Hell of a Book

by Jason Mott

The sound of his intermittent sobs woke his father, who came and sat on the end of Soot’s bed and said, simply, “Don’t listen to what people say. Fuck them. You’re beautiful, son.”

Reality as a whole—past or present—just isn’t a good place to hang out, in my opinion. There are better ways and places to spend your time.

Why we read.

does that mean that I can only ever write about Blackness?

Tyler song on cmiygl

“It’s going to be a downright metamorphosis.” “Like Kafka?” I ask. “Is that a rapper?”

ugh...

Al Green, Marvin Gaye, Wu-Tang, Donna Summer, J. Cole, they all rolled out over the muggy night air as Black bodies danced and laughed in the dim glare of porch lights.

What time is this supossed to be?

The Kid’s hard to read. Especially with that dark skin of his. It hides so much of him that, even if he isn’t able to turn invisible, I’m not sure he has much trouble disappearing in this world.

How does this connect to Soot?

Dollface.

Soot's father?

She hits the radio. “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley plays. An honest-to-God theme song.

“And I know,” Reverend Brown said, “we’re not the first ones to grapple with this particular type of beast but just like Jonah, we know that God is here and we know that God will not turn His back on us.” “What about Will?” somebody in the congregation asked. There was anger in their voice

Valid.

Soot didn’t know it then, but he was becoming a believer. Not in God, as Reverend Brown and the rest of the church-bound southern community might have wanted, but he was becoming a believer in stories. He saw, there in the wake of his father’s death, that a story could take away pain.

Another clue that Soot is the author?

Hell, if I could have a spirit animal, it would be Mr. National Treasure.

It’s like watching television with the sound turned off.

It’s hard to stand there and tell your children that they’re always going to have to be afraid of the police. It’s hard to say to them: if a policeman stops you, you should trust them, but you should also keep your hands where they can see them and you should never ever talk back to them and you should never do anything that could be seen as a sudden move and even if you do all of that, there’s still no guarantee that you’ll come out of it alive. The cop could shoot you right then and there and you’ll die without ever knowing what you did wrong.”

“Then why do I still get beatings?” Soot asked.

This chapter is rough.

Yeah, the South is America’s longest-running crime scene. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.

She still cared enough to show love to her son, but the way she showed her love was hardened. She showed her love through discipline and structure. She showed her love through spanking and punishments.

Not sure how i feel about that.

Guns are like pets. Even if you don’t own one, it’s only a matter of time before your neighbor, friendly or unfriendly, brings one into your life and you have to cross your fingers and hope it’s friendly.