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smoking hookah for 2 hours

Need to buy a hookah link Source global Wall Street Journal     time 2021-09-22 15:50:06
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  He said, finally, as though it had just happened to come into his mind, "Malcolm, if a man knew everyimaginable thing that there is to know, who would he be?"Back in Harlem, he had often liked to get at something through this kind of indirection. It had oftenirritated me, because my way had always been direct. I looked at him. "Well, he would have to besome kind of a god-"Reginald said, "There's a _man_ who knows everything."I asked, "Who is that?""God is a man," Reginald said. "His real name is Allah."_Allah_. That word came back to me from Philbert's letter; it was my first hint of any connection. ButReginald went on. He said that God had 360 degrees of knowledge. He said that 360 degreesrepresented "the sum total of knowledge."To say I was confused is an understatement. I don't have to remind you of the background againstwhich I sat hearing my brother Reginald talk like this. I just listened, knowing he was taking his timein putting me onto something. And if somebody is trying to put you onto something, you need tolisten.

  Every day after work, I walked, "fishing" for potential converts in the Detroit black ghetto. I saw theAfrican features of my black brothers and sisters whom the devilish white man had brainwashed. Isaw the hair as mine had been for years, conked by cooking it with lye until it lay limp, lookingstraight like the white man's hair. Time and again Mr. Muhammad's teachings were rebuffed and even ridiculed . . . ."Aw, man, get out of my face, you niggers are crazy!" My head would reel sometimes,with mingled anger and pity for my poor blind black brothers. I couldn't wait for the next time ourMinister Lemuel Hassan would let me speak:

  We together on a huge hall's speaking platform, and that vast audience before us, miraculouslymanifested, as far as I was concerned, the incomprehensible power of Allah. For the first time, I trulyunderstood something Mr. Muhammad had told me: he claimed that when he was going through thesacrificial trials of fleeing the black hypocrites from city to city, Allah had often sent him visions of great audiences who would one day hear the teachings; and Mr. Muhammad said the visions alsobuoyed him when he was locked up for years in the white man's prison.

  With the odds at six hundred to one, a penny hit won , a dollar won 0, and so on. On , the hitwould mean ,000. Famous hits like that had bought controlling interests in lots of Harlem's bars andrestaurants, or even bought some of them outright. The chances of hitting were a thousand to one.

  I have often reflected upon the new vistas that reading opened to me. I knew right there in prison thatreading had changed forever the course of my life. As I see it today, the ability to read awoke insideme some long dormant craving to be mentally alive. I certainly wasn't seeking any degree, the way acollege confers a status symbol upon its students. My homemade education gave me, with everyadditional book that I read, a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness, and blindness thatwas afflicting the black race in America. Not long ago, an English writer telephoned me from London,asking questions. One was, "What's your alma mater?" I told him, "Books." You will never catch mewith a free fifteen minutes in which I'm not studying something I feel might be able to help the blackman.

  If I had developed a good point, though, I'd bait a hook to get it said when I went on radio ortelevision. I'd seem to slip and mention some recent so-called civil rights "advance." You know, wheresome giant industry had hired ten showpiece Negroes; some restaurant chain had begun making moremoney by serving Negroes; some Southern university had enrolled a black freshman withoutbayonets-like that. When I "slipped," the program host would leap on that bait: "Ahhh! Indeed, Mr.

  Thereafter, now and then I heard how Cassius showed up in Muslim mosques and restaurants invarious cities. And if I happened to be speaking anywhere within reasonable distance of whereverCassius was, he would be present. I liked him. Some contagious quality about him made him one ofthe very few people I ever invited to my home. Betty liked him. Our children were crazy about him.

  When awake, I smoked reefers. Shorty had originally introduced me to marijuana, and myconsumption of it now astounded him.


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