Do not despise me, o daughers of Jerusalem, on account of my swarthiness: rather hate me because I am unclean, partially-born, still-born, aimless and bereft of comeliness.
You would spit in my eye; you would forsake me.
Yet I am black; my skin shines, and my body glistens: I roam about in the sun, casting my glance forward and back, seeking the step of stairs to my flight of fancy: someone please show me the way!
Somewhere on a star there sits a little old man, who speaks the truth of the universe in a tiny little voice smaller than a mouse's: and not a soul has a chance of ever hearing him: G-d himself laughs at this folly, this madness - he knows that it is all futile.
What a cosmic farce - and yet I am black, you daughters of Jerusalem. And my paps are round and firm, - my skin sleek. And I may ravish you, and take you, and become in more ways than one your paramour - I shall eat your brain, and ingest your very essence, and from the ashes of the Fire of the Day of Judgement will I make myself a footstool: come, laugh with me - consciousness is a Hoax.
