Too many damn sticky notes. Floating around me. Those yellow note pads are only one more thing that I’m hoarding for work. Humiliation, Hurt, a hunger for something more than this. But no, only pain. And I know… Pain Should Never Be Hoarded but
Monday, November 8, 2021
Chronicle 130 ~Pain Should Never Be Hoarded~
Two-Hundred And Thirteenth Rule
Madam Justice
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I’m the biggest victim in America. Woe is them and me, right. Oh, the pain…
Yeah, that ain’t true. As the song goes, “Mo Money Mo Problems.” What I wouldn’t give for such burdens. Ahem, my son’s life, light reminders, literally parts of my flesh. If I ever get that tattoo of him or decide to become a monk, hmm. Asking where I’ve been today. What on a Sunday evening, knowing that this week is going to suck? It’s torturous making money. Or at least the way that I go about it. Instead, I would choose to be a pimp, a man of prose, a pornographer, but we’ll get to that. Like everything else, sigh. Money is the root of all evil or the lack of it. I go back and forth. It’s strange how sins connect. Greed and Sloth.
I would say that I’m greedy with sleep, but what have I been doing all day? If I haven’t been on my belly sleeping, I’ve been grinding away. No, I don’t mean that in a good way Madam. I’ve worked on two galleries today, and neither one was Braxton’s. Earlier this morning, it was all about Yabbos or the complete lack thereof. Coins, cash. There are another few C words I could talk about, but neither one is polite conversation. Madam, the truth is, I hoard lust. If I had the money, it would all go right back there now. What about my boy? Braxton’s been gone 281 Days, and again where is his reminder, his tribute. Well, other than sitting on my nightstand, Madam.
So why not wrath? To roar, to rampage, to have revenge. It’s thoughts like that which let me know humanity. There is too much hate, misery, and pain. To quote another song, I’m just a “Sucker for Pain.” It’s what makes me the perfect sadist; I receive but choose to give. The only time I denied, despised, and became disgusted by pain was that of Braxton’s. Madam, the pain I’ve felt of losing my only begotten son… Should I chill with that religious reference, Madam? Anyway, that kind of pain nobody but me deserves. Masochism? No, I don’t enjoy being in pain. How about being broke, belittled, and Blue Balls? Where should the pain go, I ask. There’s nowhere. Yet, Pain Should Never Be Hoarded
281 Days Without B III
BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will