The Mark of Cain: Chapter 3
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“And the LORD said unto Cain,
Why art thou wroth? And why
Is thy countenance fallen?”
—Genesis 2:6-7
I murdered him every night—I couldn’t help it. I strangled him to death—and got every drop. If I hadn’t done it—somebody else would have. One of his girlfriends—or one of his boyfriends. They all wanted to make him bad—and so I did him instead.
I got him loaded—I got him high. I got him drunk—I got him after school. I was good at it—“Murder, My Sweet.” I got him on weekends—I got him to whimper real nice. I got him to faint—I loved the way he banged his head against the headboard.
Afterwards, I’d help him down the hallway—limping down to the bathroom. Busting his nut the way he did—it wasn’t easy for him. It took everything outta the poor kid—down to the last fuckin drop.
I’d steady him by the toilet—he was so weak in the knees. His obscene inch-long slit made him—piss in the bowl and piss on the floor. He couldn’t help it—he was so loaded and out of it. I helped him tho—holding it gently from behind.
I took it seriously—young male fratricide. He was 16 and I was 18—both of us were doomed East of Eden exile boyz. The Black Genesis I’m talking about—aint the Genesis you’ve read in the Bible. It’s a heartbreaking story—that renews itself with each plucked Forbidden Fruit.
Abel was an albino kid—everything about him was more whitey than me. Except for one thing—and that’s what I was obsessed with. Call me a Dinge Queen—I don’t care anymore.
I was just a white trash boy—I was evil Cain, my mother Eve’s first offspring after the Fall. The Devil made her do it—the Devil made me do it too. I was a dinge queen for my own kid brother—I was obsessed with his Family Tree.
Eve was our mother—but we had different fathers.
Adam was my father—but then there was this awful divorce. Then Eve shacked up with this handsome young alto sax player stud at a popular Chicago jazz nightclub. He fucked her good day in & day out—and my brother Abel was the result.
Eve ditched us fast—she had better things to do. She had other important things on her mind—like having fun and living it up. Her family was wealthy—her father a rich Lakeshore attorney and businessman.
So Abel and I ended up in Miami on Ocean Drive—
in a swanky apartment—on the top floor of The Carlyle. That’s how we grew up—a couple of stoned Art Deco bon vivant boyz down by the beach.
All of Abel’s brains—were down between his legs. What else could a guy do—with 10” in the refrigerator and a faggot older brother who desperately craved his gobs of chocolate ice cream?
We drove a slinky Cadillac convertible—a baby blue ’59 road hog. It had big chrome tits in front and a pair of garish shark fins in back. I kept him to myself all the time dontchaknow—I didn’t share him with anybody else. Can you blame me?
Sometimes I murdered him fast—sometimes I murdered him slow. Sometimes I strangled him to death gently—other times I used a big violent vibrating dildo. Sometimes I dragged it out for a long time—other times it was fast, down and dirty.
It wasn’t pretty or sophisticated—doing the down-low. Teenage dinge-homicide never is very chic or sophisticated. I sprained my neck I don’t know how many times—doing my daemonic kid brother down there in The Carlyle in Miami Beach.
When Abel got to be sixteen years old tho—well, he’d had enough of my whitey miscegenal incest urges. He got tired of me & bored with it all. That’s when he signed up and joined the Navy—just to get away from me.
__________________
“And the LORD said unto Cain,
Why art thou wroth? And why
Is thy countenance fallen?”
—Genesis 2:6-7
I murdered him every night—I couldn’t help it. I strangled him to death—and got every drop. If I hadn’t done it—somebody else would have. One of his girlfriends—or one of his boyfriends. They all wanted to make him bad—and so I did him instead.
I got him loaded—I got him high. I got him drunk—I got him after school. I was good at it—“Murder, My Sweet.” I got him on weekends—I got him to whimper real nice. I got him to faint—I loved the way he banged his head against the headboard.
Afterwards, I’d help him down the hallway—limping down to the bathroom. Busting his nut the way he did—it wasn’t easy for him. It took everything outta the poor kid—down to the last fuckin drop.
I’d steady him by the toilet—he was so weak in the knees. His obscene inch-long slit made him—piss in the bowl and piss on the floor. He couldn’t help it—he was so loaded and out of it. I helped him tho—holding it gently from behind.
I took it seriously—young male fratricide. He was 16 and I was 18—both of us were doomed East of Eden exile boyz. The Black Genesis I’m talking about—aint the Genesis you’ve read in the Bible. It’s a heartbreaking story—that renews itself with each plucked Forbidden Fruit.
Abel was an albino kid—everything about him was more whitey than me. Except for one thing—and that’s what I was obsessed with. Call me a Dinge Queen—I don’t care anymore.
I was just a white trash boy—I was evil Cain, my mother Eve’s first offspring after the Fall. The Devil made her do it—the Devil made me do it too. I was a dinge queen for my own kid brother—I was obsessed with his Family Tree.
Eve was our mother—but we had different fathers.
Adam was my father—but then there was this awful divorce. Then Eve shacked up with this handsome young alto sax player stud at a popular Chicago jazz nightclub. He fucked her good day in & day out—and my brother Abel was the result.
Eve ditched us fast—she had better things to do. She had other important things on her mind—like having fun and living it up. Her family was wealthy—her father a rich Lakeshore attorney and businessman.
So Abel and I ended up in Miami on Ocean Drive—
in a swanky apartment—on the top floor of The Carlyle. That’s how we grew up—a couple of stoned Art Deco bon vivant boyz down by the beach.
All of Abel’s brains—were down between his legs. What else could a guy do—with 10” in the refrigerator and a faggot older brother who desperately craved his gobs of chocolate ice cream?
We drove a slinky Cadillac convertible—a baby blue ’59 road hog. It had big chrome tits in front and a pair of garish shark fins in back. I kept him to myself all the time dontchaknow—I didn’t share him with anybody else. Can you blame me?
Sometimes I murdered him fast—sometimes I murdered him slow. Sometimes I strangled him to death gently—other times I used a big violent vibrating dildo. Sometimes I dragged it out for a long time—other times it was fast, down and dirty.
It wasn’t pretty or sophisticated—doing the down-low. Teenage dinge-homicide never is very chic or sophisticated. I sprained my neck I don’t know how many times—doing my daemonic kid brother down there in The Carlyle in Miami Beach.
When Abel got to be sixteen years old tho—well, he’d had enough of my whitey miscegenal incest urges. He got tired of me & bored with it all. That’s when he signed up and joined the Navy—just to get away from me.
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