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    The Black Rider

    authentic since 1981 'welcome to my bomboclot mind'

    Sunday, August 5, 2007


    Her neck smelled like hibiscus. I could lay my nose there all night and never come up for air. her skin was as soft as baby wipes. How tender and frail she was, and in the grasp of my strong hands, see seemed even so much more vulnerable. In our ferocious embrace, I beheld my every want and desire in a fiery cocoon.

    "This is why we cannot be friends" she says.
    In my mind I'm thinking she is so right. I am in love with her though I will never tell her, and she knows that I love her, though she will never let me know it.

    "You have to go now. He will be here any minute. You cannot be here any longer."

    It grudges me to leave. I am a nice enough guy. She is not my girlfriend, wife, nor fiance. She cannot be. The cheap wine we drank has not made me drunk enough to use inebriation as an excuse to hang around. I leave in humility with the image of her ample bosom fixed on face. At least i can still think about her. Whoever is picking her up now will have to compete with the work I have just done. And if I played my cards right, that hickey I left on her neck should provide just enough consternation to ruin her date.

    I drive home in my beat up four door coup. A sky blue 1987 BMW. Snazzy ride for a 24 year old man in 2005 still living with his parents.

    The road is dark, I do not know my way. I call my friend five times to help with directions. The glasses of wine inside me do not help any.

    Two days later, I'm drinking again. Haven't said much to my amour. We are not in love I keep telling myself. I am a fool really, for I imagine that she will one day come to love me, though she tread me as feet does a wine press.

    My friends and I are going to have a good time tonight. We are going to drink and smoke and fuck some sexy girls.

    I've already have two glasses of Jamaican rum. We are smoking weed now. I am not really a weed smoker. I'm driving now. We are going to the club. I wipe out on the highway.

    My car spins three times. The first time it spins everything slows down. A car drives by me at what appears to be five miles an hour. I hold on to my steering wheel extra tight. "Ten minutes after ten" I tell myself. "Ten past ten." Wham. I hit the divider. A concrete wall about three feet high that runs for about fifty miles or so. Sparks fly from the hood of the trunk as it slides along the concrete, the car is still going at about ninety miles an hour or so.

    Another spin, I'm back in the middle of the road. Wham, I hit the divider again. This time I'm ejected from my seat. My head slams on the roof of the car. I feel something hit my nose. The car spins again and stops parked parallel to the divider facing the oncoming traffic in the center of an eight lane highway.

    The car is smoking. I look into the rear view mirror to take a look at my face. Everything is OK. I feel my legs. Everything is OK. The car is smoking. It might explode. I do not know. I have to get out of there.

    I open the door as best I can, unbuckle my seat belt and run. I'm running down the highway from a smoking car.

    My friend saw the accident. They were ahead of me. I look at them. they look at me. They hug me. "The car just spin. I dunno what happened but it just started spinning."

    "Lets get outa here before the police come. We do not want the to start asking questions"

    I got to call home. Where is my phone? It's in the car. I think about leaving my phone behind. But that girl. I do not know her number by heart. If I leave my phone, I may never hear from her again.

    The car is smoking, hssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. "I'll be right back" I tell my friends. "I'll be right back."

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    If you know me then you know my name. I am The Black Rider and the world is my Flame. The rider writes, observes, creates, produces, and learns the world around him. Ride on. Ride on!

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