THE TRIAL OF FIGARO.
You are watching Curia Television. Part IV.
New York Versus Weinstien.
- February 2020.
I was heart warmed to see a show beloved by my Mom called That Girl had returned, as the last time i imbibed in this wonderful fantasy of the emerald city of Capote, and a land of Perskey and Denoff, just a hair removed from Neil and Mel and Carl’s wodnerland, I felt an inner peace. She was a lovely brunette and Italian girl respite from a feast of Janus OF THIS PIG, AND TODAY ON AN IRONIC Valentine’s day, she was on all day, as a Roman girl of the sort that made Cornelius Tacitus eschew the men in drag in Euripides, as that never took off in fashionable environs of Rome.
As if just discovered then Pakistani sweetheart Archie Penjabi could cool a raging soul about losing a mother days after it occurred as she had with her dimpled loveliness, then, the return of Don and Ann as new York pilgrims adrift in Merman city, could, like Bob Burgers did twelve hours later each day, allow me to calm a not as vividly angered soul, as i recited the punchlines right along with them.
So I wait to eat each day I get up for Ann and her ABC mod Batman before the grime and Aids cocktails hipness, as see a whose who of great actors beside the late great Ted as boyfriend per excellence, but see Richard Dreyfus, Dabney Coleman, a truly peppy sidekick girl named Bonnie Scott, who unlike Mary and Lucy, CBS monstrosities, Marlo, ah sweet ms. independent, future Gummaddi Marlo, didn't make 15 pounds heavier under threat of perjury, an actual crime as opposed to the bullshit of impeachments now, but whose counting...?
I watch each day as Ann strolls and in frantic Ingenue thrilling goes about the great city, spinning through the fountains at the then spanking new Lincoln center, thorough Soundhiems and Loessers brilliant Broadway, with a tyrant based on L Strasbourg, perfectly played by Billy De Wolfe, and act sadly not dons as well now on the ruins of the Columbia Broadcasting System, and there is Don’s brilliant career as a magazine journalist, we had them then, before, even the vaunted New Yorker would have in its vaunted pages of incomprehensible cartoons and now those left out showing Trump as a war monger as even the rabbinical order of now has its dissonance.
And I think of the vulgarity now fashioner as news, anything but showing unseen coffins coming back to unseen mothers. I sing along with sound effects with the Vivaldi of television themes, Earl Hagar's brilliant theme song as the camera pans across black-rocks, if still there, might have been torn down, and not just by Al Kida for the reclamation project, as opposed to health care concerns that the newly baptized as Mike, Mayor Bilko, pushed through, with Imam's and Madrases not invited , not that again Barry the deity made anything close to a fuss.
I watch almost pleasant, hard to be now, Ann, as she bops along fifth avenue, with ray bans, and I find, maybe its her black hair, or short bantam chicken like touchiness that my pop always liked about her, or maybe a sister who loved her who had to become a victim of medial circumstance as italics seemingly always do, as i have to hear about spics and their sharecropping American dream when all I got was Talia Shire. A previous years essay called then For Gore Vidal, then re-titled as a scattered novel , a first one really written, called Other Cities , Other Pillars, as I am a stinker, about the cesspool the new Yorker and Publishing had in my schemed to become since the golden age of Don Hollinger and the old woman I had seen, on the then shown Tomorrow shoe, a tomorrow that was never gotten to by Scarlet or Macbeth, or us, I alas was seen somewhere, where else, by a scout for this PEN cabal. I felt like it was 1974 again and the Jesuits came to St. Peters, this one here, or there now, as the society of Jesus had heard of a student they wanted to recruit for their bulldog kennel, as they were constantly on the lookout for point guards, cheerleaders who wore wool skirts well, and Jesuit lawyer students, and not always in that order. It wasn't the blond polish half breed queer, to his and church ladies dismay as I looked like just another wop hood, a dime a dozen, and wasn't even frail looking enough, like Obama or Martin S, to even seem as smart as the priests thought I was. It was seen and read, the essay against Will an Grace that made a woman at a known magazine actually stop and think about what she was laughing at, as she emailed me back.
Ah concern and interest is nice, but, if I cant place it on my resume, at page 13 now, as devoted each acceptance to my Ma on the other side of the Moon, in the noble comedy and not Tennessee’s joke book, as admiration I’ve have had enough. And how some f*g on parade here, doing a queer Jerry Helper take, now suddenly not as vanguard or as beloved as it was in the age of Monica, but then, what ever could be...as they try to forget where they had been and how they all got here.
21 FEBRUARY 2020.
- The shamelessness that my father and the jurists said was at the Dis ice center of this cesspool , down where Brutus now a lesbian or a poli sci hack weeps with a Cassius meant to play Too Jewish, was shown relegated as much as anything, and ever before. The bloated, jellyfish skinned, Jewey, doge, worthy of a hidden Shakespeare play, batters and buffers himself through unhatched unseen debates that lost their charm, when Cornelius grandson, told the plebes to not actually applaud for Newt, their champion once, as there was already too much money and soot wrapped up in the smarmy little negro who'd they'd make a saint before he had to be a liberal.
Now, with stop and frisk again acceptably grandfathered in to the black trash, whose captains are always looking for the charm of a post dated check shown in commemoration for the Bloated Jewish Macher, who runs for praetor in a worse year than even fellow chosen golden boy Al Al Franken had to deal with, Bloombergh tries to get enough spear careers in his commercials of hard sell, as in antidemocratic politicos, as my father warned me, ethics belong to who got in the bigger check.
Maybe not a year in which a distracted DA is trying corporeality to walk that line, as certainly doesn't want to make any precincts lost, by cobbling precedents, by getting any fat bloated piggish rapist in jail whine he has this many pictures of him beloved by the uninitialized Gods of novae Roma. The Frankenwienie case drags on-wards, befitting someone who thought wrongly that Annabella Sciorra—and by the way why does singing Waiter wiseguy mob councilor, Arthur Aida whatever, the bald one, why dos he keep calling a fellow Italian , always the best names for pleb victims as Tacitus and the Clinton marriage shadowed, why dos Lex here keep calling her Sciorri, as if he cant say the name correctly, like a Bush brother running for a presidency he will never get…?
Too much time, I fear at Fox 5, AS HIS WICTHEIPOO COMPILER MAKES A MISTAKE, I THINK, as even a wholefoods producer of two films about Harvey, ah Capote merits, but what do I know, as she sues a tactic I thought was discredited of what were you wearing …?, asked of a rape victim. She dared asked to rape victims, which my mother in fact said was a gimmick used by an Italian lawyer, one step above Cahlhoooon, if that, a relay I mentioned to Rachel Maddow, often, a thug named Mumfredi, who she said, was brought in lest the Italian girls then dare to cry rape as the cheating husbands knew that they could merely trash any Italian woman vociferously who dared mentioned that husbands were depreciate for the Beatrice factor.
A belladonna effect as she called it since I was a kid, that their white bared, mayonnaise wives could not even pretend to give. There is a reason that one like Harvey could lionize Huck Finn, dimwits blond hags like Gweeennnittth Pal-trow E Pal-trow, and not succumb to beguiling Annabelle as he did with chocolate dicks, and DVDs of Roz Russel as the girl Friday...see…?, as his Madonna whore complex was there, just as perforated as he did everything. A man cant constantly lionize and hagiography white women, slaves and holocaust victims without making his darker parts even more darker, a kind of Jewish Strombolis chiaroscuro, that came with a serrated egde. I mention Rachel Maddow as used to bothe—hect--connect with her, as was asking even in ‘16 if she knew who Ambra was, and how she could cry and carry water for a hag who had Stromboli on the payroll. But then if anyone has decline and fall written upon their foreheads, as Mom said, it was that two pigs from Hot springs.
AS let Harvey Korman, the ruins if Mira-max ‘s gray flanneled hack on CuriaTV say that if let go as he thinks he should be in new Judea, that Harvey will become a Schweitzer and build hospitals, maybe Rape trauma units in his name, as shamelessness is outre business at least since Colbert came from buying crullers and underage girls for his Rob Petri Louis CK, and became the heir to Merv Griffin, whose very same theater marquee and name shines there as Donald Hollinger races back to Newsweek magazine, which now I take it would be allowing a dago hag like Rotundo would be suing for jury stammering. Sorry, Tampering, as if!,...like shes that sharp, as I’ve gotten sued to hearing Curia Radio play Donnaluch stammer in transcript form, when she got answers she somehow wasn't expecting, as she made the mistake of actually believing the filth-bucket to whom she was reduced , when child killer barristers and Old Eli Wallach looking shysters said to Harvey to take a walk, in Bay-side Parlance.
But again, my mother spoke of the belladonna factor, and I think of its Machiavellian equal opposite, the Coppola factor, in that eventually there must be some Jews not on the clock, not with bags to take from here to there and back again, as the tragedienia isn't that big and west sdies and east sides and the wonderful town aintvwaht it used to be when Ann and Donald went to the opening night at Neil's new play, aren't as divergent as you'd think as north and south happy lil islands are, I wonder how much shit a jew can eat before he thinks, as I did with the Sopranos, that I and we don't deserve any of this lawyerly, clever, shit.
So, Harvey made the most jeusitcail of mistakes, though it sounds wrong, it is not, he stakes too plainly and openly how many angels dance on the head of a pin, but does so at the Kremlin of my boyhood where they all , and I mean all, said how much they love Mayday and not in a Dante and Beatrice way. Harvey, true to his puppetry form, has in fact, shown my dad was right when he said to me, sad that I had been given an interview at Stanford, but for cinema, a fake art form which is what it is cackled by Martin Scorsese when the old wop with snits while making films with aforementioned Harvey, or filling the days with being a commercial pitchman, for Rolex's and jolt cola, again jokes of mine coming true.
You're boring Harvey, as each nano second that goes by, each interview Seema must give to the great Gadzoo, or attorney Ratso who shysters woppishly for the cameras, as Jewish judges were there, but there little proof of, - like Sasquatch, or Gloria Allred that sadly and prefect brings up Scott Peterson as your doppelganger—Ouch!--each second is more dirt on your unkempt, unnoticed, unwanted grave, as burn in an Inferno that DA sonny boy, never wanted and by looking at a disjointed strange butterfly ballot of a jury form, poor Cyrus the small is unsure which bribes to take at all.
Last year I write a piece that got the usual accolades, IE, send more later just not so, you know, called the Manzoni papers, about my Mom's favorite writer, Alessandaro Manzoni, and his tower of a masterpiece. It is a brilliant book, called the Betrothed, about two poor shlub Italians, the real Romeo and Juliette, say, the Italian ones, caught in the gears of imperial, or worse than that, medieval power plays. The ratios of power, it is called by Calvino, a way I have tried to write my own small new journalism template at the Harvey trial, as sometime think I am the last one who read In Cold Blood or The Right stuff, as now we know women who laid it on thick and won awards that should have been given to Mia Farrow Junior, instead were sued as ways to cleans dear old yen-ta Jodi and such, who we know know, when Ambra did everything that woman are now pilloried for by various Jewish pontiffs on Curia TV, well, she was instantly and immediate called deranged and other vicious things, a basque connvivio for the Italian girl, for some reason we had to save the blotted Jewish creep who was raping girls, probably, like Tiger and Rotheleisberger, the right ones, meaning sadly brunettes, to show the waste yard that he and enemy Scorsese helped make a pit that my father never liked, and never was stupid enough to buy into its con of decent tenements, and nobelsets savages kept in North Dakota winds.
So, he goes against the Roman rules of circus and becomes that most un-Roman thing, a bore, not even willing to take his bow, hiding as he slithers into a courtroom, looking like something from a Warren Comics page of horror comics, as I rethink, the colorful four color goriness of Wally Wood in EC pulp pages was alleyways beyond and beneath him, and that is no compliment as he lives out his infernal creed by poetry written not by an Italian genius but a hollwyood hack, a front lets say, with no Zero to make it at any point sad enough for care.
As was boiling eggs for a late breakfast and a magazine from the Writers guild I joined came, almost concurrent with this bulletin, They at Curia TV cut into a usual case, I.e., about blacks either killed and or caught by 5-O, I was altered by a Brother, that the case of the modern Fatty, came to a dower, dire end. I was peeling eggs when saw that a hallway showed that he was found not guilty, which angered me. No, a voice said from the other room, No, hes found guilty on the second charge for which I thanked Libra, the Roman goddess of justice, still hovering over the courtroom temple, whether finger-painting patricians like her or not. And again I impress my sharper yet more romantic brother, as one count as found guilty against Jessica Mann, a girl prettier than any i've ever had and wouldn't have abused so willingly as gave again Caterina's one part after a next. How did I figer that, he saked, as knew , some ingenuity part of me, still a Jesuit schoolboy that I heard the chimes at midnight and he abused this woman, and making a rape victim race from the box in tears is stupid even for a woman to have thought out. I was glad to know again the inferno has a pig that ate its own tail, and the Orobus is encircling itself.
I as the jury lets him die as say a Polish Pope had, to the pinpoint that all drama is bled out of it, more like pig at slaughter than anything any Jewish minion can use to any advantage, sorry, have to say here, publicly, as have parts of Artist and Models out hither and yon for your considerations, let me get this straight….When ten years ago, I was being lectured to by Project Green light, for scripts about Italian killer bankers, Etruscan myths, Italian men hung in the Klan fortress of Fort Lee New Jersey, and the crumbling Roman Senate, that while that was happening, the doges of Venice himself, I could be sharper than that using your poems of imperialism, was raping and tarring and abusing every cute brunette that me and my buddies in art school loved….? Cause again there is something sad about that.
Despite , maybe because of white hags and c**nts of the court page who seem investing in letting Herod here rape whoso ever he liked as long as the bought and paid for character witness that was paid to testify, not their daughters, god knows. As I always wondered what would have happen if Monica was blond and a Wisconsin heifer cheerleader type, but then that might by lastly we I never liked as a Jesuit pre law boy, hate speech and hate crimes laws,. As the wolves in cheap clothing know and even telecast which sheep to mangle, don't they…?
Yes, now with breaking news that in the second actual day of deliberateness by hour counting, that indeed Harvey, HarrrVeeeey, has been decked again by the image of a Sad Roman clown, Ralph Kramden who waylaid him good. He is free of the top charge, as that would necessitate that this jury would actually believe pretty ANNABELLA, and my mother warned me, not too long before her end that this was the way we chissel now. That is sewer system, with me and others as a Black coated Lime, certainly not that broad jumping cartoon gumba jew who wouldn't take his bow, that Martin Scorsese helped make into a cesspool with Marble walls, as Caesar so long ago aptly covered the dying Roman senate. Another Stromboli falls to the earth and cashes as Jews finally have been want to do in the shadow Interregnum of a hag who never knew when to quit. And there, just as I said, floating over our Hollywood Salo, a Beatrice above the Jewish Sysosste cesspool this thing was, as actually found it wearing and regretting the longer it went on, there was Ambra, the Italian girl who desperately begat the whole thing.
It was no yentas nor blonds not Fox Five hags who started this as much as Ambra did, a name meaning much to me, as used it as a name of one of my cartoon anti heroes, Ambra Rime, which means Dark Poetry, as I had as usually rewritten the story of Germancius, one of the first Roman stories, that I had overwritten down as a kid. Ambra in the new Amsterdam sunshine stood firm and as a Lucia, who was the one who brought the Shylock doges down.
I'm sure Shylock is hate speech by now, as of all days to show that Signora Fortune is turning her pretty, dare I say, Orange Cheek against the curia, and when that happens, daffodils who lunch dinner and midnight snack, woo, watch out! Ambra stands vindicated , as the bowling for shysters has crashed and burned again, which is why the brethren adored me so, as kept this law fandango from looking too much like Jewish theater and more like Roman farce, as it was meant. I wish to say here, placed a screenplay called PYGMALIA, on a vineyard pretending to be a Cineretta studio called Zoe-trope, and it was taken down quickly, as the haled full wops, and such of that vineyard called me Anti-Semitic for having a bloatware buffoonish character in that play based on Harvey and his rivealry with Victor Glissando, Scorsese, who in real life, though,. There was no Metamorphosis that Martin was planning as was Victor under the Bolted doges hooked nose, but those are the cum stained hands with which Martin made sure he mad another Gangster Movie this time with the dared Irish. I feel my dad was righter than I ever gave him credit for, but then he knew the Roman books that Billy the kid pertains to have read and read them in original Latin and Italian, which I dint want to, and yet thought him the peasant and the paranoid.
My mother wanes even in dreams from THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES AS Chanley meets with Ambra on a sidewalk summit, as the shysters cons were made mute with her. That who you did business with , hollwyood creeps as Jack the agent-producer who liked Roman Mythology, at a distance, told me. That whose hand you had on sicicilan puppets in what my pop said was a minstrelsy show and a puppet show without the artistry.
And on this day no less, wop trash like sash wearing sonny boy Cuomo bitches at the goys about a prescribed love of Jews, irony as the Germans call it, as I do think how sad it was that as I was being lettered to about jokes allowed in the age of Mel Brooks that I was being tutted at and lectured to by girl Fridays, lets call them Claudine Pimps, who let this animal run roughshod over only it seems Brunettes, who like Ambra weren't playing to the tenth row. And, affable good-fellow, that's fellow well met, a favorite on Curia TV of mine, Ted says sadly, Ambra had her life taken away from her as even being a rape victim in this crucible with rabbis allowed in as prosecutors is a finish line to women, no matter how many twitter followers you collect.
So, good night unto you , Harvey and the hags who came to your defense against one too many deadened brunettes, always be casting Harvey dear and learn that the dumb brunette act put Dame Hillery where she is hiding today. As pretty, lovely, Chanley stands at the hall of justizia, as a later Vestal as I have said, in the sunshine and the now breaking up crowds of plebs and as Harvey is remained and fingerprinted showing that again the Orobus has started to eat its own, I say give me your hands if we be friends and Pinocchio shall restore amends. In the piece I had sent out that amused some, and angered others, about Manzoni, I had stated back when Epstein was still hanging on a –yeah, Rope,i said that all this dump needed to be more like a mdevel Italy without the warmth or the charm, mideavel doges crushing the poor Saps who merely wish to live lives outside of the Rodrigo's and Bilbo’s who wish to rape one Lucia after the next, was a Shylock, a pandemic, and somebody raping the wrong brunette.