The N-word who Lives in the Sun

the_nigger_in_the_sun_is_the_word_of_god1.jpg He doesn’t remember how old he was, when he was first visited by the nigger who lives in the sun; but he’d had innumerable visits with the being throughout the course of his life spanning even into today.

February 1st, 1967:“The nigger who lives in the sun came to see me again,” little Yacub 7 wrote. His experiences with the being had become so common his parents instructed him to keep a diary to record them.“Why do you call him that,” after attempting to explain the experience for the first time, his father asked.“That’s what he let me know to call him,” the boy snapped.“Well, how did he let you know that?”“I don’t know, he just put it in me.”

“What did he want from you this time,” his father asked.

“He wanted the same thing he always wants: to know if I can you see him?” Little Yacub 7 shouted with enthusiam!

“Could you see him this time?”

“Nope. I was blinded. There was too much light.”

“You were Blinded By the Light?” His daddy smiled.

His mom aired soft laughter.

But, the allude was empty to the child.

“Yep, I was blinded by the light. He showed me I’m not focusing my eyes fast enough or correctly but that he’d give me another chance.”

“When did he say he would provide you that opportunity?” His father asked.

“He didn’t! But he did show me how I could know when he is coming so I can get have my eyes already focused for him and, therefore, wouldn’t miss him!”

“Yacub was a bright child,” his mother said. “He was like a genious little monkey.”At the comparison, I raised an eyebrow.

His father glanced up from the book he was reading. “How is it that he showed you how you can be ready for when he come?”

“He sounds like the blades of the world’s biggest fan spinning,” using his arms to demonstrate the size, Jacob began. “He let me know he is always going to sound the same way. I can hear them from afar off even in my sleep! Next time I’ll have my eyes ready!”

The next time Jacob heard the fan spinning, in his sleep he smiled. His head resting comfortably his folded arms, he was laying on his stomach.

His eyes closed, yet focused, for the first time he now heard the being’s voice.

“Can you see me?” He heard.

In his sleep state, he found himself surprised when he vocally uttered: no, I still can’t see you.

Momentary laughter followed his response. Then, “can you see me now” he heard.

It sounded like somebody had plugged my ears and was speaking to me through a cardboard paper towel holder, Jacob later described.

“No, I still can’t see you.”

“It was now, for the first time, I became vaguely aware of a figure sitting in the center of the light,” Jacob said. “Too, I also became aware that he was moving further away from my face so that I could see him.”

“How about now, can you see me now,” after another bit of laughter, Jacob said he heard.

“This time, as clear as I’ve seen anything else, I saw him!” Jacob said. “He sits in a three legged chair, sports a derby and, although he doesn’t need it, uses a cane when he stands.

“His face and body are the color of burned brass; and, his body is pure muscle. With the index and middle finger of his left hand, he touched my forehead and left something inside of it. In the spot where he touches forehead, it always burns for three days afterward.”

“How did he leave?” Jacob’s father asked.

“He both went into me and away from me at the same time. I couldn’t tell the difference.”

About collectiveunderground

Martyr Refugee
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