Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Biscuits on a plate! /THE RIDDLER!"
...YOURS, THE MEMORY OF POP SONGS of cerebral-Biscuits, some trend-flavor of the (your) Times, that perfect Natures periodical epiphany, a flash of genius or sincere, (nobody forgets their youth time music golden oldies!) genuine inner genuflection which makes our passage through Time seem ultra real a 'la your first passion, a teen-age Crush so PROFOUND; a "Riddler", a "Ponce de Lyon" searching for that Fountain of Youth? (But in Florida? Why not Chicago or the outskirts of Torino-Italy!?)
There's a kick-in-the-ASS, that Cleopatra's ASP (Whoo!) who'll sting: Soul-bound! Not with-standing/Guillotine-threats, the howls of the Mob/the madding-crowd who chip away/altruism gone South which rattles your "inner-GIZMO" of your own personal (Idaho?) voyage to Treasure Island? "LAND AHOY!!!" (If Life was only that simple?) JIM HAWKINS: "Smart as Paint!"
BUT YOURS IS the Memory, your ghosts/regrets, a labyrinth of coils, the stuff of your inner eternity, that DRUM Tattoo, un-ceasing, marching U into that 11th hour, and promises-sworn, betrayed or forgotten, a Maverick in your Style? No magic carpet but maybe an Axminster, a comfortable rug? SEX!? Get it whilst U can. It's never too early, but sometimes ...it's too late!
But THERE'S the "Biscuit", a teeth-marked crumble/biscuit; perhaps a pre-destined suicide note never sent, some Apocrypha Bible book never published, the book of Judas, Mary Magdalene, almost forgotten yet recorded in Sanskrit, Sumerian, or Biro-penned on the back of some old Hippies Vinyl-L.P. to at last settle, perhaps on YOU or another's historical memory... That pesky RIDDLER, the mouse in the wainscotting, that turning of the screw. A dark cloud appears. A wedding ceremony. Vows & all: Whence U pronounce, - Oh what the hell? "I DO!"
c.2026. Dave Delacroix.
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