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Subject: .-.he who made the lamb made me.-.


Author:
Garudo
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Date Posted: 17:31:38 11/21/03 Fri
In reply to: Bella'donna 's message, "*Garudo" on 10:24:35 11/19/03 Wed

If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself that
the tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out that he
is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion.



Surprising that one so large could maneuver with such dexterity and grace, enough stripes to dizzy any artist who dare wish to reincarnate him upon a canvas, the Siberian wove through the compact prisons of the forest as if he had made this walk a hundred times over. The tank upon limbs coursed the labyrinth like a passing shadow who wished, above all else, to remain unknown in the minds of those who walked in parallel to him. For, what else is feared more than the unknown? However, it seemed this dream plain of ghostly being was to be short lived. The bearing, tingling sensation that begins at the base of one's neck before scurrying down the spine, like someone running their finger across a sharp piano without missing a note, made the virile striped cat halted. Some would call it "the sense of being watched". Limpid amber flaked eyes rounded back over a massive shoulder blade, peering at the hessian; all the glory of the ancient mesmerizing wonder of a tiger's eye that humans have yet to manipulate held in those two oculars. So there the night hunter stood, serpentine tail flicking at the black tip, eyes snared upon the estrogen side of his breed. It's not nice to stare.


There was a young lady of Riga,
Who rode with a smile on a tiger;
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger.


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Replies:
Subject Author Date
-.Not gonna fade.-Bella'donna14:35:20 11/23/03 Sun


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