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    The Black Rider

    authentic since 1981 'welcome to my bomboclot mind'

    Friday, August 5, 2011

    Scene (Opening for a short film)

    It is six a.m. on a Sunday morning.  The sixth of October.  Brooklyn New York.  Rain everywhere.  A fourteen year old Toyota 4runner is parked outside an apartment complex in East New York.  The year is 2008.  

    Inside the vehicle sits a 28 year old black man in the passenger seat, leaned all the way back.  There is no one in the drivers seat.  The windows are tinted in the back, not on the front, there are beads of water all across the auto glass.  

    The Saturday night before was filled with decadence.  Not too much though.  Just a lot of liquor and marijuana, and recently forgotten faces of fancy young women.

    In the back seat is one of those women.  She is passed out.  She is twenty two years old.  She is an aspiring model.  Her hair naturally long and she just got it straitened for the weekend on the Friday afternoon.  It looks beautifully disheveled now however.  Unintentional bangs dance across her long equine face. 

    The rain was furious the night before.  It is friendly now.  It patters upon the car like children's feet in an outdoor playground.  The man in the front of the vehicle is almost passed out as well.  However he has a few more years of practice with the night life and he knows what to expect on nights like this.  He is just asleep and handling a oncoming hangover with daft skill.

    There  was a driver.  He is in the apartment building.  He is laying in a familiar bed with an unfamiliar body beside him.  It is his ex girlfriends pad.  The girl in bed with him is a stranger.  His ex girlfriend is in the bathroom cleaning.  

    The strange girl in the bed is dead.  She has been dead for the last forty five minutes.  

    k Rider


    Wow.  Ok.  New Layout.  Liking it much. Been a long time since I wrote on here in my own voice.  Things have brought me back to creating.  I can't quite explain it all, but one could say that the 'winds of Euroclydon' have been battering my ship's sails.

    Definite change is imminent.  On the horizon, I see great unknowns, and in my rear view, I can see the familiar fading away.

    The world is big enough for new days and small enough to keep old friends close by no matter what soil you set your feet upon.

    I really can't go into details right now, but I am reminded of the book of Job and stories like Nelson Mandela's, in time, I'll tell of the turbulence, but the now, just know that the black rider is indeed black, in heart, in mind, in body and in spirit, and in the immortal words of HOV, 'I will not lose'.

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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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