I’ve got steak in the fridge. A baked potato. Even a lobster tail. Was anything else missing… Ma’am. I hate going out for food, but I can waste big bucks buying it online. On big boobs. And do I need books on Cannibalism? “Virgil Ate. Braxton’s Fate”
Wednesday, September 11, 2024
Meditation 072 ~Virgil Ate. Braxton’s Fate~
Bless Me, Echo,
For I have sinned… Yes, Inspector, I see what day it is. But I’m no terrorist. And I’m not into Cannibalism either…
Tell that to the search bar. I’ve looked up terrorism. And earlier today, it was MEAT by Joseph D’Lacey. Hell! Seeing as how it’s Sunday, September 8, 2024. Why not preach, this is my body, this my blood or something. Why not remember Braxton passed on a Sunday afternoon like this? Am I ready to get back into mourning and grieving my little boy B.
Or am I a woman turning this into my “Emergence Month”? That was wrong, Inspector.
If anything, I’m not here to talk about 1/31, Emergence Day, or 9/11, Inspector Echo.
Today, if I’m lucky, I am on the eighth day of… denying myself self-fulfillment. Hmm.
I’m not messing with “my meat” despite the pictures I’ve been taking lately. I’m gross…
Thinking about more meat on the bone. Again, Eww! But if you want something humiliating, let’s talk about how I get food. I keep going back to Emergence Day 2024.
Echo, it was nothing special. I only had to see people twice. And the only one that really heard my voice was my Ma. If only it wasn’t so expensive because getting some fast food.
How many times have I been referred to as Ma’am? It’s one of the few things that make me feel like less of a man. I don’t pay all my bills. When’s the last time I showed any balls… other than “OF.” And I watched B III waste away. I feel so inadequate, Inspector. I hate talking about myself, really.
Now that ain’t true, Inspector. But who am I kidding? I’m filled with self-doubt. Always
But what else can I say? It’s either my boys, big Yabbos, or the bad things that come around one way or the other. And that’s what I’ve been thinking about as I waste today.
As I, too, waste away. I look at myself, and while I’m particularly proud of one part of my anatomy, it’s everything else. I don’t have a spine; I stick my foot in my mouth and as far as eating my heart out. You know what became of my heart. I’ll give myself a hand.
One is busy talking to you, and the other is usually down my pants, should I care to wear any. Things have to get done. But am I empty or full? Virgil Ate. Braxton’s Fate.
1319 Days Without B III, Day 760 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will