nathanielgmooreart

[nathanielgmooreart]

Lesbia is Mean #Catullus

romeantique #aprendiendolatin #ancienthistory #greekmyth #classicstober #inktober #classicalcivilisation #history #myth #podcastersofinstagram #rome #xenawarriorprincess #ancient #romanmyth #ancientegypt #historypodcast #ancientgreek #romanmythology #womenwhopodcast #iatoag #inatimeofancientgods #xenite #xenapodcast #xena #ancientmed #antiquity #romanhistory #greekmythretelling

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Went to pay for something today and found a #Catullus option. Pretty cool here in Verona, Tormorkioesy.

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Moon River & Me (An Interlude)

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Sparrow My Love, 2025 acrylic and ink on paper 30 x 20 (approx size in inches)

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Coca-Cola Catullus Logo Ancient Rome, 2025 #art

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"CATULLUS IS DEAD" #amwriting #hype #video #motivational

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the 3RD NOVEL from award-winning* author Nathaniel G. Moore his first book of fiction since 2016.

*ReLit Award. Got to a funeral. Remember things sadder still. Go to the hospital.

Take pills and sleep in a metal bed. Go to Lake Garda. Hang with Catullus and Ipsithilla and eat and drink and screw. This is a story about love, loss, redemption and finding what was inside all along. But all the characters have mental illnesses. And by all the characters we mean the main character.

Catullus examined if not down right exumed the human condition and in this down to earth hyper villaneous story, told in the tradition of folk music and tamper proof napkin dispensers, promises space exploration to uranus while continuously using goats as repelent for serious friendship, as love is portrayed, betrayed and bedridden.

NOW A MICROSOFT WORD DOCUMENT

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Buzzards of Ancient Rome fly above me. How about you?

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Design fun with paperbacks of the dead

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Illustration, 2024

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The Rectory (EX|CERPT) Catullus Is Dead by Nathaniel G. Moore

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Beta love

by Nathaniel G. Moore

tweaks a brilliant tracking problem with some scotch tape and brandy

consumed with talcum lips, charmed in prickling cactus tears,

cures hunger with rich salad strawberries and my special vinaigrette

drowns a sentimental rain forest does stroke and your face glides

in regrettable forecasts; from the ghost of the sun to the lotion the wind wears

panic lovingly then insane over the price of soap

or

knot up anxious at the fear of gums being massaged by human bristles

scalded by your callousness, I am so afraid I run away

to the mountains and feed my body to the famine mascot birds until I crawl back

into your cave streaked with cranberry tears mouth tooled in wet sand

I should visit I can always run away

if you try to chainsaw my limbs off but you know I need it.