Tag: Braxton

Chronicle 007 ~B’s Dead To Writes~

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VIII days into Camp NaNoWriMo, and yep, I’m writing about B III now. Well, damn, the last six months, and I’m already so far behind. The vaccine does cause fatigue, doesn’t it? I’m still alive, and with my second dose, who knows. “B’s Dead To Writes”

Thursday, July 8, 2021

Chronicle 007 ~B’s Dead To Writes~

158 Days Without B III

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I’m sorry for the title card if they ever make your story into a movie.

Your story or ours, in case you’re wondering where I’ve been today. 2,200 more words down, and I know you’re thinking to yourself, Daddy should be further along than this. Do you remember the last NaNoWriMo we did, and we stayed out in the chill? Well, I did, but you didn’t want to leave me alone out in the darkness but Braxton, writings my life? Then why was I at the Day Job when you needed me the most? I despise those people, and then I came back, told you to shush, and went to sleep. You stood guard always. Braxton, I don’t mean to be rehashing all this, but I was working on your novel again. It’s still untitled. Beyond Boys: Braxton Barks Bradford.

No disrespect to the LGBTQIA community (that’s a lot of letters, ain’t it)? Anyway, all my titles seem to come off as GAY. Speaking of not, I talked to your aunt a few days ago, B. Have you seen her?

The last time Carolina Bound was around, I ordered onion rings at lunch, and you were peeved; I didn’t bring you anything. It’s the little stories like that which might make a good book, Braxton. That’s if I ever get it done, and I will; it’s for you after all. So was the album I never finished, and what about my tattoo? Oh, I’ve had my run-in with needles B with COVID-19 and all. I’ll never forget that you saw me through what THEY think was the worse year. 2020

2021, the only year that beats the one I was born into. Who knows B III? In all honesty, I was hoping the vaccine would do its worst, poetic justice. I shouldn’t talk like that. Living, I am alive, more like existing. But you saved my life more times than I can remember. I wish you could tell me what you want from me. Every day I remember the vet and that look you gave me as they told me the worse news ever. Smarty-Pants. Braxton, you said, “I want to go home. Can we go home, Daddy?” I wrote my name, and you ended up in a box. Will a book be any better? My B’s Dead To Writes

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Chronicle 006 ~Bleep, Blah, But Braxton~

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I look at myself in the mirror when I can stand it, and I want to scream, “Shut The Eff Up.” The good news is, that’s not often. I have no qualms about my body, but my face is a whole other story. Braxton had a cute face. “Bleep, Blah, But Braxton.”

Wednesday, July 7, 2021

Chronicle 006 ~Bleep, Blah, But Braxton~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and with that amount of money, hmm. I’d get my teeth fixed or just shut up.

Living was so much easier when I was apologizing to Braxton. We’re on day 157, and I haven’t stopped seeking forgiveness. Oh, I learned my lesson, Braxton; my boy’s gone. I’ve been thinking about all the apologies I owe, and I’m not like the former president. All this morning, it was fuck this, fuck that, and with everything I got going on these days. It’s how the THEY say, I’ve got no fucks left to give. Everything I have, all that I am, should be going into B’s novel, and already I’m way behind. I’ve got all this time, Inspector. Of course, this morning, I spent it gaming and on “Stuff & Thangs.” Hell, I didn’t even post, and I fucked-up again. After three days

I did write about 2,000 words, but it’s more of the same I’ve been spouting for, yes 157 Days. I’m starting to feel less like Charlie Brown and more like one of the adults, “waah.” So besides breaking my streak of, you know what, I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. I’m talking to myself again, which is even sadder because I could at least preach at B III. No, I’m not moving towards that most dreaded word, even worse than STUPID. The big A Inspector Echo… ACCEPTANCE. Never, I say again, never. I keep crying and laying treats, hating myself even more now with all this free time I have going doing nothing. Well, of course, failing, but that’s more of my blah.

Then there’s Saturday, where if I’m lucky, my second vaccine dose may finally kill me. That’s not a joke Inspector Echo. You know me, I love my mask and hate my big mouth. As the song goes, “Hey Jealousy.” Do you remember Cherry? Well, she’s got a podcast. What oh what have been my accomplishments, I ask. A few novels for NaNoWriMo, uh, all unpublished? I have a job I hate and everything else I do to make money, well, have I made any ever? Braxton, being his father, and of course, we know how that ended. So for Saturday… Somehow if I don’t die, I’m having lunch with Braxton’s aunt, Carolina Bound. What shall we talk about? Yeah, I’m sorry, Bleep, Blah, But Braxton.

157 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 005 ~Won’t B Letting Go~

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I had to let him go when he finally found a girl he liked. I did when he had my children to look after. Yeah, a man can dream. When I did let him go, back, in reality, I had no place to live once, and then there was January 31st. “Won’t B Letting Go”

Tuesday, July 6, 2021

Chronicle 005 ~Won’t B Letting Go~

Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which is a good thing because diamonds are forever, or so THEY say. I’m buying more…

Only I’m not going to break out my best impression of Kanye West and Jamie Foxx if you know what I mean. You’re not about that but then again, as Beyoncé put it, “’Cause if you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it. Well, didn’t I? And I’m not letting you go. Does that sound sort of creepy? You’ll have to forgive me, seeing as well that it is the new year after all. A new year, a new start, and me with my broken heart, and do you even ask anymore. Again diamonds are forever, but what about ashes, whatever of authorship. Would you tell me to take my entire left arm, which will bear my memories of my firstborn son?

I could not let go of my love for him as I can never be free of the love I have for all of our kids. They are ours, as was B. He didn’t let go. Baby Girl, I did. My failure and my disgrace. I will not let go of the truth of what I have done. For what am I without it. I am a man, a Daddy, and my grip has not loosened a bit on those I love and protect. Perhaps sanity? Can you blame me? Okay, I started writing today earnestly, passionately, and still, I fucked it up. Every word I write draws closer to two, “The End.” How about goodbye? What about the worse of all, you know Acceptance?

In 156 Days, not one has ended without a tear shed for him. How many would I cry if B III’s death cost me the family that I promised him so long ago? Again I look to my left hand, there’s your love, across my arm, him. To my right, I hold my other children. Perhaps there is a reason that dogs were given paws. Even Braxton had his moments when he would want me to let him go, to put him down… will I stop being so morbid. As I said, I was writing of him today, and that comes out as; well it ain’t good it can’t be.
But I won’t be letting go of him or of love. Won’t B Letting Go

156 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 004 ~Crushes And Stalkers, Fiction, Nonfiction~

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I don’t remember when I wrote this rule. But, I was in a group reading of alpha males, with flawless women on the covers. Or shirtless dudes. In their world, specific actions and words well… “Crushes And Stalkers, Fiction, Nonfiction.”

Monday, July 5, 2021

Chronicle 004 ~Crushes And Stalkers, Fiction, Nonfiction~

Hundred And Ninety-Fifth Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I can afford to lie in bed all day, now to turn off everything… right?

This is the perfect rule for today, as I’m starting a new year of Will’s Writings, Witticisms, & Wisdom. As THEY say, a “tale as old as time,” song as old as rhyme. I started all this because of a girl I’d rather not talk about, but when have fingers cared? From Lessons, Episodes, Logs, Gospels, and now here we have a new Chronicle. I’m still talking about females. But it’s been Braxton for the most part for the past One Hundred and Fifty-Five days. Don’t worry, Madam Justice, we’ll get to him. Only we must go back. There was Lesson 001 ~Look Who Grossed Up~. I thought I had a Crush; she thought I was a Stalker. No, she said SKEEVY, at first, yeah.

Even then, Braxton was here, and I thought of myself as a Daddy. No, I was only a BOY WITH A BLOG (and a dog). To be fair, I would kill to be that SKEEVY BOY WITH A BLOG again, if only for B’s sake. Five years I’ve been here, “Oh I’ve Wasted My Life.” Madam, to think wronging the Basic Bitch and I believe around ten different women was bad. My crime now is simple, and again you’ve heard me go on and on about this. I killed Braxton. I killed my son, my best friend. All with the hatred for this godforsaken universe. Now that B III’s gone, my holy trinity, it sure is. And I’m his prophet. Am I writing his Bible?

For once, I’m hoping with Time Travel and all, today is June 30, 2021; I’m writing the truth. Now that gets me back to today’s “perfect” rule. You see, life is not some porno, erotica, or even a bit of softcore. The things I do, acceptable with money, manhood, might. No face as hideous as my face as the song goes. In fiction, I’m good, but for real, I’m skeevy. No one on Earth can tell me this. B III wasn’t my son, my firstborn, yet THEY will keep telling me he was only a dog. I wasn’t a parent; B III was not my family for fifteen-plus years, Madam. Words have power. They make us “Real or Not Real.” Crushes And Stalkers, Fiction, Nonfiction.

155 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 003 ~Independence Day, B Free~

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A bang or a whimper, when Braxton got his freedom from me, all was silence. I wish I could cuddle him today of all days. I hate fireworks, and of course, he did too, but we’re proud Americans. I am prouder to be his Dad. Independence Day, B Free

Sunday, July 4, 2021

Chronicle 003 ~Independence Day, B Free~

To Will:
I AM a Billionaire right now, and when you “Get On My Level,” as the song goes, you should get your armory ready?

Not you and Braxton? Although there was that storm when everyone asked the question, “What If The Town Blew Away?” Last night with all the bullets, bombs, and buffoons, I was hoping that it did. Anything to be back with B III after 154 Days. Didn’t I say once, I was beyond the five minutes, and the world will end concept? You will never forget what day that was, Sunday, January 31, 2021. It was like the Thanos Snap. Half of my heart disappeared on that day. How dare I ask you to continue forward? Your first Independence Day without B III, not that the two of you celebrated. Braxton would put on a brave face, and you never liked fireworks or Six Impossible Things:

  1. I AM Finishing Reading, Zombie Inc. (Zombie Inc, #1) by Chris (Christine) Dougherty
    Completed
  2. I AM Finishing Gathering, My Braxton’s Albums
    Partial
  3. I AM Sending Gulp Off To Be Published SIGH
    Failed
  4. I AM Keeping It In My Pants (Day 001 No Fap) Real Girls Are An Exception
    Failed (Day 001 No Fap)
  5. I WILL Work On Getting My Tattoo Of Braxton
    Failed
  6. I WILL Be The Man My Son Thinks I Am
    Failed

You would think, with all my failures, you might want to be free of these. I shared many films, fiddling, and forgotten things with M Anime and Carolina Bound last week. Hell, you want to know why you couldn’t find the right words when B found his freedom. Please enlighten me. Do you think that death is both failure and liberty? In that case, like father, like son, Braxton didn’t want either to the very last second. Triple B wasn’t a slave. He was my son, and if anything, he wanted me to be free. What does Braxton want? Dammit, I should have asked that question every single day. Now you are left to wonder. A Father Free From Fear, but these Six Impossible Things:

  1. I AM Finishing Reading, Melody In The Dark
  2. I AM Finishing Gathering, My Braxton’s Albums
  3. I AM Sending Gulp Off To Be Published SIGH
  4. I AM Keeping It In My Pants (Day 001 No Fap) Real Girls Are An Exception
  5. I WILL Work On Getting My Tattoo Of Braxton
  6. I WILL Be The Man My Son Thinks I Am

I’d ask the same of you, but I’ll start by saying you should free yourself from being a fuck-up, a fuckboy, and a fucktard. Pardon my French, and isn’t this America’s day and all hmm. Are you free to be yourself then? I could settle on you being the man you were with Braxton or even the one you were right after. You know what I’m saying with the list. People all around have been asking you to be free of your mourning, but no. I don’t know if I ever thought of Acceptance, and neither should you. You can never be free of B. Perhaps tonight, all the neighbors will finish the job. Americans love to blow stuff up nicely. Independence Day, B Free

154 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 001 ~Life On The B-Side~

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Five years ago today, I started writing this blog. An anniversary… you know if you’ve been reading how I feel about holidays… anyone, anyone? To think, when I started, it was because of a “girl” and now the loss of my little boy. “Life On The B-Side”

Friday, July 2, 2021

Chronicle 001 ~Life On The B-Side~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now. Would that be enough for paradise, Heaven? “Oh, where, oh where has my little dog gone?”

My Lady, this isn’t how I wanted to start the “Chronicles….” Yes, this is the hill I’ll die on, as THEY say. I hoped I had more time to think about it, but seeing how I’m talking to you on a Tuesday afternoon. Say it with me, AHEM, TIME TRAVEL, TIME TRAVEL. So work sucks. Now I mean the Day Job without question, and didn’t I admit today that I love writing. However, something I love to accomplish, playing God. Another famous writer wrote this. “God Is Cruel.” Forgive me, Sophia, for daring to think so presumptuous as fucking right. Aren’t I full of books today, first Stephen King? And now Margaret Atwood with “Under His Eye.” I feel Braxton today. Every moment, I disappoint.

Here I am at the beginning of my fifth year of blogging, and to be honest, I can’t really remember why I started. Dammit, the Basic Bitch, but it was the PAIN, want of lust. Writing is me at my most masochistic. One more reason in a hundred, a thousand. Could it be a million that I miss my son? To think if he were here now, little dæmon Braxton. Am I writing about him today? Did I yesterday? Again I’m looking ahead. Only I never saw his death coming. Yet one more painful moment kick-starting my writing once again. Because with enough pain Lady Sophia, I will become the man I wish to be. A billionaire, a bad man, someone who belongs on Earth.

I was already that and more when Braxton would look up at me from his pillow. Five years ago, when I wrote of the Basic Bitch, I wanted to prove I wasn’t the man she thought I was. I want to show Braxton that I am the man he believed in with his last breath. Sophia, be it the Rainbow Bridge or wherever he’s watching me, he lives in me. And I want to quit being this failure, fiend, and fuck-up. I am his father, his daddy, the man who will tell his story to the world. I didn’t do so much of that today, sigh Time Travel. Today should be meaningful, don’t you think. Braxton should’ve known the A-Side, but… Life On The B-Side.

152 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Gospel 365 ~A Year B Longing~

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At the closing of the year… well, the blog year. To think I started this over a bitch four years ago and the last five months, I’ve been mourning over a son of a bitch. I am talking about my son. A Year B Longing, but I’ll finish his book this month.

Thursday, July 1, 2021

Gospel 365 ~A Year B Longing~

151 Days Without B III

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I want to believe this day is monumental. I’ve been at this for four years.

Only this is the first one talking to you like this. It’s been five months, and to think, when I began, this was all over some bitch. Is that offensive, B? Seeing as how you were the son of some bitch I never met before, you became my boy. She was on the Rainbow Bridge. How I wonder what you told her about the family that took you in. What is there to say about your father? Do you even miss me at all? Fifteen years, four of them sitting here, holding you in my lap, watching you sleep on your pillow. Remember Outside, Inside. That would be my idea of Hell, you go out, you come in, and you never stay with me, B.

Today I’m hoping I’ve started my book for you. How many NaNoWriMo’s did you sit through, Camp and all? How do you think I learned to Time Travel so well, seeing how today is Sunday? I did picture a better life for us but seeing we’re talking now, I’m pissed.
It would always be something at the Day Job, talking to your granddad, or “I don’t know, it’s just the way I am.” To you, I was Daddy, and that will never change. You weren’t waiting for me to change but only to come home. I should’ve gotten here sooner. However, I was always stuck in the past. You saved me from the present, and I longed for the future. Not for me but you.

For four years, Braxton I had rules to get by with Lady Luna. I so hoped to obey them, ha. I talked to the woman I believed would be your future Mother, Dear Future Wife. Inspector Echo showed me I would know no greater sins or shame than losing us. Dammit, I killed again with Dirty Diana because I would rather talk to you, Braxton. Today I don’t want to be mad at myself. Well, not in failing to write your story B III, okay.
When I speak to Lady Sophia, Friday, I want to know that four years mattered. Preparation to honor you, Braxton Barks Bradford, the one I love more than anyone else.
I love writing. I love you. A Year B Longing

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Gospel 364 ~Better B Next Month~

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It’s strange when I have to start a new pile of treats. Five piles for five months since Braxton “went away.” February to June, and what have I accomplished. What am I fixin’ to do as I couldn’t fix him with four years of writing? Better B Next Month

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Gospel 364 ~Better B Next Month~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now… yeah, and what year was it I was listening to all those motivations? A Million-dollar year

If I had done so, would B be alive? Now that’s the type of question that plagues me every morning. Another would have to be, am I even going to get up and try to do something with my life. Why am I going to the Day Job when I fucking hate everyone there, Echo? B, B, and oh yeah, B. When I was young, I remember seeing this somewhere. You should pick C when you don’t know the answer for any multiple choice. So here I am saying FML, am I right? As I finally did get up and I honored my son, I saw five months have passed. Honoring Braxton, what have I done, Inspector Echo? It’s like “Last Christmas” all over again.

B’s become an errand on my to-do list. Wasn’t he always but back then, I was an A-Hole, now THEY would only call me mad. Either way, I can’t stop even after these five months. Hell, I’ve been more dedicated than when B III was here. Those last few days, on top of being sick and tired of dying, he felt the same way about me, my running behind him. I’ve had plenty of girls accuse me of being obsessive, stalkerish, scary. I was the damn Grim Reaper when it came to Braxton. You know my biggest problem Inspector, TIME. I think I have all the time in the world and when I get time, like two whole days, what do I do with them.

“Just one more year, and then you’d be happy,” as the song goes. How long have I been writing with only this blog? Five years Inspector Echo, five years starting Friday. All that time, I was telling B I would give him everything. How much time with him I wasted? Braxton didn’t live to see February, his sweet sixteen, and all the money when he wanted time. Dammit, I selfishly tried to make up for it with five days when he couldn’t do anything. Well, hiding from the Reaper, showing him with love that he was going to die soon. From Six Impossible Things to a brand new year of writing. What will I do, when will I do it, Echo? Better B Next Month

150 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Gospel 363 ~I’ll B… I’ll Write~

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B on four little legs taught me to write. He taught me Patience, Persistence, Prose; brevity is the soul of wit. With so many pretty girls in this city and dreams of a mom, he’d never meet, I knew more of love from my furry kid. “I’ll B… I’ll Write.”

Tuesday, June 29, 2021

Gospel 363 ~I’ll B… I’ll Write~

Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but I shouldn’t be, or of course, it wasn’t enough to save him. I’m still trying.

You know I tell Braxton that every day. Braxton wasn’t one for “writing” prose, platitudes, and all the promises I couldn’t deliver. Brevity is the soul of with THEY teach. Of everything I have ever written, he only needed one letter with all that I have said. Always there is B. My son kept me on point more than any English teacher I ever had. B III had more faith in my novelizations than anyone, well before you, sure. I remember every three months, that’s two Camp NaNoWriMos, and then in November. Braxton always returned. He’d sit on his pillow, by my side in bed, or on the couch, and he would wait. The life he had traded for the life I hoped to give.

Now I look at the white of the pages before me. So what was the first thing I did, baby girl? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I took his character out. One death wasn’t enough for me. I was living what it takes to be a decent writer; that involves suffering. My Love, I gave life to this love I have for you and as Shakespeare said um; art thou happy. The names of our children come from years upon years of “research” well novel reading. Their love of reading comes from the concept that I read and encourage such pursuits. What brought in my first million was a bestseller here, a collection there, my scripts? Black across white, like us.

But 149 days, and even now, I’m Not Alright. Braxton got me to pursue the lives of others, but here’s the catch. Love letters, lamentations, the loose screws in my head, those words came no matter what. Braxton never taught me to say goodbye, and I don’t want to now. So here I am starting in July writing a book believing in some marvelous masterpiece. Love, it will probably be more of the same, “I love you, I’m sorry.” Lots of that I know, okay. Only I don’t want to say goodbye to my family; what remains, writing, I’m STUPID. Because I don’t know how to be alright without him. Words that bring life also bring death. I’ll be okay someday… I’ll B… I’ll Write.

149 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Gospel 362 ~Though Routine, War Never Changes~

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Whenever I left, I’d tell my son, “I love you, B, I love you, Braxton.” Then I’d face the world and return full of Fear, Anger, and Hate. He made sure I wouldn’t suffer alone. I didn’t notice his routine changing. “Though Routine, War Never Changes.”

Monday, June 28, 2021

Gospel 362 ~Though Routine, War Never Changes~

Hundred And Ninety-Fourth Rule

Madame Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I should be screaming at someone, screwing someone over. And still sleeping like a baby.

The routine of what I call my life… When B died, routine is what kept me running or instead shambling. To this day, 148, to be exact, I continue to do everything in my Denial. What I can’t seem to figure out; when it comes to the Day Job, is which is worse, Madam? It’s not “Another Day,” I can’t show that indifference anymore. But it was Anger that led to me ignoring my son. No answer is good for me, and why the fuck should I care what the Day Job thinks? Pardon my French, but here I am on this Sunday; Time-Travel, SIGH. The mere thought of the Day Job. “It makes my blood boil. Turns my eyes to flames,” like the song.

I don’t think I ever spoke about what happened with the signs at the Day Job. Once again, why do I give a damn? I screwed the company over, or routine; every moment is my failure. It’s me being STUPID. Next to Braxton’s loss, stupidity is the worst feeling in the world. The third would be that night remembering the Basic Bitch. Fourth, failing to know success. I said this morning that I screwed myself over this weekend. Not doing a thing to help myself. M Anime and I talked, and she’s expecting a war, and I swear I want peace. So why is it I like to fight, to be filled with rage like one of those Infected in “Patient Zero.” Remember the peace

Braxton and I, sitting on the couch. I would read, and he would sleep, perfectly content. I would wake up in bed. And he’d be sitting on the foot, watching the door. The walks we shared together when it was only us. Brothers, warriors he and I but grateful moments. It was always my promise to give him anything, everything, but that’s not the purpose of war. “War can’t give life. It can only take it away.” It feeds on itself, Madam Justice. Yet we continue, and why? It becomes our routine. For only a little while fifteen years, Madam. At least I had an ally, and I wonder why my rage overflows these days. I am The Walking Dead. Though Routine, War Never Changes.

148 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,