Let me think,The irony, to be killed amongst killers* If black on black violence was started fom feeding shock to each other This is my 1st write up #1. at this moment when I write this I have a bandage and about 13 stitches in my head, If it is cold so the stitches will hurt. last night I had to fight for my life until I am healed, i cannot die out. No matter what the death wish, this page I will introduce myself as if you already know me. And my heart is also pumping, I am not writing this as a suicide note but the way I feel is as if I’m dying and really fighting to live, i mean, there was a gash in my head a few nights ago... have I fully recovered? Who what am I? Thank you God for another day but let me get contemporary.

So I’m not getting greeted by the local mass murderer today, is it because I survived my moment for now and from now need to know where to walk and where not to walk onwards. As we start from where first… 1973 my parents and my brother a baby then moved in during aparthied with other families too in the new then Zwide Township. A decade before I was born.

Later on I wish there was a CPanel reseller that included isiXhosa in their language packs when buying a website.

That’s the idea I was on before all this violence erupted, countering the 4IR, fourth industrial revolution taking jobs from everyone who can’t program for themselves. During a time when social media and riots blow up on divisions in South Africa, I’m trying to sell the idea of giving website domain packages in local native languages all over africa but I haven’t found a reseller or a company willing and I don’t have money to be a reseller, I have a gash on my head, I was supposed to be dropping beats but now I’m writing this concerning my identity.

Besides my idea going to waste I am concerned about my ID book being stolen just as my driver’s licence disappeared with my wallet. It’s really been missing. I’ve trusted wrong or it’s in this mess of an untidiness which I typed this page consuming different poisons before I almost got killed a couple of times, if i tell the truth.

The irony, to be killed amongst killers* As I was surprised that today is the first day I get close to showing myself to the public by walking to the garage door, bandage strapped and I see a mass murderer, well the guy got acquitted, and my notice is he doesn’t want to greet me. Same guy that’ll try convince me to give him R200 so he brings what he’ll believe is enough drugs. Error. Error. Error. Difference is I’ve had a little airtime for everyone, even when annoyed, I’ve been naive as far as I can perceive so I write this. There’s another 20 at least writeups to follow but my ID is the first one, who am I?

The Destiny’s Child song Survivor, I’m so hit upside the head blunt trauma, I don’t have much time to write on this yet but later, I’m moving out in a few hours, I’ll podcast from a fresh bedroom with new sheet linen and clean white walls, may I live long to put up a mural on the back yard walls at home being extended. We moving bed and placing a phone by the bed until this last room becomes a studio lounge for other write ups and my recovery on an adventure for CPanel resellers to include isiXhosa and other native language packs to promote the ownership and usage of apps and websites by everyone on earth. The irony, to be killed amongst killers*