ROMA Volume I - COMPENDIUM - [The Spoils of A General] by Samuel Kebede - The Roman Memoir - HTML preview

Chapter 32 - Showdown

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Technically speaking, let’s fight is a correct term in the clubs when you want to get down. Well, not like on the ground but onto the bed, after picking up the twist of the night, but not like from the speakers, just from the floor of the dance one. The prettiest little disaster you can find, tipping on your finger tips, like a shelled oyster, after she tells you her name. “My name is White Russian”, she whispers in your ear. “Ah, my name is thirst”, you tell her. In the honor of meeting her, you take down her phone number and promise to call her the next morning. On your way home, she sends you a text “come over”. Once you read that, you feel the earth move beneath your feet, because the heavens have spoken in your honor in sight and mind, but all she wants if your lips on hers, and the tasty cherry you put to glaze the glass, is the only drop of vermouth you need the rest of the night.

As you see the light of her bed chamber from the window from the porch, you reach for the gum inside your pocket, hum a little song to tune the feels, then you dash in there for the door, like a champ of the galaxies. You see her white dress there under the nice little dodge discolored “Vodka”. You pick up the underdress, like a frowning protestant convert, then proceed to the hall for the checkout. You know you can afford it, so you hold her tight in your arms, like the knight she dreams of in her dreams, then find yourself running to the grocery store, for the cherry on top, the condom. You search the isles and find spread cheese next to the bitter 2% that you want to unwrap slowly, by the top, after paying $2.50, expensive taste you have there. Your dream land awaits, right on your couch, where you plan to subdue the nice miss beneath her strong arms. Drastically, the night starts to rain. As it pours on, you can’t seem to protect your phone from the rain. So you two grab a seat by the edge of the bus frontier. As it pours, your arrival is nightly. The words she sent you, along with her attention on your phone that reads “read’, bothers you a bit. So you kiss the night goodbye, because her tender lips are 79

maddeningly shaped like the way you found her in the club. The rain pelts away, and the drifters of the night are not there. They are idly moving into the quick service restaurants, and as you gaze in the republic made by the clouds, little is on your mind. You think she might be cold, but would it really make a difference, when your aim when you get home is to take your clothes off since you were wet? At least it will be on your own front porch for the night is over, and you kiss her goodbye with an asterisk next to the full sentence of your message inbox. You turn the night off and head towards dreamland, what a horrible reign that was.

Chapter 33 - The function of the city

Late at night, I think there is not much use living with regret. I sometimes account for the times I might have left some relationships un severed. I ponder what not to do, if there was not a clean escape. I worry about my health because most of the women I went after for infidelity, are grown married women. I breathe forward, inhale the lump in my throat because if they are still single, they are a decade short of menopause. I cry on the inside when I realize I do not have the slightest chance with them anymore. There is hope in catholicism, thereby bedding them in the chamber of your mind, in your thoughts where you are thought about the birthplace of sin, but it 80

won’t keep you warm at night, nor pay the bills, or procure wellness in a course set for family life. Breaks in the cotton of the pillow edge of your un-ushered call. I think rudely, value must be in seeking them wholly. Then there is the threat of restraint, where they will file for disorder in the court, and shame me in civil law. They wallow in thoughts, some married, and likely go to churches to ask for the same, but I am not with them. Damp the bed is soaked, when I pull the sheets over, and unbending to my reason, the past subjugates. The history or lack of one, makes me hope I reach for the mattress the moment I return from the bathroom.I want to close my eyes and fathom how I can change myself.

When I look at the office desk unoccupied, valhalla awaits me. The city doors are open to welcome their fallen soldiers to their midst.” I take on a project or two. I feel myself.” “ I can open work on an excel page, mitigate, then fall into slumber. Defy the odds! My thoughts race. I know there will be no hope in pursuing them for the Roman life calls me forth. There is no glory in turning back, nor will I disturb the waters of my name, with my own hands done be the moonshine of the night stays undistilled. Orthodoxy will falter. I will go on to the red district on my own. Should the time arrive, I might not want to wake up before my morning coffee. With the night wallow still lingering in my eyes, despise and spite flare. A movie of three here and there, I shall await for the bright morning.

I want to learn to program, but it should be left to the newscast when you watch the morning weather. I want to watch television, yet, the 100 year old technology, along with the 200

year old telephone app, have no place in my room. I do not want the phone to ring, especially to ask me to “hang out”. I am not an ornament for the tree. “No I do not want to hang”, next to you, 81

or anyone else. You can pay the price of democratic liberalism yourself. I will not keep you company while you dangle by the tree, because I do not love you that way. I then bitterly want to put an ax to the television cable. You spoke well, the same way like your grandparent in the media. If the message is still undisclosed, why should we not leave our relationship disconnected from the start? There in stands the last city to be doomed, the Tv and The cellphone, where their government is rendered useless, when you turn them off, for they shall never reach you. I want to turn off the lights when I get to my room. There is a security measure in space, where if you purposely make errors in the station above, you will be charged with a crime. There are only a few countries on the moon, in their spaceships. I want to turn the power off in their chamber, while they are on top, in the places where there is no air to breathe, so they can know God. No matter the scientist, you turn the lights off in the crafts, they will bend the knee, out of fear, lest they confess darkness will never be light.

Chapter 34 - She is a dark woman

I feel there is no savior for anyone under the earth, who does not want to be saved. I feel it objectively, because should the need arise, the antagonists are the heroes in movies. Darn, bell 82

them kindlessy, shore to the glad warrior of the light, and firmly behold the Gladiator, who will take whatever course needed to make an want of the general a reality. Her name is “get it done, by any means necessary.” If she likes it coy, be there for the instrument she is looking for is the happy warrior of rome. I must say in some cases, Spartacus is a hero. He was the bad guy of Rome, but a son no less. Spartacus is a visionary, who upon realizing there is enslavement in the way the other gladiators lived their life outside of the playground, he started leaving out sexual fantasies, starting with abandoning orgies. When he saw his moves improve in his matches, he started to isolate himself from the crowded rooms, where the pleased citizens cheered loudder.

In the moments, his freedom was in sight, and upon realizing no-sex was the way to go, he moved ahead with his next plans to experiment with little numbers. He tested threesomes, and saw how lovely the drunk fighters upon waking up in the morning, lost traction due to their want to have a live night. Soon, he was whimpering the grounds, tossing the flesh of his opponents to the mouth of the tiger. Upon the growth of his fame, he was left with the dark woman, the one that lived in his thoughts. She was the prize of them all. At night, she brought him comfort as repayment for the warrior that he was. Late at night, the moon whispered to him, kindly asking his care, and she worshiped the Roman he so desired to be.

Late at night, he thought of her only, while a butcher in the grounds, the scars of his past became history. The orange cuts from the blade of his fights no longer felt bold. They called in

“A Slave Rebellion”, but he was set free from within. Instead of fighting for his right to be a citizen and earn honor, he chose the woman over his life of endless “fighting”. So as the story goes, the west ward header, set to the tides, into the vast territories, to find a farming land to live on, where a simple life was much needed. He married there on the land. He lived as a Roman, 83

although a former slave, far from the territories owned by Rome. Soon, the blueprints became conscious. He found himself completed, in full armour with trained soldiers at his side, dare believe, they neither knew it, but felt it. They were ax-men, who learned the lifestyle of a former gladiator, turned republican. They were as surprised as he was for once a Roman, always a person of the sword. The story of Spartacus does not have a happy ending, but as senators recall, and tell it today, he was not a fatherless mob. He lived by the sword and died by the sword, wielding his own choices, clasped within his hands, because he wanted to write the story of his life on the tablet of his heart. I do believe he won their respect from that moment on. He redefined what it means to be free, by learning the Roman way of life. In his stand, he died a warrior, and a son.

Chapter 35 - Dare say, I have

Never have I ever climbed all the way to the edge of a mountain, tossed myself over, and say I have lived. You know evil, then there is the military that you have never heard of. The story is about the assaulted man in the bible , who had all his money stolen, then he was beaten up to the ground, and while he fainted, they took pieces of his cloth and there was no one left but him, lying on the dirt road. They were thieves who wanted to earn a living by taking his wealth. I realized that man does not have it bad quite recently. I would rather be him, than the two men who saw him on the ground and left him for dead. The third one helped pick him up from the ground but in this tale, this is about the other two men. What their action is called is not 84

“dodging”. They ignore him. Ignore is a golden word. It is worse than dismissal. They knew about his state of being and they likely knew he needed help.

The worst thing in this sense, you can do to anyone is ignore them. Don’t pick up their call, do not listen to what they have to say, just pass them by and keep going. I doubt there will not be any consequences for these men. If the wages of sin is death, and murder is sin, they did not murder, therefore they are not to be put to death. No? How about a life on the term of pershing, in sight of men, who purposefully lost track of the kindless, the muscular tension in their eyes to behold the truth, if they saw his wounds, they could have saved a life. So, in argument pits, let these facts be put to reason, how then are these men, and a sentenced man to death with an ax, different when the course could have been changed with payment to consciousness?

Much like the thoughts of a woman in mind, and an heir lagging on arrival due to insufficient breaches, is the cause to let a man parish in the middle of nowhere, for it is no better than death. Naming the Catholic church in favor of the lack of advocacy, therefore, is a hit and miss in education, with the purpose of robbing the world, there in catholicism of the mind and household fails us all.

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Chapter 36 - Fabricate, if you may

Tenions, right on the back of the mind, full of fine hits, right from the get go of the fight, then the thunderclapper turns left, rightly prepares a jab, then while set up is in play, plays the person that was punched in the face with lighting speed. Then the porn scene cuts. The actors go home, then they get their pay on a cash app. That is modern pornography, a fight between two persons, for the view of the camera. It should be said nowadays, “let us fight”. It is a match on the ring, the one worn between the small and middle finger. No matter the price, I think the reason is mostly due to women not changing their names to their husbands last name. In marriages that end on a bitter note, it is better to sign the papers, or get in a fight from the start, with good feelings of all kinds behind the steering wheel. Feelings should they be expressed, I think do not leave a bruise. You feel them and move on. I used to bite the tip of my nail bed to make a small bleed when I was a kid in private school. Not that I didn’t want to learn, I realized blood is the most valuable thing to people who teach using a blue pen. With the notebook at your side scribbling away, without the right to go to the bathroom, you can always reach the nurse if there is blood. It is not accounted by the teachers as leaving the room for any kind of spoils, because they can’t imagine students being clever enough to cause harm to themselves. I would head to the pretty nurses office to look at her, and witness the care she provided me without being dared.

While in over, the dampened era of college in my journey forward, I could receive certificates to practice marriages lie high above the high school diploma, and right below a college degree from the community. Marriage certificates are of value to me, much like the freedom of all republicans come from the signature, nevertheless, come aboard the single vessel 86

and find the lack of blood of the way out of marriages. It's actually, the good ones, the slippery slope here and there, “ I was only out with her once” that leaves the side jab bruises to the paper.

One hook, with the right push from the back, then, the kiss which was initially supposed to be for the wife, leaves the contract with a hole. The leak is not the main concern, it’s the acronym, in kindness to the tearing my index fingers endured. From the sorry blue, you fein disorderly conduct with small reds, and from the one given in the red, you carefully out do your handwriting, to find more of the nice stuff, the soft underside using your hands to touch her tummy, and the closed eye caress, hits the paper like tinder of a cardinal. I fabricated as a little boy to leave class, and as a college student, I did not. I witnessed others try hard, to find they have not left highschool, hiding behind terms like “without the purpose of evasion”. The job is not being evaded, but the good feelings that have left home life a wreck.