Times Like These, I need my little angel or devil on my shoulder. As the other devils, I know… My God! More like my dog, my son. There’s Virgil, who knows what he’s seen before me. If the past two weeks were any indication? Better The Devil You Know.
Monday, August 29, 2022
Saga 059 ~Better The Devil You Know~
Two-Hundred and Fifty-Fifth Rule
Madam Justice
I AM a Billionaire right now, or I would be if I could look the Man in the Mirror in the eye, right?
I don’t know how many times I’m going to say this. But I rather see my little boy, B III. The angel on my shoulder… more like the little devil. If anything, he’s a better man than me, that’s for damn sure. My Braxton, my son. A child makes you more than a parent, J.
“Take away a man’s son, you’ve truly given him nothing left to lose.” ― Zombieland
With Virgil, I don’t know what that makes me right now. While I’m busy quoting Zombieland, what about this, Madam? Only my sister doesn’t know Virgil. I tried hiding him from my “father.” Master Yoda was right; all do or do not… Not saying everything.
“And then I look into my nephew’s eyes
Man, you wouldn’t believe
The most amazing things
That can come from
Some terrible lies” Some Nights
Hell! I’ve learned from so many, and as much as it pains me to say this. That includes my “father.” Man in the Mirror again.
It’s not like I’m completely in the dark about who I am. At the moment, I’m going to be all sorts of pissed at Hemingway for “LY.” Should I talk about all the writing gadgets and gizmos that think they know better than me? To be honest, J, I don’t trust me either. I don’t like me neither. Especially (fuck you, Hemingway) this now. A long ass day Madam. It’s Friday, August 26, 2022. And all day today, “I roared. And I rampaged.” Satisfaction? There is none to be had, but the devil remains on my shoulder. Well, my pocket. My phone is waiting for my “father’s” call. And then there’s Virgil at my feet. Angel, devil, nothing really. Another (fuck you, Hemingway!) Sigh, Fuck!
Yeah, that’s going to get old. I’m sick of old men telling me what to do, despite certain pornos with plaid skirts. And, of course, there’s my B III. An old man worth listening to. When I started talking to you yesterday, the 25th, I wasn’t as angry as this second, Madam Justice. I listened to an old black man. And now I’ll have to face someone way worse. “Father!” Speaking of which. Virgil should be mad that whatever devil put fear into his heart made him be here with me at my worst. I’m not his Daddy. Harsh but a fact, J. The devils I know. And now, broke, busted, butt on the curb or this chair. Sooner, later? Better The Devil You Know.
575 Days Without B III, Day 016 of Virgil’s Arrival
BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will