I was looking for pornographic films in my mother’s room. I opened up boxes and all I found were great black idols. They were lovely idols—the gods of my childhood. I set them all up as they ought to be set up. They were sweet to me. There was a great black god of evil and destruction I remember in particular. It was made of smooth black stone. It was so sweet. I lit the incense. I lit the candles. I no longer wanted pornography.