Chapter 8 Wedge 4

Think of some horrible goofy nigger as black as a tumor in your brain, like the black consciousness of that cripple genius in Harlem, and the DJ would start off with that, as if it reflected his Extraordinary mind.Shit, shit, hold your breath, hold your breath and it will make your lungs bulge, and it's like the soft snort of a black trouser pocket turned inside out.Bishop Berkeley, Crazy compto computer into old DJ's head, am I the real world black maniac with a broken leg Harlem hypothetical lunatic who thinks I'm that genius white guy from Texas in Alaska Boy DJ imagining my opponent in Harlem land, actually, good God, actually, I, DJ, already trapped in a Harlem head, this head is already crazy, I feel like I'm in a commemorative Alaska During the banquet on the trip, which was held at the house of a white dumbass preacher in Dallas, I was really a hypothetical black lunatic, deranged by a tormenting rage and depression that was inhabiting a fictional white brain at the moment, or Does this person have ether in him? Ain't DJ white, ain't sixteen years old stepping into a valley where death breaths through eternity, DJ just got shot in some fucking crippled nigger and felt a sliver of intelligence or whether this is the miscarriage of consciousness in a tumor just under the medulla of his white brain, in which the spirits of hatred have gathered, in which every molecule dances, creating a new flesh, malignant tumor, melanoma.Is it too late for Nome and Barrow, Alaska, Fairbanks?

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