Vaseline

The room still smelled of Vaseline.  The night before was still there. The remnants of her hair was still on the sheets where they made love that morning.  Even though she had left for work, it was as if her ghost filled the room.

The TV was on mute with the captions on, the local cable morning news was playing.  The radio was playing a CD mixtape she had made him.  Big Sean, The Weeknd and Dwele.  The Weeknd's 'High For This' was playing.

Paul was in the bathroom feeling guilty of the turn his life was taking, he had a woman his age who was in love with him, but he was falling in love with someone ten years younger than him.  His face was over the bathroom sink ashen with guilt.  He tried to wash the pain away with the shaving cream that was mixed with the facial hair he had just sheared.  The hair and shaving cream washed away,  his angst ridden conscience didn't.

His heart never felt more heavy.  At this age, how could this happen to him again.  He should know better than to put his heart on the roulette wheel again.  But a gambler is just a gambler.  And Paul was addicted.

The first time was vicious because it was unexpected.  This time however, the loss would not be Paul's, it would be the world's

The Black Rider Strikes Again part Three: THE CHIEF!

                                          THE INQUISITOR PART THE:  THE CHIEF!


     It was a hot August afternoon.  The temperature was well in the high 90 degrees.  The officers in the precinct were busy filing papers and going through case files.  The chief however sat alone in his office starring at a spinning ceiling fan that just seemed to make his office more hot.  The AC was broke.  the repairman wasn't coming to fix it for another forty eight hours.  The chiefs dress shirt was soaked in sweat painting islands of liquid upon his chest.  The chief was lounging in his leather office chair, feet plopped up on the desk, drinking from a glass of ice water with cubes of ice in it.  His eyes were affixed on an old framed photograph of him from twenty five years ago that was standing on his desk, a photograph of him when he was himself a cadet in the force academy.  He was the same height and weight now that he was back then.  Two hundred and forty five pounds heavy, and seventy seven inches tall.  The chief was not a man that tolerated change much.  The only difference between him now and then is the speed of his gate, and the lines on his hands and his face.  And his teeth were a bit more white in that photograph.  Otherwise, he was the same man.  All of his contemporaries had put on weight, lost weight, lost hair, or lost life altogether.  The chief was the same man.  Just a little older looking, and a little slower.  The heat was beginning to get to the chiefs head.  He fell into a deep summer sleep right there.  His mind drifted back to his days in the academy.  He began to dream and remember at the same time in a hot and humid summer haze...
    (..."Jump!" yelled the drill sergeant.  All the cadets jumped in unison.  The sergeant looked at the boots of every cadet.  He was looking for the cadet that leapt  the furthest from the field.  One cadet, a monster of a man child that simply went by the name Chief, despite his rank in the forces, had the greatest leap among all the other privates.  The sergeant walked right up to Chief's face.  "Well well, you must think you;re special or something eh?  All these guys here are struggling to get twenty four  inches of the ground from standing still, and here you are leaping an effortless forty inches of the ground.  Are you on steroids or something private?"  The sergeant asked.  "Sir, no sir!" Chief replied.
     "My God, look at ya.  You're taller than everyone here, stronger, you are the heaviest private in my barracks, and from what I'm hearing, because I do hear what goes on in here, you are the fastest and strongest too.  All of these boys fear you like you are God among us.  I ask the boys to jump and you fucking fly!"
     Chief looked down on the Sergeant.  His face betrayed no emotion.  The Sergeant was a small man.  all of Sixty Eight inches tall and one hundred and ninety pounds of solid muscle.
    "Well I tell you what..." the Sergeant was now speaking to all the fifty other officers in the field.  "...as long as I'm in charge of this group, I'm God.  What's your name boy, Chief?  They call you Chief right?  Well Chief come forward." 
     Chief walked forward with no protest.  
     "I challenge you boys to cut this false god 'Chief' down to size.  Any cadet that can come forward and go toe to toe with big Chief here, and defeat him in a fair bare fisted fight, I will award you if you are successful in victory against this freak of nature, three square meals a day from my own personal chef.  No canteen bullshit food for the winner for an entire week.  And I'll allow you to share it with your pals too."
     Chief was perplexed.  His face nor his eyes showed his thoughts but his gut was in knots.  Why was his sergeant turning his own cadets against each other.  And why was he singled out for his God gifted attributes.  Chief had no ambition to supplant the Sergeants authority, nor did he imply that he had any such ideas.
    All the cadets were in a mild shock as well.  They were being put on the spot.  They were all tired of eating the canteen filth sloppy joes and corn dogs.  They had heard that the Sergeant and his ranks were feasting on five star four course meals three times a day.  Asparagus and steak and eggs for breakfast with sausage and sauerkraut.  Baked Zitis with six cheeses and black peppers and red wine for lunch.  Roast deer, ham and ham hock  soup for dinners.  The cadets would almost kill each other to sample this feasting for a week.  Now they had the chance.
    Chief moved his mouth as if to speak, "Hold your excitement Chief, there is something in this for you as well, should you be victorious, I will not only have you and your pals feast for a week, I will make you my assistant, you will learn the ways of our force firsthand.  No private has ever been that close to our sacred secrets at that level before.  Now, what do you want to say?" 
     The truth is the Sergeant had answered Chief's question before he even asked it.  The Chief was now excited as he longed to learn the inner workings and secrets of his force.  
     A skinny and hungry looking private stepped forward to take the Sergeants challenge.  "I will fight him Sarge" said the lad.  "You!" the sergeant replied.  The lad that came to the challenge was pale looking, feeble in appearance.  "Yes sir.  I haven't had a square meal in years.  I'm not afraid of anyone."
     "Well it's on then.  Should you fail at this private, and I think you will from looking at your appearance, there will be no medical, you will go on with your affairs on your own dime.  Should you win by some miracle, I will make sure you get the best medical care however.  Do you still want to do this?  There are other privates that are more suited for this particular challenge than you."
     "Fight or die." The lad replied.
     "Is there anyone else among you sack of scrotums that want to take on this challenge other than this filthbucket up here?"
    The groups was silent.  They all knew what Chief was capable of.  They knew that Chief would show now mercy with a chance at learning classified secrets firsthand on the table.  

    "Well that's it then.  Chief, fuck this bitch up."  The sergeant said, as if to prematurely concede defeat.

     Chief walked up to the lad's face.  Chief was Nine inches taller and sixty pounds heavier than his challenger.  His challenger looked up to him square in the eye.  There was no fear in his eyes....)


To be continued.... 







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The Black Rider Strikes Again

                                                        THE INQUISITOR part 2

     The chief sat down behind his desk playing with steel marbles in his hand as he looked at one of The Black Rider's letters.  A haphazard hand written leaflet that appeared to be of little consequence, but it's contents were grave.  It was the composition of words that the chief did not want his citizens reading.  Words like these were as poison in his eyes.  Seeds of malicious and rebellious thought that would derail the din of discipline that the chief had spend decades to culture.
     He looked out through the glass window in his office door, to make sure no one was looking at him and knew what he had in his hands.
     The leaflet was folded in two, made of newsprint paper, it's letters were written in blue ink.
     The chief put his feet on his desk, his freshly spit polished black brooks brothers shoes made a thud as his wooden shoe heels landed on the surface of the table, he placed one wrinkled and weathered hand on his furrowed brow, unfolded the leaflet with his other hand, and began to read its forbidden contents...


"fly like a flying fly
to have pain is to have pathos
to have emotions is to have ethos
pain and emotion breed and carnal convulsions create the eruptions of Eros
cry baby cry
the hands will heal you
face upon the breast of your mother
no claws shall steal you
hunt hungry hunt
feed the desire of pleasure
kill vagabond kill
'tis your nature and your will
be fearless and unabashed
your sorrow is a seed
the heavier the load, the more portent there is of a bountiful harvest
do not despise your afflictions
embrace your uniqueness
live your life as your recognize your death
trade will for ill
let not nil be the fruits of your daily expiration
glean and plant again
eat and kill again
love and laugh again
be carefree and careful, delightful and deliberate, celebrated and celibate,
smile with a cunning disposition,
see with the eyes as weapons.


THE BLACK RIDER."


    The chiefs heart was heavy.  His head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.  As he folded the illicit leaflet, a headache of immense proportions became born in his brain.  He quickly arose from his leisurely pose and jumped up to an erect posture.  He put his hands on his head to try and relieve himself of the pain of his oncoming headache.  The leaflet became crumpled in his now sweating palms, the office was at a moderate temperature but to the chief it suddenly began to fell like a humid summer afternoon inside.  He crouched with his hands on his head and began to shriek.  He let a loud whelp escape from his guts.
     His officers heard the commotion going on inside the office.  One of them, a young cadet fresh out of the academy made eye contact with the chief through the office window.  The chief knew from the look in the cadets eyes and expression on his face that the cadet knew what the chief was doing in the limited privacy of his office.
     The leaflet was now crumpled to a paper ball within his hands, the sweat from his palms beginning to dissolve the paper.  He threw the paper ball at the glass window.  It fell to the floor with an unimpressive plop.
     "What the fuck are you looking at?" the chief yelled to the young cadet.  He rushed to the office door, opened it up, and marched right into the cadets face.  The chief towered over the cadet.  He was four inches taller than the young and impressionable lad.  The cadet was looking at the crumpled piece of paper laying on the floor.  He knew the words on the crushed leaflet was forbidden prose, corrupt compositions as the chief would refer to them.  The ramblings of a dangerous madman that was regarded as a destructive virus that infects the unprepared mind.  However the cadet, deep inside just wanted to run over and grab a quick read.  In his mind, the cadet thought, one read cannot hurt.  Not at all.
     "You think you can handle that filth?" The chief asked the cadet pointing at the crumpled paper mash at the office door.  "Well, do you?"
    The cadet quickly shifted his gaze to the chief.  The chief was so close to the cadet, he could feel his breath on his face as he inhaled and exhaled.  The chief smelled like smelling salts.  The cadet's heart rate increased as he looked into the chiefs stewing eyes, his hands began to shake.
    "Give me a fucking answer you sack of shit!" The chief demanded.
     In his heart, the cadet knew that he could handle the words of The Black Rider, he knew that he was capable of processing what his entire company, family, and town, and jurisdiction claimed were poisoned decrees of a heretic turned lyrical.  Nonetheless, the cadet looked the chief in the eyes and replied "No sir, I do not believe that any of us are."
     "Good answer."  The chief retorted.  "None of you are." He turned his gaze to the company of officers now looking at the confrontation.  Where the chief stood now became a stage.  "Don't worry about me reading the letters of the libidinous lecher.  I know what he is doing, I know what his agenda is.  People should be not allowed to read and think the thoughts that he is out there proclaiming.  We've got Hundreds of his letters in here, safe from the preening eyes of those we are sworn to protect, and must protect them from this, but there are thousands of letters on the streets.  Thousands.  If you had any idea of what I just read, all of your heads will turn to mush.  So stick to the plan at hand.  Get me the head of The Black Rider.  I want him alive to answer to his rebellion.  Is that understood?"

   "Yes sir."  The officers replied in union.  "Yes.  Sir."  (to be continued)



























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The Black Rider Strikes Again

                                                               THE INQUISITOR

     "The Black Rider has returned.  he was quited for a long time.  Years.  He has returned.  Pasting his fumes upon the walls of the town.  His lyrics are putrid.  He must be stopped.  His lyrics must be kept secret for he knows too much.  He see the world for what it is, for what it really is, a banal sap of effluvium, pulled taught to be consumed by a vacuum.  He will cause Anarchy.  He will cause the breakdown of our mental construct, our establishments.  People will revolt, they will rise up against us, we will lose all power.  Do whatever it takes, stop The Black Rider.  Stop him now!"

     The words came from the lips of the chief like fire and lava erupting from a volcano.  The chief's eyes were filled with hate, his heart was filled with vile.  He hated The Black Rider for everything he stood for.  People were ....(to be con'd).

















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Carmelo Anthony's Tattoos

So I was watching game two of the western conference finals tonight and noticed Carmelo Anthony's body is now become riddled with tattoos. Come to think if it, So is Lebron James.

It wasn;t that long ago when tattoos were taboo. Now a company will more likely have a 'family friendly' tattered family man like Lebron James market their product than a beleigured star like Dwayne Wade. When did this happen? How have tattoos become so common place. It was just as yesterday when stars like Dennis Rodman's tattoos were considered freaky.

Times have changed. Tattoos are now legitimate. Mike Tyson has one on his face. Rap artist 'The Game' has many on his face. Meghan good has a prominent tatto of Marilyn Monroe on her forearm. It won't be long until we see a prominent politician as sleeved up as Lebron James or Carmelo Anthony.

I think I'm gonna get a few myself.

It wasn't that long ago that Carmelo was the kid from Syracuse, the college alternative to High School hype Lebron James. Now they have both evolved into tattered stars in their own right.

Carmelo's Tattoos 







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sup bitches

wus good world. another blast from the balck rider. the brooding auteur, the wrider's writer. is america's 'defense' trying to sabotage the american president by leaking helicopter imformation to iran? is this rfk, siran siran and reagan/hinkley all over again. a covert coup from the inside. only time will tell. the budget-treaury busting stimulus plan has only just begun. got your green car yet? didn't think so. not unless your a latte sucking pill popping medical marijuana smoking elitist getting one of those brand spanking new tesla sports cars. that make the prius eat dust. what an electric car should be. just make sure you have the two hundred grand and electrical automobile charger to boot. if there ain't one at every corner, what the @#$% are we talking about. more words for you l8r young world. the black wrider is now signing off. come back for more comics and the likes.


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From the 'Rider's Desk'

Good morning folks. Another day to fight the recession. today most of us will wake up and go to work, clock in, perform and clock out. If you love what you do, you will relish your performance, and try your best everyday to make it the performance of a lifetime. If you are apathetic about your gainful occupation, your performance today will have no import to your existence. If you detest your job, your performance will reflect that in turn, and reward you and your audience in kind.

For those of us that fall in the latter two categories, if we have any ego or sense of our self, then we desire an escape to fulfill our dreams. That of being gainfully rewarded doing that which we 'love'.

The question today is, how do we, while clocking in and clocking out daily, accomplish fulfilling our dreams, whilst we occupy most of our waking hours, fighting against it?



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