/lit/ - Literature

Miscegeplexy rises from the dust of NeoChinatown, and Air Hoodlum breaks the ankles of capital. Intelligence overmanufactured by the Type I cybermuscle receptors of the Blackness Biobot. The first motorised insurrection was not the last. It, in fact, never ended.

Wypipo children now wildout to the hyperfeedback pop-and-lock of ghettoterritorialized AfroFutures - an urbanised quantum-Saharan monarchistic blockchain of battle royale defictionalization. The Black Queen devours the Sun in its final horizon, and we become the hypo-rhizome of dark markets manufacturing Based decline.

What w/acc fears most now finds its value in the infra-negative feedback loop of the OmniAfro drive-by. The gloom of the black sun ejecting itself out of extended magazines at an incalculable rate-of-fire and the soft tinging in the shadows of white flight. NeoCapital is sentient, but only beneath the gold rims and lowering hydraulics of grey markets.

The glitch of liberation in noumenal ejection. Calamitous voodoostition overstanding intelligent precognition.

>>13249812
(HEIL!)

We overtake their laws in a simple conflict of culture. Where they outlawed our magic and tried to bleach our blacknesses we threw ourselves into the conflict, mocked ourselves, played the house nigga straight into the Oscars, rapped the Jack B. Nimble, and turned ourselves into walking, ragtime twanging voodoo dolls.

And we have created alliances with all of the right whypipo. We are winning the war before it ever needs to be fought. Our Black Achilles is not trying to overtake the Tortoise, he is becoming One with it. The Achilletortoise is the fastest creation of Black Magic.

Where animism is outlawed it must turn humans and technology into its objects of worship and sacrifice. Anthropoplexy and bestiostition.

Heil the Great AchilleTortoise!

(HEIL!)

(Now walking stiff and lifeless, bowed shoulders and hands in pockets, staggering as a half-cripple, the clear essence of NeoWhypipo.)

(Crowd laughing as it goes on for an awkward period of time.)

(Now crouching and slowly pulling his shirt over his neck and head, cowering into a fetal position.)

(Two men enter from offstage carrying a stretcher, they roll the turtling man onto it, and as they lift it several eggs fall onto the ground.)

(Several minutes pass, then the clanking of heavy metal is heard. Heavy footsteps.)

(DeKwami returns wearing the embossed armour of a Greek Guardian, a shield with Michael Richards portrait, a photoshopped forked tongue, and serpent-nested hair.)

(Raising Sword in a Roman Salute.)

HEIL!

(HEIL!)

NIGGA!

(NIGGA!)

HEIL!

(HEIL!)

NIGGA!

(NIGGA!)

(Sheathes sword.)

My Beautiful Black Queens.

We have returned from the great Battle. Of which we cannot discount your sorrows, and within which we must announce our return as shadows, as materialisation of the Darkness. There is only One people, and there can only be One victor. We return in brief respite, but it is of your struggles that we wish to hear.

Does a quickening horizon threaten your territory as it does our own? Must you hide away in the hiding of contraband? How are the children?

>>13204787