE ARE UNGOVERNABLE. Shades of Apocalypse Now, actually graffito I thought. She walked with me to the showroom floor of this half pleasure dome, half and as hotel in the ring a ding ding sixties, where all the tables were set up and all the people seemed to be from the garter age of Matt Helm, woman in PLAYBOY AFTER DARK FINERY, IT WAS IN DEED THE SELF NAMED a Copa that Danny Thomas, adored by my mother, often sang to with his Lebanese charms. The Gorgeous woman were all there in ermine and in pearls like cardinals were once, in wraps and in stoles and in figure hugging sequences non sequaier dress that draped a body like a Gino Reni painting of funfair did.

In came the praetor, fully flushed with power and potency. I recalled that Kamikaze, oh fuck you, Polish queen, you and your kissing cousin were calling people enemies of the state last week, dearies, I guess your stuck now only with those who buy sunbeam toasters, he said, as evening scores were everywhere. In the space like toots Shore's, comes the performance, fat and bloated and here not sucking in his guts, with Augustan indigo ash about his over sued boa and his perfectly sued heads. The place was quiet after some polite applause, which stunned me. Galahad pouted then a Roman salute of a hand above his paralleled head, and he spoke to the mob as no one has since Tiberius Gracchus, or maybe Trump, who understand in their bones that indeed there is a circus element to the days of politics that no woman can understand, as they sweep the dust behind the golden door. PLAYGOERS...!, HE SHOPLIFTED in full playing to the mezzanine throatiness, THE POLITICAL TENT IS A TEMPLE TO PUNCTURA, [This isn't neoclassical Roman Roman, but a bit of doggerel by some middlebrow in some book that included The Twelve Caesars by Gore Vidal, and that I took as early as Ariosto did from Matteo Maria Bordiardo, for my own uses as I said before anyone he'd be saying ye bey bird y. And, he said, We are here to adorate the Roman Gods of comedy and tragedy....tonight we are pleased to present a comedy...the end of Biden! It was still quiet, almost on edge, as she allowed the fringed purple cape to sway in the shady winds of his life. FRIENDS, ...he shouted aloud and firm as a ham would, ROMANS... COUNTRYMEN...HE SAID, I COME TO BURY BIDEN, NOT TO PRAISE HIM...!

At this the perky girls as gumba sleazy merchants and thin fedoras and Jewish sackers and all the collected Sydney Sheldon he could find and made hangers on, erupted with unmitigated joyfulness , their man their boy, had down the day, and Biden was the deer left on the eroded hillside to Etna, in more ways than one, Biden was finished and would in fact get off the air ship Ambra as the once and no longer king of the world, they are so pleased he is hone, after all, and he screeched at James Rosen, in the next few days when people wondered if JOHN PAUL the first hadn't died, he had to eventually in two days from this triumph of Guillermo will, slink off a airship and yell at the stepsisters , as he knew as I would guess that such a nothing would that in fact he was a victim of circumstance and useless and worthless and casting about wishing to spit , if not worse, at the vicissitudes of fate. Out came two other vestals of the forever king, with a movable dolly upon which was the BALLY table HE HAD PLAYED SINCE 1975'S TOMMY, the Gottlieb Kings and Queens, lighted box, but alas our future were all mortgaged by that cretino Gloria Vanderbilt junior and his nun like shushing of any not saying what Doge Turner or worse GE wanted said in what was the mausoleum of Politics. The box of lights and wire and speedy little silver balls twinkled and spin and danced away there against the dark gloom of the extemporaneous night, or Knight, as he put out a pudgy and weathered old hand to demand quiet from the truly interracial, pan ethnic, crowd filled with people that prissy George Will never wanted in his Cotillion of a party. He started to recite as he was so good at doing as a kid.

People, he said, There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile, he found some crooked nickels all left in a crooked pile, he said, ...a pretty blond, old Playboy after dark type, more Joi Lnasing than Elly Mae and her sanitized William S PAYLY SEXUALITY, POURED HIM A DRINK FROM A LARGE GREEN GLASS , I GUESS THEY ARE CALLED Carafes, and he held it up where it shined with green poisoned light and beneath like nacreous carbonation. The Panoply before me was reminiscent of the famous pull out appointing done by boyhood hero Jack Davis and his brilliantine watercolor work of marionette people and flat cartoons, as it wasn't quite Our Town, at all, but a revitalization of that age that had come before and for Roman Bill, and like the dies of Biden hadn't yet passed. Tn it call came quickly before me, as I used and utilized the small cathode aspect flickering drawings on the new screens of old Loony Tunes, and that Jack Benny like duck as a clue to be able to get home as my mother no fooling was something of a witch herself , and she taught me, no fooling about the way to get back and forth between realms on this Calvino, equal lover of Italian magic realism, as for to them it is less a mere literary decisive as it is to some self righteous indigenous in Fathers as it has been part of the very volcanic soil used by Etruscan along gone and unremarked to and for bu those who'd cry over a rapist not being allowed to be first lady, or worse, house coon Van weeping openly about the old man praetor having to have the keys to the kingdom, if not the papacy be taken from the old coot before he smashes onto that perversion of the marble buttress. KKRRRASH,Rachel, try crying for an Italian grandmother smote to death by her own mucus as was done in Duchess county dears,as I knew when heard that anyone, again as ma said, who drank from this cauldron would be poisoned by it.

The operator in high dungeon looked out over his Make Room for Daddy crowd, the women all with gloves of velvet, and men in high allotting suits of gaberdine armor, the glasses worn once by father Francis were all over, cigarettes smoldered too, as this was a respite for romantic Bill from the sorts of horrid women with flyaway hair and bad skin who Hillary knew too late were always looking for the escape hatches, if botched to march at all. People....!, he shouted with Plautus charms again,

he looked up at the medieval mezzanine now then populated by garbage like Colbert and his needs to be in lights and wires in a slimmer box, and almost aw them all it seemed to me, as dummies, scarecrows who were eaten to death or at least to saw dust by his manageable hnand slight of handed magicians birdies. His birdies had a state for Lena and Grey carrion. Ask Biden. Praetor Biden is Gone, he said, then, and after a moment uproarious applause from his gaggle of gummadi made me think though I had somehow anticipated it, I was glad again, sad top admit it , but again I take what i can gets, that the ROMAN LOVING SCHOOLBOY HAD INDEED bent the tragic universe to his own primer's Virgillian wills.

Did the minions of the Prince..., he asked, as there was no mere -ling affixed here, did you get all things I asked in my imperial quest dear children...? Yes, your excellence, a devotee said, looking the part, half Fellini and haft kiss me Kate, We have completed the hunt...Where is, he said, The Instant relic...? A pretty blond came head in again a outfit half Sinbad and half Barbara Eden. Yes, your honor she devotedly said, Weave brought you the instant relic that you wished for...and with that she took a lawn sign that read Biden-Harass, and handed it to him, with much arabesque fancy. He smiled and took the cardboard sign and tired it in half, tossing the shards away as he has justify done to Biden the man the myth, the legend only a few hours before. HE THEN asked for in his rummage imperial sale, his fire of Rome sale, his epilogue of vicariousness, that he was Bedouin. past the reach of any mere hacks and blind followers, the Machiavellian had entered the hillbilly's Ostia. The flood of those willing to be lead by the noise weren't going to distracted or detract him, he had been through too much to allow George Will to cast a blind eye along with house Negros and lesbians of bellicosity at the war temple to cat a blindness towards lids of Kojack era Coke to be dropped on Eisenhower floors. I WAS IN AWE. WHERE IS THE LESS SHARPENED THAN A VIPER'S TOOTH …?He asked. Other pretty black woman in this banquets finery placed a broken tooth on a table before him as he was being guarded over by Angelia by satyrs of the blankets of tapestry that he had collected. Shady Groves was indeed alive more than it had been last showing duding Persistent Lugosi and his want to a blood bank vampirical praetorium, and now indeed Vlad the impaled had been , as I had guessed as pillared for it, vanquished, or better like a spider tossed into an imperial Roman viaducts drain and out to the sea of loserdom. A tooth, the pretty black bunny said, From the crooked smile of the crooked man, HES EATING SOUP TONIGHT, AND HIS HEART OUT!, to which there was applause and he took the tooth and flung it into the now black and oak colored of at all leaves of the canape of summer , glorious summer, that came above our heads. And he said, then, What of my bumble bee herself,...? He said, So, what of a living doll in our menagerie of preatorains, where indeed has any one found in this amercement of Venice causeway, has anyone found in my asked for rummage hunts, where is my living doll, the Punctura to make this all completa...?

Then and at his very command has he had lived so much of his hillbilly Marius life, the curtain parted an there with a white sodium colored light shone upon Wendy-Sybil, as it was meant to be, as she was after all, no Hillary here, no angle of the mattina was she, a goddess in allays even if Jews upset their walnut-ed dens are lacking as they cant sell their usual plagiarism of Plautus with a dollop of hatred of hippies as I have said Meatheads fathered by Alan Brady, while mine worked for a living and didn't use pigeon English as a weapon against as CBS has done before, and surely shall again. She stood there in prefect relief in the deepening darkness off the always Renaissance night, as dark as is the day bright when LEONARDO draws, although as said in a previous essay about my superwoman, Leonardo is now not some house negro hoo dddee doing, but alas , back to normalcy, mere a house wop doing some sortie of house wopism over some deodorant spray for woman to spray on their popos for relief of the curse of eve, or something. She was gorgeous and fertile, sexual and yet, scarified, as we Italian have done for eons before Jewish comedians since Solly of Damascus brought their love of a baby killing god and marrying Ann Maria Napelotano to our shores. She wore an antler set as some ALAREIA DID IN ANCIENTS , BARELY CALLED TIMES, AND A RED BLOOD COLORED, OF NOT SOAKED CHAISE I BELIEVE THEY ARE CALLED, A SISTER CANT REALLY THINK OF IT EITHER, AS I ASK OUT, BUT A KIND OF BATHING SUIT BIT WITH RUFFLES AND OF LEATHER WORTHY OF THE VILLA THAT THE goons think they will message me out of calling this laughing beast, this gummadi K, Willies slut, the other woman who only a few years ago, was a sort and a type disposed of by all the pretty ladies all in a row. So the Sybil, she was stunningly gorgeous to me, and then, in half dream space land, I I saw the only one not as overtly devoted as was I and obvious the boy man in triumph there, a writer who looked like a pre In Cold Blood Truman, the mention of his name or at least of mad man Finch who played him so Tru was last uspsettedness id get from the collected creeps of the SS JON STEWART and his that as the day that was leaking Lena had started to take on more slat water than was healthy for a preatorains Ambra sea ship of state. Prettier than I had ever seen her in snapshot glory before I felt badly and looked down as the curvy, fleshy, anti age of anorexia as Gore called us once, antithesis and thus hated of Susie cream-cheeses and Italian as the trevi fountain, no better than merely that, at this attempt at Fellini's Roman, she was as Italian as the feminine corpa, as m,a called the voluptuous types, and somehow on this day when all those Italian grandmothers dying was a bloody read to draft and a bridge to no wheres, she resembled the Victoria that has been placed on Roman coins since ancient days. The writer who had been both bested by and escaped the Newark-er, as they refused to public Answered prayers as too did they hate mall fact wrapping and now, I will never allow them to forget that, he looked down on a small notebook pad and with a number 2 lead pencil, transcribed in the scavenger hunt, One Living doll, he dutifully recorded there.

As she stood there a perfect embodiment of the belladonna quantitation that my mother told me of, that sorry Jewish Husbands and even Seinfeld at the hop, your blond Hulgas do not have, a reason why Myrna Turner was married to who she was, Now. the newt Punctura something as I have said I have saved from a book and rather a snide on at that, and remap into a goddess usurping the accompaniments of the way Romans have since time immemorial, as she was recast-ed and armed into the mace we-idling, spike barreled RUN GOLDA THAT AGAIN DONE BETTER LIKE MAOISM AND BEER BY ITALIANS THAN MERE GERMANS EVER SHALL, he put out his hands to her and spoke in the same sort of schoolboys awe as I was deeply in myself. Augustus called it a Republic too, dear Punctura, --that line causing a three digit bounce on BLOGGER AND GETTING ME A TOP FAN FOR COLBERT, why who knows...? Here stood in sexual and ethereal perfection, the queen of swords, DEA improbability, my demigoddess, my Isis, like the Pictar pickpocket at the end fog that malevolent swerving booklet, he said, Come and fetch your supplicant, the Praetor called, in supplication as we have been since we were ROMAN ADDLED BOYS, I PRAY TO THEE, come to me, he said, Come to me my Melancholy baby, some to me and wipe from the earth the ravage of Tear sheet hacks and cabbies of empire, to the goddess of Ovid, not COVID I baksheesh thee, come to me, my Godless true, and tether we Yahoo spin and ring around Cassia as he flatted downwards and kisses the molten lava of Father Saturnine, --[i hear a last Sunday night sired in the backdrop along with whats opera , Doc...? shorts, as there is rumors he is undefinable by the secret crevasse so who knows what magic box that uncle Bill has arranged to spin the moon his way.] Come , he beseecher the perfect exemplar of his beloved, somewhere my mother said, in some drain pipes in some fruit seller in some gully or some alley ways bricks doth exist the beloved of his that Livia did massacre swat tears ago, she could , bless her Italian heart , top of the Terra Ma!, smelt it that night she saw wifey was despite to save herself on Don Hewitt Democratic a go go masquerading as 60 minutes. Need to get back him as the song sails I THINK, AS ALL HAD BECOME TOO BACKSTAGE EVEN FOR ROMANTIC ME. Ore, he said, Punctura Wendy, he said, And sweep the dust behind the golden door. Then he want into a soliloquy,

PUCK:

Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;

Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,

All with weary task fordone.

Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,

Puts the wretch that lies in woe

In remembrance of a shroud.

Now it is the time of night

That the graves, all gaping wide,

Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide.

And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team

From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,

Now are frolic.

Not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house.

I am sent with broom before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

BE MINE FOREVER, OR A LITTLE WHILE LONGER, HE SAID, AND MAKE THEM ALL KNOW THAT am...invictus. In the Roman gardens, I started to walk away, but turned as he seemed to plead with the roman goddess there as a exemplar of all that all we were and all that Lutherans and my mom told me hated, and there as the boy man pleaded with the curvy vison with and for god only knew what else, not to fall into his piggish faultiness, but something someone else had to go, had to be vaunted as his victim and his triumph. And with a sweetly done blown kiss, fittingly for him being here, no...? I turned and gave the supplicated to feminine vision, only a Hillary voter could construe mayday and the thunderbolt in this war state and GE stockholders meeting into some male gaze with has a tinge of sour grapes to it as the little foxes are never much noticed on the street confers which explains it all. As a lesbian girl incorporating my work last year said this to me, thinking again and sounding like a nun, no meter haw e are or where we are, we all must be married off. I sent her a slight pantomimed kiss as despite it all, and all the Andrew and Cuomo brothers who had brought us to this, now, in fact Hillary the queen, she faces a brunette other woman as the first woman eras after so mucky gypsy readings I was told of Antony and Cleopatra, and the one no less not the one by the balding English queer, but the one by the roman historian in pieces, that in fact my mother loved and named me out of, in that last great resigning of the praetorship when America still mattered in the age of something funny happening on the ways to forums. She survived the plannedemic, as opposed to Julie and many others, but that would many not Roman Bill or I angry, but hats too bad. And, with that I walked into the rain that had in this new Avalon started to fall in the night.

IT WAS almost ten, and was about to go to bed and watch the late night Bullwinkle, shown at eleven and thus seen as too perfect and too Juvenal for a nation weaned on the una bruna sympattachhi , as ma called them all, that Disney didn't like to admit did exist. SIGNINGS ARE SO BAD even a woke liberal might have to pay up I said to his humor. He gave me a small cardboard as a early birthday present, like some in the imperial parade, like some glorying in this or deafeningly quiet, I am a Leo. He gave me a small box and I opened it to see a small scrimshaw like Colosseum, he said to sue it as a paper weight, but having just ruined a ream of 12 x 18 sulphite drawing papers with small liquidtex black and bright colored India inks, I said no, and told him to place it with the rare Rocket-man figurine, and the few Supermen I did have. Then, shockingly to me, as i had seen bendy in my minds eye as the answer to all that Latina deaths of theirs, now a mere waste of time, I told him that there was a goldfinch that like Vivaldi, had settled ousted near the gates, and he looked to see it fluttering,and he said, That's that's been good luck since before our parents were even born, it good luck. I told him not to go anywhere, buy to allow the small green bird to jump on the gates, but he waved that off as he had things to do. Till, it was good fortune, HE SAID, THAT IT CAME THIS CLOSE, WE SAW IT AND THAT WAS ENOUGH,. I thought of how all was revealed that after noon there days ago, and the small goldfinch was a kind of return to the universe of life after the tortured animal elk on the median wall. Only woeful and glorious CBS did stay with the strangling, unpopulated, almost gossipy story of a percipient who had resigned, a third in my lifetimes, but none this, 

Well, Nick Sabine or bad boyfriend I break up quoth you on TWITTER SORT OF THING. YELLOW. As in fact the National Biscuit Company had left the death of Biden in mid Honorable man speech, Rachel Maddow isn't butch enough to play an Antony well, and they had in fact shuffled what you'd think they live for to cable, and the armamentarium to return to in fact, chariot races, my brother coincided, bugging away even before he, who assuredly doesn't care. NASCAR was broken back to, already in progress, and therein is no thing more Roman than that. HE WAVED HIM OFF, SO LONG SUCKER, SAY HELLO, my brother said, clicking off Biden, TO Mario when you fall into purgatorio. But Minerva's will I said, thumbingly playing with the small clay Colosseum the demeans of the res publica, had as Ennius précised lost their reasons, and their minds and had to continue on with Biden's dastardly, Quail nests insurances, and the Flavian amphitheater had indeed stuck back and struck again. Gods will, I said, without an implied apostrophe.