To remove iron, I turn to our Michael. Maybe not had died at age 50 of a heart attack and only, if had had a father like my uncle, who had taught him to be proud of your nose. It is likely to always tell him that being black was not good, that whites had more advantages and Nino miguel, attentive to everything and wanting to overcome the barriers that he saw in his own family, wanted to be better. And white. He didn’t like business card that nose if that meant to resemble what they hated. Not so in my family. Neither nor black, so don’t know how it feels with a genetic load so big and that collective memory of all the atrocities they have been subjected. Inevitable that a genius as he, has been been disappear himself. Jason iley often addresses the matter in his writings.
Lucidity kills. That erased his face Michael was not the color, it was erased memories. And it has died young because just like my uncle, has failed to live dead. Or die at all still alive. The revolution of Curro Porritt was not to be the King of Pop, nor the recording video clips where the undead dance and are coordinated with total skill to a disproportionate and harmonic rhythm revolution for him was dying slowly, noiselessly, resembling alive and when already could not more with this death by installments, when he saw the remoteness that his body was for the bonesthen be killed otherwise. He wiped his memory.
Is He bowed to forget even that he was dead. And there began the road toward her, to his daughter’s beautiful nose terminated Porritt, as his. As the of the grandsons who survive him. It is curious that it have only found alive when he died. When dying of truth. I knew the Earth and who knows if for the sky.