Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix, No.29: The Rider from Damascus.
THE RIDER FROM DAMASCUS: That pale rider, that Cavilliere who tried to save his TIME; some whizz-kid riding on a Apocalypse stallion, swift a-foot UN-seeing the beauty of seconds, minutes, hours, days passing by; and a POEM, a Girl's Heart, a shoreline, a sunset, a NATION's RAGE, a dying Wisdom imparted, all passing by, he PAUSED to check his Cell-Phone?
The Rider from Damascus who, YO! -Abandoned his herd of Camels/couple of Gals/and who pretty much - in advance - insulted DIABLO; pre Mohamed, incidentally, no body gave a Monkey's Uncle/usual retards just threw rocks at Pyramids/nobody minded/illiterate/no graffiti. Allah-akbah had yet to be articulated: In shah-allah?...
The Rider from Damascus, fevered, his horse, frothing-mouth, the way-side Inn-keepers, the Witnesses, the Whores, The Merchants, the Poets, the diabolical journey's Night? Who SCREAMS? Who sits aside in WHISPERS: the road leads to Symarra where every one KNOWS except U ...Death and or Salvation awaits, even your HORSE is enrolling in a foreign language course? Your riding GHOST is your Immortality? Multi-lingual?
This Rider , that Pale, now succubus of an excuse... of a Man! Le Chevalier! Who wraps around his cloak, adopts a defiant posture, swears to GOD he still OWNS 20 Camels and ONE decent Credit Card as he strides into Symarra, his name is HAFIZ: lacking no illusions. He IS the Rider. From Damascus. And at last? He can look every son-of-a-bitch in the eye as no-one returns his gaze. At this point, HE, like the horse he road in on...crumbles into dust.
...In the dust there are some Clothes, some Trinkets. No doubt the cleaning ladies will conclude a Stranger's Tale.
c.2021.dave delacroix. Corozal, Belize.
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