Nigrim Puer et Dark et Eius Mammouth - The Black [~] Dark Boy and His Mammoth by The Roman Memoir - HTML preview

Chapter 16 - The Illusion backstrap

I find it paramount to put here Backstrap is indeed pretty nice. I have really enjoyed the taste of the smooth venison as the flavor melts into the bones, metaphorically speaking. This delicacy however is quite rare. I have changed my focus to enjoying the time left until I hear back from Towson. There is still plenty of space available in the summer term. That one single document, whether I get accepted or not, will determine if the general population will just see me as another deadbeat graduate or a person who persevered through political turmoil and made a home for himself. It’s been quiet, very quiet. I have been getting no urgent mail nor any need for labor has been required of me yet. If I was to subjectify the document, she would still be she, the wondrous she that will fix my economy. Her arrival has been a bit late, but the villains don’t win because they are weak. In sociology, everything looks perfect and is perfect. There are red and white roses growing in the garden, and flourishing. The white rose is blooming and shows 43

evidence of having grown roots. The red roses seem happy after having been cultivated and nurtured. Spring is in full view, and no one is in conflict.

Oh, my little Tiger, won't you come to me While I eat my fruits in the garden, under a tree I am waiting here for you, I have all the remedies Let us make this life bright together, like the Roaring 20’s.

Everything is in full bloom, and points to life, but I do not think I have any more Ace’s either. I think this rejection would be a huge blow to my economy since I put everything into it.

The best and last stretch option would be to give admissions staff an ample amount of liberty without me in it, especially since the weekend is coming. I have poured over hundreds of parliamentary documents and watched films. I have studied my political guts out of all forms of government administrations. I have also peaked my ability to perform. Seems like it would all be in vain, starting from 0. I think my books are rusting too. Some of them were written in the 1600’s. Some from the first A.D. Hobbs and Moses will roll over in their grave and ask Emerson Ralph, a pass of the spliff before they blow their skulls one last time at the colossal failure that will likely ensue. You can never be prepared enough, yet I have stretched the limit. The best part about it all is that the ball is not in my hands. Nothing is expected of me. I’ve put my best foot forward. It's like asking someone to walk across the continent after you tell him he might or might not eat with you. I have finished the walk and reached the state, except this time, there is nowhere to “turn back to”. I know for a fact all forms of politics at this point are just talk to 44

cover the air, especially since there is nowhere to lead or follow. All talks of business are useless too, the money has yet to materialize. Without an in, it’s just another great journey nowhere.

My mind still lingers on how good last night's meal was. The delicate taste and the soft meat are still haunting me.

Chapter 17 - Finish brexit or no dice

I seem to be going through a little hiccup of a problem. As the days dawn closer and closer to when I might get my armada back, I can't help but linger on the possibility that it might happen. I spent all my time preparing for what I should do in case It might not happen. I have forgotten to account for what I should do, that it should happen. My thought process however cannot help but swim on the possibility of whether or not I should be preparing a scapegoat or a safety net plan just in case I do get my ship back. I can sail straight through to where I want but there is also the matter of expenditure where even when and if I have my ship in hand, it will not leave the coast for two months which leaves me with the thoughts of what I ought to do after. My first reflection lingers on making amends and saying goodbyes one more time to everyone, to sail off into the sunset so I can take on the world. Classes start May 31st, and I doubt I will be allowed to set my sails until then, one of the main reasons being I really do not want to. I haven't 45

left home in a long time. The last time I shipped off, I was out for a grand total of 3 weeks before the whole thing sank to the bottom of the oceans, I was the only survivor. My most successful adventure took place between 2013-2015 where I was out in the waters for a grand total of two years, and I ventured endlessly into the far reaches of the world. My ships were loaded to the brim with gunpowder and resources of tremendous value. To be clear, the problem, or the issue at hand here is not having my armada, its actually having it. I have not prepared for what should happen if my plans should indeed work and I have the keys to the engine in about 3 weeks.

The only solution I can think of here is to stay the course I have been on for the past few months.

In political language, a hard Brexit will be detrimental and hostile no matter which way we look at it. We have to find a way to get the deal to leave, and if not, leave either way. This outlook also has a blindside, however. The answer lies in whether the exit should be prepared on or after the deal has been presented. If we had managed to get the deal on the specified day, we would still not have any resources to leave. Which leaves the conjecture, the utmost yet inevitable question, that the procurement of currency should begin soon, especially since we have none at the moment.

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Chapter 18 - The Monarchy Letters My dearest dove, Megan,

Whenever my heart aches, I simply command it to beat to the rhythm of war in spite of my mood. I fail every time when it comes to you however, my dearest darling, because it starts to sing. My melody and tunes long for you. The youth I once cherished despises who I will be without my dearest love. My treasures laugh at my face and bring accusations against me. "We will not survive this winter", they barge at me, "at least not without an heir", I hear them. They no longer trust my leadership. How can they when the only person I think about is you, my foxy lady. I think of your smile and I am perpetually lost. I imagine holding your hands in mine and my mind forgets to reason. I think of us having a family, then I pass out. I can't help but imagine another snotty one that looks like you and me, running around the house causing chaos. In my dreams, I consider the possibilities of our endless adventure, then come morning, I do not want to wake up. Your love is so tender my dearest love. I long for the spark of day, just to embrace 47

you again, perhaps this time eternally. My only wish at the moment is to hold you and never let you go, for you to bask in my presence and me in yours. My deep anguish lies haunting me. I try to express myself in words yet I fail because my desire for you keeps consuming me. I love you a thousand times and over again. Come our next date, if ever there was one again, I hope it will be the last one. Think of me, cherish me, I will always make sure to keep my ignited soul eternally open to love you always.

Your dearest one, Sam

Dear Prince William,

I wanted to tell you about this dream a bit earlier but now it seemed adamant. It was last night, I saw myself heading down a familiar path, with forest surrounding me, in the rock creek, somewhere around Romanian Avenue, and I proceeded my strides a little faster. I felt strength and my heart raging a little under 45 beats and ready to do my duty. After a few strides, I looked towards my left and heard the sound of an echo, a black bird, a distress which said, " do not go that way". I turned back immediately, and then I witnessed the likeness of armies, revolutionaries rising from the ground of leaves, heading left and right that would have frightened me to the core. I kept going to the right and they dispersed. Into nothing where I was dressed in an outfit with all black, the likeness of a cop, taking into the night from the relentless fire from my front door at 8503. She was the most beautiful woman so weak and distressed, on which I held with both arms and brought into the house. As soon as I did, my brother appeared and sent our warning signs as he looked at the weak woman who I was holding in my arms. He ran back to 48

his room in fear, distress and worry. She was so weak, and I loved her. I went down on her and out came yellow, red and white as she came in my mouth which I proceeded to spit in the trash.

It was Megan M, but the only thing I was thinking was, could the English be so dumb to name their new Maryland flag after the color of pee, cum, and period along with darkness in the dream? I don't know much about princesses, but I woke up and brushed it off. Could this be just another dream or just stupid shit I learned during my ventures in hedonism?

Best Sam

Dear Prince William,

Lately, I have been having a lot of unfamiliar dreams. I was wondering if you can help me figure them out. I keep having dreams of princesses profane and glowing like the moonlight, speaking wildly which I undercut with my foot to drop. I keep having dreams of shiny white horses by an airport that reproduce by the hundreds and are strong and beautiful, large black and white birds with strength and stamina that look like herons flying in dense clouds. Just this morning before I woke up, a group of wolves, loyal and rich and knowledge surrounding me at my bedside with a woman waiting for us to "complete the deed" while the roman princess quivered in anguish and pleasure with moans while there was a large sum of money in my left pocket, but she wasn't interested in currency. The place looked very poor, like the slums but the 49

wolves were beautiful. I looked to the left and they stood with me. I looked to the right, and they fed me. When I left, I had really strong wings and I could fly underground, and the beat of my arms was not rusty. At the moment, I am left a little perplexed since they are foreign to me yet magnificent. Anyways, I do not know if you got my last letter, but I am still interested in the beautiful Lady Amelia Windsor. Perhaps along with her, we can be a family.

Best wishes on the coming holidays,

Samuel Kebede

My dearest Valaria,

Day to day, my love for you grows and I cannot wait to see you again. My longing heart awaits your incoming assault to my ego as you make me relentlessly persistent while kicking it to the curb by your swift moves and lavish lips that drip honey. I want to hug and never let you go. I want your arms around me, and mine around yours while we look in each other's eyes for hours.

I want to hold your hand when we walk under the moonlight to swim in a village lake at midnight, and you kiss me inside the cool creek with love so tender that it makes cherub blush.

To the divine Amelia Windsor,

As the day seems to be going at speeds, I can no longer look past, I can't help but think of the moments when things used to be so simple. The days where I was not concerned about getting 50

old nor about my legacy, or what I have achieved. You keep thinking to yourself, and so do I.

However, my reluctance towards exploring better options of spending my time are much more limited than yours. It has indeed been a while since I wrote to you. I think when it comes to love, I look back and find none to what I hope to probably read on the pages of romantic authors. I have tried countless times to make ends meet on the matters of time. I look at myself in the mirror and I am no longer the person you can refer to as a "youth". Midlife crisis and rebellion seem to be the only ventures to look forward to that bring however much excitement in my life.

Revolutions turn me on more than the plug that lights my phone. Yet the ideas are so much better than the reality of it. I do not believe you might find any substance in this letter compared to the ones in the past. I think much more of my passive thoughts of what I have been thinking and much less of my love for you. To say there were none would be wrong and maybe even a lie.

Yet, the reality rests with me having submitted to an alien authority with my wishes buried under magnanimous debt to the republic and a rudimentary senator. I sometimes think how simple it must be to get married and carry on just like the rest of the population, and then I look towards China and India and realize they could do much better by going through the back door. Probably having realized the end of youthful days, my attitudes seem to be changing towards that of a hypodermic cunt. "Where have I been? Where am I?" These questions seem to arise daily but in regard to you, all I have to do is reflect to understand the perfection of my position. Although my life is pushing forward, I see ours daily getting closer to being one. Our motives are perhaps the reason we keep running into each other. As your beauty fades, so does my youth. But not the times we will likely witness change before our eyes.

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Countless times I have tried to ignore politics and the aggregated forms of solitude and submission. You would think however way about matters of state but even when you ignore them, they do not disappear. We have duties, they do not. They are the duty. Much more than yesterday, today seems to be the pressing matter because come tomorrow, it will be gone. I wish I could spend with you much more time than I possibly can to explain how and why I would rather spend all my time just looking into your eyes for all my days, yet you'd likely wish for a different outcome than the position you are in now. You'd think your days would be better spent corrosively obsessing about what it would be like not to be you or your title, yet I am here to tell you nothing you do not know but quiet feelings repressed by glad passions. I think you and I do not fully appreciate anything. I think even though we have a lot to look forward to, we ignore many sources of joy and happiness for the sake of cleansing ourselves in the name of our family.

I have been in thoughts of you but not the kinds you would wish or want. Thoughts of active matriculations. Not the conservative kind but much shallower.

When I think of us together, I can't help but imagine your hand in mine, on a bed watching movies from sun up to sun down, the warmth of your skin and the smooth edges of your physique. I look at myself and I do not see anything on me that is on you. You're so different.

You're so soft and cute and very cuddly. I touch my hand with the other and the rough nature of it kills my boners. You're so fluffy and come with hair that smells like a garden of roses. I smelled myself last night, and then thought of the neighbor's dog. I bet he had it better in the shadows.

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I am willing to bet our babies will likely be like Lucifer if they exist. If only, I could express how much I love you in words, my darling. I hope to see you soon.

Much love and kisses.

Your dearest, Sam

To Lady Amelia Windsor,

My heartbeat often dances to the rhythm of your voice, prancing like a proud stag, staggering to be made perfect once more by your love. Perhaps, it's Saint Peter himself, who has blessed my lovely lady to be so perfect and whole, made solely to be my guiding angel, a light house to my vessel, a towering figure in this perplexed life. As my life keeps going, my thoughts reflect on my aging body and what glory awaits moving forward.

Sometimes, I realize some of the desires and passions I want to express must be left behind for the common good. Of all the pleasures I keep sacrificing however, this specific one I can't seem to be void off, a marriage to a fine woman. You are indeed a fine woman. Oftentimes, I push aside matters of state that concern me because wisdom dictates caution. Other times, I throw myself in politics that do not concern me for the greater good. Of all my labor under the sun, I can't help but think of legacy, majesty, and lineage. When I am 6 feet under, what would be the 53

consolidating moment in my life I would have said, "this defines me and tells of the story about who I am". I believe that answer lies with you, my lady. Brute I maybe but may my love for you be everlasting.

Your dearest, Samuel

To the most loveliest lady, My doe, my lost city, Lady Amelia Windsor, I woke up this morning and was in deep thoughts of what it must be like to live alone in such a big continent. I look towards the east and see a vast ocean, and then there is you. Putting things together, mid-morning I came to the realization I know a lot about the country, much more about the ocean, and then there's you, my Atlantis. You are the ocean and the country. The strings of my heart keep playing the same music of adventure when I think of you. I want to sail on the deepest oceans with the storm behind me. I want to travel to the further edges of the continent to satisfy my heart, but I would miss out on the former. You are the uniting point my solemn princess. With you, I can do both at the same time. It all starts with the thoughts of the taste of your lips, tender like the Atlantic.

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I love you, Sam