A Diary of A Single Man: A Faded Kiss

The vision of the wonders of humanity spin into society like tumbleweed without any closure.

A jaded, faded kiss of betrayal is felt passing in the wind.

A Diary of A Single Man: A Faded Kiss

No matter how hard you try

You can’t fix stupid

If I’m dumb and my woman is dumber, together we’ll have a great chance of creating stupidity.

Today’s entry:

September 2, 2017


On this rainy, humid day I sit in my room looking out the window waiting for my computer to restore its memory. I can’t ignore the rise of the fog from the premeditated mental smoke which acts as a blind screen to the camouflaged suffering endured outside below.

I’m some six years removed from my northern hometown, Harlem. Now in a southern state, Atlanta, Georgia.  The picture, the odor and the harmonizing color of race and class couldn’t be more clear and prevalent here. The transparent and crippling effects of the invisible red lines of social programming couldn’t be more dormant and devastatingly apparent. There’s two speeds here, stop and slow. 

The sunny summertime sadness songs play to the end. The reality after witnessing the spirit of a broken people is apparent, overwhelming and irreparable. The image of a defeated champion is a horrible and draining experience to observe and to digest. To be attached to it is suffocating. The empty shell and the smell of a conquered people becomes a sobering reality. There isn’t any soap invented to remove the stain of isms of race and class. The stench of southern laziness and its tired porch yarn becomes contagious. There’s no filter.

A Diary of A Single Man: A Faded Kiss

Since you’re going to take my shit like a thief in the night, it’s okay to kiss me before you flip me over and screw me raw. You can at least pretend you care and offer some lube during the process. 


Today’s entry:

September 2, 2017


 My focus turns to the laptop in front of me. I find myself still waiting for the system check to clear but it’s terribly moving slow. 

Would you agree if one said, the hard drive of a computer is based on the human brain? If this theory is true, why do so many people act surprised or shocked after viewing the actions and the reactions of black people when your collective local television station broadcast, report and televise it live, by your news affiliates?

If a person or programmer erases a computers hard drive by uploading a virus into a computer and the computer begin to malfunction, operate strangely, slowly, act crazy, and simply bug out would you blame the computer or would you blame the computer programmer? Every computer has a finite amount of memory, don’t you think?

A Diary of A Single Man: A Faded Kiss

Are you entertained? Should I dance for you some more? The admission to this show is, priceless. How about I sing you a happy song or spit a rap verse and call it poetry?  Most people move or dance around this issue. It’s pretty much like trying to ignore the elephant wearing a tight skirt? They avoid addressing the pink elephant dressed in a bikini stinking up the room. They rather open a window, look then point the other way. 


Today’s entry:

September 2, 2017


What does a front end computer user expect to happen after he/she discovers their computer has a virus? How did the virus get into their computer? Who hacked it? What are the commonly known after effects caused by such a virus? Can the hard drive be salvaged? How will the network and it’s community be affected if it’s not treated in a timely fashion? What happens to the corrupt files?

Why can’t people view the Black condition in the same fashion? If we are the problem child; one who terrorize society.  The local inner city people who collectively just can’t seem to get it right. Why not place the blame where it belongs, towards those who and what made this program? Black people have been created if not made over. They’re Frankenstein’s from what they once were. No excuses here, just an attempt to explain the situation of the Black condition (The black question mark). You would have to fault the maker of a particular product before anyone can label the product defective.


The attitude from the offspring of a people who have had centuries of a head start in their 100 yard dash race should not be shocked, nor confused when this African American becomes disillusioned, docile, compliant, disobedient and simply a cracked bowl of strange fruit. One should not be surprised to find the zombies at their door step trying to get in.

From a white god to white bread have you listen to anything I’ve said?


We have lost the art and the drive to be African people. Many of us continue to wish or surrender to be someone else. You can’t be another people and rescue yourself while imitating another people.  When you live and react to someone else culture container and wonder why we lack respect for our own black father, our black mother and our black aunt. You’re someone else’s culture container whom has moved away from the original culture container that produced you in the first place. The spirit of a people is reflected in their approach to salvation to a deity of their choosing. This is changing the god concept.

A Diary of A Single Man: A Faded Kiss


Today’s entry:

September 3, 2017


All history is current events. We are our history.

History is not the past. It’s the present because we carry it with us. 

Short term thinking invokes short term results.  

Hate is the cold blanket which keeps me awake at night. It repels from my body like a magnet placed in a negative force field.  Live executions in the city streets. People watch as they snack on their favorite treats. Why does he always have to get so deep? The world is older than ever now. Somehow, we seem to move on despite our designed social disadvantages.

A Diary of A Single Man: A Faded Kiss

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Heaven is at the foot of Mother…











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