Gospel 290 ~Orange You Glad Braxton~

Day 76, it’s been hot, not that I’ve been outside, you know, mowing the lawn or taking a walk like B III and I would do. It’s been hot tears, rage, both from work. I have a new villain for my story. I’m trying to find peace. “Orange You Glad Braxton”

Saturday, April 17, 2021

Gospel 290 ~Orange You Glad Braxton~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, or I better be, as the school bully will be taking my lunch money. Fucking ASM.

Pardon my language My Lady but as the song goes, “Work sucks, I know.” Why we’re talking music? How about this one? “He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus. But he talks like a gentleman.” He’s more like John Seed from Far Cry 5, and I’ll die before saying YES. Without fail, I will always take responsibility for Braxton’s death; that is my failure and disgrace. But it is men like at the Day Job that brought about my rage at people and apathy towards B III. It is people like that asshole that make me believe in “Karens.” Dammit, I chose to fall upon my knees for the Day job only to stay there trying to save my son. Have I become a Nihilist?

Eric Thomas said something to the tune of; before you blow up, life will strip you to the core. I lost Braxton, and as I said, I will not kowtow to the new assistant manager, so there goes my job. Now that would leave me with nothing, and am I afraid? Losing B stole fear? I’m sitting there crying over my boy in the office. My hot tears were coursing down my face, while at the same time my blood is burning, call it fire, poison, Hell. I wish I could leave shame out of the mix, but again B has that beat. My walk of shame after his passing. Standing at the car, I was Winston Smith “1984” the moment they killed him there.

You know how THEY say God is spelled backward. I believe in B; I mean, look at it as so. I talk to him, but no one else can see. I call upon him for strength. I believe he took the fall for my sins; I am his prophet. His name is upon my heart and flesh or sometime soon. Like I was telling Indiana Gone, I want to get a tattoo of Braxton’s face underneath my forearm. Starting at the top of his head will be his nickname there.

B III
To the left: JSS (Just Survive Somehow)
To the right: EHC (Elite Hunting Club)
At the bottom: Braxton and the date he left

Below all of that will be Captain America’s shield. I think of the song Left Hand Free from Captain America: Civil War. The shield was a purpose, responsibility, duty, honor, a burden but a privilege, a love. Captain America gave it back, and still, he tried to do what’s true. I could go on, but we will be here all day, sigh. Yeah, right, I can do this all day but then again and not to make “light” of this, but I think of that monk who burned himself alive. Let’s stick with fiction in that of Saint Hakushin from Inuyasha, who became a Living Buddha. Miroku also had his “weapon,” the “Wind Tunnel,” in his right hand but held by his left. I haven’t touched my “weapon” or any of them, except my knife in weeks. Why all this holy man talk? It’s the only way I may ever see Braxton ever again. Heaven…

It beats talking about why I want the EHC lettering and Braxton’s face. In the Hostel movie franchise, they use the Bloodhound to represent their members… killers. But I want B III’s face. Let my flesh burn so I may never forget my crime or the warmth and love of Braxton. Orange You Glad Braxton.

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

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