Tag: Blogging

Tale 324 ~Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation~

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I ask for my Braxton back. I ask not to regret breathing. And to not be a blogger. But I sit in bed messing up the words because I have a Day Job. So, I’m blogging instead of writing. I promised B, but… Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation

Monday, May 20, 2024

Tale 324 ~Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Fourth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… But not this one. Well, not unless I’m not here anymore. And how I HOPE for that.

Another week feels like an eternity. It’s Sunday, May 12, 2024. Another tear? Another breath.

Have I forgotten where I am and what I’m doing? If this is the First Circle, Limbo. Then, I could see no better punishment for a writer. If only that were my greatest sin, Madam.

Nowadays, I drift between what I did to my son, Braxton. Then there’s my father. Blogging away about those two extremes when it is still Mother’s Day. I know, Madam.

But if I stopped writing, I would honor women, specifically my mother. Honoring my father would mean keeping my mouth shut, but I couldn’t. So I’m stupid. And to honor my son, I would join him. Only he has a story. People should read it.

And so every day, whether I want to or not, I wake up, whittle away time, and write. It’s more like I cry out for him, Braxton, B III! I argue about balls. And then I blog away. This is my way of keeping him alive. Or, so I thought.

So, how long have I been doing that? How long has this blog existed? Oh! Please understand, Madam. I’m not begging anyone to look at this “work” anymore. I don’t. Only these words in Sister Act 2 have stuck with me: “If when you wake up in the morning. you can think of nothing but writing…then you’re a writer.” Now, when I wake up, there’s Braxton first. Then, the question of why I’m breathing. And then there’s this blog. Daring to call myself a writer…

That’s like calling myself a reviewer. This leads me to where this rule came from. It’s from the movie Contagion. “Blogging is not writing. It’s graffiti with punctuation.” But my writing is simply a mess. The Mess! Madam Justice, I’ll get into all sorts of movies at this rate. But I’m not here for that. And since I won’t edit my novels for Braxton, Madam.

What is it I’m doing? Right now, I’m hoping the DISH Network people come through so I won’t have to keep writing about being a fool and my father. Forgive me for my whining, dear Madam. Yet my words have done far worse, haven’t they? Up against the wall, on Mother’s Day. I’m not writing. Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation.

“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1205 Days Without B III, Day 646 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Episode 110 ~Enemies Wills And Writes~

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Who doesn’t have an enemy, you could be sitting in a monstery and Tibet, and some monk is giving somebody grief, and how much is a shiny rock in comparison to a weapon. “Enemies Wills And Writes”

Friday, October 19, 2018

Episode 110 ~Enemies Wills And Writes~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, isn’t it ironic that we spend more on our enemies than we do on our friends, I swear cruelty can be exhausting, and I have a new “respect” for those that practice it. Any writer must know a thing or two about suffering and fear; I don’t care if you’re Mother Goose, and I love my son like pancakes and can give you a million stories, but of course, the last one will hurt the most, a great fear Lady Sophia.

When that day comes, but no worries today about him, only why don’t I write about him more… because when would I find the time to write something good, when there is so much evil in the world. Worry about everything else, that’s what I do, like today at the day job, one enemy said something over the PA, hell I wish there was a memo I misread so I wouldn’t be killing myself over it. What a weapon a voice is, and don’t get me wrong I do believe that the pen is mightier than the sword but that doesn’t stop me from owning a few weapons and what is a weapons purpose, what is a writer’s reason hmm?

“The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.” ― Woody Allen Midnight in Paris: The Shooting Script (From Goodreads)

Words are just so potent as a weapon, am I writing a will, a want, how about a warning, it’s a good thing I didn’t give one of those to an enemy right; I still haven’t seen him since last week, and I would almost be giddy if it weren’t for today. Working today *sigh* I had so much time but that’s the real problem, most days I’m my worst enemy, and while I’m not a killer, I’m a pretty decent sadist next to one group in particular. Women, before you freak out, I would never consider women the enemy, this is more keeping myself in check but as much as I hate to admit it, and I have several times, why did I go back to blogging these days.

Writing is not my enemy, to me, it’s like limping off the battlefield and asking myself the question of what will I do with the rest of my life, what dream was there before the war, what dreams may come after, why is there no longer anyone to fight. Wickedness that I can create enemies out of my imagination isn’t it, and OCD mixed with some paranoia doesn’t help but when you know what haunts you, hurts you, and makes you horny well then you have something to write about, so Enemies Wills And Writes.

I Will Have No Fear