But I was feeling some guilt—to my home side. To that part of me who hated Sheth at the beginning of this book but came to love him through lust and Alien intervention. Yeah! That part of me, now not dead, found me here in this cathedral of sport, throwing Sheth’s body on the waxed floor, and saying—
“Niggar! You have shamed me. You have shamed yourself. You took my white cock like vanilla foodstuffs, aiming my penile ejection at the back of your so-called throat and swallowing, swallowing, swallowing. You whore—you motherless whore. I took you from a seed before your mother’s womb. This is in the south, in Africa, before you ever seen White men and you was dancing, and dancing, and dancing, and dance. And I saw you from the remote viewing station and you saw me, staring at me through a point in the sky. Our own transformative Black hole. We have met so long ago and even then you were primitive and howling at the sky and I was driving my F-150 and spewing shit into our air. I was masculine! I was technological! I had a uniform! I could tell you what to do—and what more is there? What more power, what more luck from the gods, that I was born me and you were born you. That I sit up here and you kneel—down—there. My boot on your face. A licka boom, licka boom, licka boom boom boom. I was eleven, you were five. I spit in your eye in front of the truck, then kicked you in the throat. Dust swirled around us. I kicked you again for good measure. Then left you there, for you to get better. This is us from every relationship since Able and Cain. One of us is tilling the field. The other gets jealous and decides to kill us. We’re trading. One of us is just buying grain. The other gets greedy and decides to cheat us! And you, you created all this just to see how it plays out? You’re playing a game?? I just never imagined I’d be the toy in someone else’s box of Rice Crispies! I hope you die there, covered in cum.”
“I’m a neural cut out,” Sheth says. “I always have been.”
“You wouldn’t know if you were,” I laugh.
“Does it make you feel better about killing me?”
“No! It doesn’t! It does not make me feel one bit better about killing you, if indeed that’s what I’m going to do. Where was I? You were in Africa and I was planting the seed and then we were in Texas and there were so many Mexican Negras coming across the desert I had to stop and loose my dragon (the main vein) on a coupla their pussies but I didn’t look in there (the look of it doesn’t impress me, but they say pussy has no face, so) I only perked the tip of my dick on that South American pussay!! Fuck, man. I don’t want you to have no place to live. I just don’t want you living here! This is my Ohio—my Midwest. This is even my part of Dayton (that’s Oakwood) and I wish you wouldn’t drive on my streets. Just stay in your hood, ok, Niggar? Fuck Niggar woman (not White women). Eat Niggar food in Niggar restaurants. Don’t hold White jobs—hold Niggar jobs instead. I don’t believe where you show up. At my church. At my kid’s sporting events! AM I CHOOSING MY OWN ANNIHILATION???? Did I come here, to this life, to this Earth, to this gym, to this situation with Jennifer Lawrence (inside my mind) and Sheth Jones, killing me with kindness (opening up his asshole to gape for my load), presenting me with challenges such (challenges thus) and measuring my vital signs from the Computer in the Moon™, waiting for my ultimate gellation into THIS creature in THIS gymnasium standing right on these two stripes, knowing that this day I would fuck my man here, reliving my interracial homosexual farce and bringing my hand, my decision, to the top of this rope.
“My kids. My family. My country. My God!!”
I salute, tapping the heel of my boots.
The tip of my finger touches my brow.
“I am DEMON. I am PUSHKILLER™. My tongue is wrapped in solvent that cuts through bone. My teeth are filled with poison. It seeps into your veins. It waxes your speech so eloquent! The sweep of his penile funk is disappointing. Much more a funk in my drawers, skinny white penis crumpled up to one side. Elves live there, and demons—tiny red ones whose brains are the size of a pencil eraser. They sing to me at night and their song goes, Mister mister, mister man. We’re waiting for you down here—will you come to claim us? We’ve installed ourselves in your skin and bunches of hair and we want to eat you— Which is where they always stopped ‘cause I couldn’t bear to listen to the song. But I do remember a day down in Ole Tennessee. Lady Liberty was there. And Ole Aunt Jemima. And Her Skinny Spice of White Lady Panties called herself out of the closet and she took a seat. There was another southern lady—I think you know who she was. Her hair was matted below see-through stockings. And down that day in Ole Down Tennessee we sat under pinafores and drank iced tea and—yeah—we had racist conversation. If you want to call it that. My friend said, “Niggar,” and I laughed—it was nothing terrible. But we call ourselves the salt of the ocean and that’s the problem. Apparently we’re hurting people will all this action. Hurting them. Like actually hurting them. Not their feelings. Not their useless brains. But hurting them in their lives. In their bank accounts. In their college educations. It really all should come down to something—something in my childhood that happened to me that makes me hate Niggars. And there is. There is that thing. It’s my entire upbringing and every talk radio encouragement. It’s not like I ran over a Niggar with my car and he sued me and in that I decided to hate all Niggars. It’s that my dad, from before I was born, stroked my mother’s womb and said, ‘Son, you will hate Niggars. You will know them as the lowest of the low. I’m gonna raise this kid a Niggar-hater, hatin’ them Niggars with a vengeance!’ No, of course it’s more subtle than that. Of course it’s never spoken on the surface. It’s just there under the surface like, ‘See me look sideways?—Yeah—See this dodgy-looking bitch over here—Yeah—Turn your back on her when she gets in line.’ Or you never having Black kids at your birthday. You start to notice the only Black person who ever comes over is the maid. And in my case, I didn’t question that. I just went with it. I obeyed my parents. Now I obey my President/God and he says WE ATTACK NOW!”
Guess that was it. Guess that was the hair that broke the camel’s back. And now I have to lift you and now I have to tell you, “Sheth, place your toes—there!—on the edge of the ladder and turn the rope—that!—like that, thank you so much. You’re a doll, dear—an absolute doll. I can’t remember the last time I was hanging someone that I felt such grace coming off the person—in full force! I mean, really, Sheth—and the ass fucking was phenomenal. You’re like a Sunday lily on a Sunday lily parade. Tighten the rope—go on. This won’t hurt a bit after the first two minutes. Those first two? I’ve heard it’s hell. Don’t ask me who told me this but I have hear that it’s hell. Pure. Hell. For you to die to. A sharp pain in your neck. Your inability to breathe. Your eyes pop out of your head. So you won’t be able to see me but you will be able to hear me. Laughing. At you. At the spectacle of your dead body. Humiliated. Your entrails falling out in an alternate version. Of this text. Of my thoughts. Of reality. It’s all the same, and I’m squishing down into the well. With you. We’re together. Black. Finally back to Black. Back to my homeland. Back to where we all began. Why would I ever think that White is a privilege? That I am privileged to be that? I was only ever at a disadvantage when it comes to the things that matter. Didn’t Jesus say, It’s harder for a rich person to go to heaven than it is for a camel to go through the eye of a needle? Wow. Yeah. I guess I won’t catalogue the people I need to apologize to. Why would I do that? Where am I? I am—in the middle of space. I have—no body. This is like the viewing angle on some graphics program. Open it up, this is what you see. Just the origin. The X, Y, Z. This is it, before you create anything. I have no body? What?? I am stuck in space. I was in the gym before. Now I am stuck in space and I can’t get back to the gym and I might be here forever. This is death. I am done with life. I will stare into space without the comfort of my body and I will be thinking these thoughts that I share with you now, forever, in my mind.