Carl Van Vechten
Library of Congress
The Mark of Cain: Chapter 1
__________________
“Spreading from the
middle of the lid
toward the eyebrow”
—Toni Morrison, Sula
The conviction that my birthmark was a Sula “evil eye” by everybody else—was a curse I had to learn how to live with. They didn’t want to be touched by me—my taboo tattoo birthmark. It had primordial beginnings—going all the way back to the Jurassic dinosaurs and primal slime.
My birthmark symbolized both the apocalyptic end of the world—as well as the rebirth and transformation of the devil once again. Cast out of the garden—made to be a snake with a pair of human legs. My birthmark was a Mark standing for the cursed Snake with Two Legs—the slithery Sula Snake there inside a dirty white boy.
One look at my birthmark taboo tattoo—and white guys usually wanted to beat me up or kill me. The look of my str8t black brothers & sisters was full of shame and disgust—just like the whiteys who hated fags and cocksuckers too. Young men would stare at me with daggers—or quickly look away grabbing their precious family jewels.
My presence was blamed on the prison system—with all those cooped-up young males butt-fucking each other! Or it must have been engendered—by the close quarters of all those African slave ships! And surely for heaven’s sake—there aint no such thing as homosexuality in Zimbabwe or the Congo! Surely being queer—is just a decadent Whitey Disease!!!
My sullen Sula birthmark—my eyelid stemmed blushing Rose. I try to cover it up the best I can— with Revlon eye-shadow and a dab of lavender-puce mascara. I wouldn’t wanna anger or embarrass anybody—with my snaky Sula ogling eyelid!
__________________
“Spreading from the
middle of the lid
toward the eyebrow”
—Toni Morrison, Sula
The conviction that my birthmark was a Sula “evil eye” by everybody else—was a curse I had to learn how to live with. They didn’t want to be touched by me—my taboo tattoo birthmark. It had primordial beginnings—going all the way back to the Jurassic dinosaurs and primal slime.
My birthmark symbolized both the apocalyptic end of the world—as well as the rebirth and transformation of the devil once again. Cast out of the garden—made to be a snake with a pair of human legs. My birthmark was a Mark standing for the cursed Snake with Two Legs—the slithery Sula Snake there inside a dirty white boy.
One look at my birthmark taboo tattoo—and white guys usually wanted to beat me up or kill me. The look of my str8t black brothers & sisters was full of shame and disgust—just like the whiteys who hated fags and cocksuckers too. Young men would stare at me with daggers—or quickly look away grabbing their precious family jewels.
My presence was blamed on the prison system—with all those cooped-up young males butt-fucking each other! Or it must have been engendered—by the close quarters of all those African slave ships! And surely for heaven’s sake—there aint no such thing as homosexuality in Zimbabwe or the Congo! Surely being queer—is just a decadent Whitey Disease!!!
My sullen Sula birthmark—my eyelid stemmed blushing Rose. I try to cover it up the best I can— with Revlon eye-shadow and a dab of lavender-puce mascara. I wouldn’t wanna anger or embarrass anybody—with my snaky Sula ogling eyelid!
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