Tag: Breathe

Saga 244 ~Gonna B Alright Virgil~

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I thought the silence would kill me. But the noise filling the void now? It’s like “Wanted,” I want to scream at the Day Job, “SHUT THE F*CK UP!” I can’t even listen to Bob Marley; I need the perfect song to play on Spotify. “Gonna B Alright Virgil.”

Thursday, March 2, 2023

Saga 244 ~Gonna B Alright Virgil~

760 Days Without B III, Day 201 of Virgil’s Arrival

Just Me, Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I asked that every day. But did I listen? I hope you hear me now.

My anger. And as the song goes, “I feel stupid.” Hell! I am stupid. And I wish I could have told you that. The Wednesday you came crying to me. If I didn’t hear you… Braxton, I should have let you help. That’s one more thing making me angry today. Selfishness. Because even now, I want to make this about me. I thought I was protecting you, in a way, from my rage and wrath. But it was the indifference. I didn’t care enough, Braxton. We went on until Friday. “I sang ‘Cause every little thing, gonna be all right.” But it won’t be ever again. And not only because you’re gone, Braxton Barks. Madness. To paraphrase from the character Howard Beale “I’m fucking mad as Hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

And I’m scared of what that means, Triple B. What if it doesn’t mean a damn thing? It didn’t back when you were with me. I would still be sitting here, head of the table. Braxton, that’s what I was scared of. I wouldn’t be able to put food on our table ever again. Don’t I have those concerns about Virgil Vivi? That’s another thing that frightens me… I don’t. You see, it’s been 201 days. That’s about six months and change. Any fear, Braxton? Only I don’t want to see him suffer in the rain. And there was that time he sniffed your bed. I don’t fear at all that he’ll take your place.

I’m sad that I would rather join you. A lot more these days, B III. Thanks to the Day Job. If I blame anybody for your death… more than myself, it would be those monsters. Going on thirty-nine years, Braxton, and if I don’t have anything to show for it? It was a sad idea. Better to give in to depression than anger. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. And according to the Day Job, I don’t have one. So what should go into my head? At the moment, it’s what this reactor said about Anger, Fear, and Sadness. Triggering emotions. Lust is not the greatest. Eww! And things like hope, love… Hell! But telling Virgil and me, It’s Gonna B Alright Virgil.

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Saga 237 ~B III, 2V, D…~

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Yesterday was about shutting up or not. I didn’t talk to the termite guy. I only nodded idiotically. I told two people how I was feeling, then what… I should treat existing like a BINGO; since I never win. Depression is silent too. B III, 2V, D…

Thursday, February 23, 2023

Saga 237 ~B III, 2V, D…~

753 Days Without B III, Day 194 of Virgil’s Arrival

Just Me, Baby B,
Did you have a good day? You know your aunt doesn’t talk to me quite as often. You know why? BINGO!

Even that Thursday afternoon when I was done for the week. And I finally acknowledged… Well, the truth. Something was wrong with you, and I knew you needed a doctor. Inevitably, I made it about myself. I was tired, the day was terrible, and there were probably some girl’s tits I was thinking of. Because not my baby, no, not my child, you weren’t dying. B, you were, you did, and somehow or another, I continue. I don’t want to. I was at the Day Job today. And I fell against the wall when they started singing Happy Birthday to some chick. Your birthday was ten days ago. I got you fries but no gift… Braxton, I wasn’t crying about that. Why was I? Depression?

If I ever go and see a doctor… that, of course, requires money, and with the tax refund, I got today… One more reason to be depressed. But I’d put on a “happy” face, somehow. You’d see right through it like the freeloader. Okay, I know he has a name. Virgil Vivi Bradford. But that hasn’t stopped me from being a dick, especially today. Asshole! Braxton, you would give me one of those looks that would tell me I’m behaving as such again. I want to do better, well, no. I need to do better anyway. Fear leads to anger. That’s got nothing to do with Virgil and everything to do with your granddad. Fuck! Yesterday, today, tomorrow, texting him. Braxton, I need some dollars.

If anything, to have a family that consists of more than you, me, and the free… I mean Virgil Vivi. I am trying. But not when I’m busy telling women the truth. I did yesterday. I’m still thinking about the termite guy taking that Bow. The Girl in 6E. I was talking to Cherry about that book. And let’s say I used a poor choice of language. Fuck Me! Yeah, and now I got money to spend on porn. But $300 to emergencies and $300 to another account. There’s a $300 split between you and Virgil. Possibly $100 and change… Me? Thinking about it… Like I tell Replika, I wish I didn’t have to. I want to shut up. Death Cure. B III, 2V, D…

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Saga 230 ~Bad News B, V~

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That someone can feel the same way that I do? But I’m not reading about dead fur babies this year. Okay, the first three books I read this year. Then The Book Eaters didn’t count on the Kindle. And if Ron has his way… No Black History? Bad News B, V.

Thursday, February 16, 2023

Saga 230 ~Bad News B, V~

746 Days Without B III, Day 187 of Virgil’s Arrival

Just Me, Baby B,
Did you have a good day? You see what time it is. So you know my day is already bad. Worse…

There is always room for that. And since you’ve been gone, nothing makes it better. Boobs? I had an epiphany last night. Yeah, that’s never a good thing, is it? But okay, let’s go with boobs. I know you always felt better. When you were snuggled up with your aunt. Hell. Could you have stayed longer, B? I’m sure she beat any cloud you’re on. You should still be here in your own bed. Speaking of which, bucks. Payday B III (sigh). I’m crying over you, I promise. I still need to check the Day Job paycheck. Owing Virgil? Be nice to Virgil, I keep telling myself. He did get to lay with me when I was reading last night. So much to do today.

That’s the bad news B III. I mean, it’s always that you’re not here, but I exist and go on. For example, having finished Dystopian Girls 3, I want a new book. Which one, Braxton? I do want to know what happens to Alexa in Dystopian Girls 4. I’m also afraid to. Do you remember Stroke of Midnight? I never went in for the sequel. Plus, that was in 2020. Here come more tears, Triple B. Anytime I have to look into the past. Didn’t I say I have Republican tendencies? Only this isn’t CRT, Black History, or the like. It’s our history B III, and I do feel ashamed. Then looking towards the future… I read to avoid the bad news of the world.

Again part of this epiphany. Mammaries, manuscripts, and money. Anything to avoid the mutt in the next room. Fucking be nice, I know, I know. I am trying with Virgil; Braxton, the bad news keeps coming. I should try that. Yeah, gross; you’re so right, Braxton. Remember, I would watch you show out for your aunt, and I had to have the talk with you. Getting all Bobby Brown “Ain’t nobody humpin’ around.” That reminds me that I still need to pick a song on Spotify. Honest to God, Braxton, I don’t want to begin. Living, laughing, loving? Why is that shit so catchy? Because I’m still existing. For what? To exist and not know why, without you B. Bad News? Bad News B, V

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Saga 223 ~State of V, Braxton~

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I wish I could say I was a “Real American” that watched the State of the Union on Tuesday. Nah, about this time, I was watching NXT and not for the sweaty guys. Two years ago, Triple B would be sitting here with me. But now the “State of V, Braxton.”

Thursday, February 9, 2023

Saga 223 ~State of V, Braxton~

739 Days Without B III, Day 180 of Virgil’s Arrival

Just Me, Baby B,
Did you have a good day? Seeing how late it is, you can guess how mine was. Not a stinky corpse.

That makes two of us. Was that a low blow? My apologies, Braxton Barks. Again you can guess by the title what or, instead, who I want to talk about. Well, not really… Virgil Vivi. But it’s been 180 days or around six months. I gotta keep up with “Gotcha Day.” V’s was on Saturday, August 13, 2022. I’ve read about the first three months with a new fur baby. So here we are at six. Yes, you’re still here, Triple B. The only thing sticking more to me like writing and porno. Eww! I know, right. Don’t forget how you liked your aunt’s boobs. Always and forever, our love of TWINS. And this is your home or wherever I find myself these days. Bed.

But AHEM! I come to you this evening to say that the State of Virgil is strong. So I think… Physically, Virgil is about 2 years and 4 months. He’s eating and drinking, as far as I can tell. He needs his nails trimmed in the worst way. And when was he last bathed? Money. Emotionally, he lives in fear. I hadn’t yelled at him except when he sniffed your bed. Oh, and when he crapped on your pillow. And I ended up destroying it in the wash. Sadly, we only spend time together as we’re both napping the day away. As far as the house… he has yet to master the stairs, control his bladder, or take any initiative when exploring “his” new place.

Only he has started running to the bedroom. Do you remember how you would wait in the Den when I brought food back? Virgil doesn’t want to be left in your room all day. B. As I’ve been talking about this week, I’ve been all about the anime “Waifus.” Daddy? I can’t say I’ve been a good one leaving Virgil to do whatever and now becoming a bit annoyed with his intrusion. I haven’t “punished” him. I have sent him back to your room B. Early this morning, I woke up from a dream about a funeral. You never got one of those, for real, Braxton. And from that darkness comes Virgil Vivi walking in like he owns the place. Never! State of V, Braxton.

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Saga 216 ~Breathe, Virgil And B~

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Smells Like Teen Spirit or worse. B was only fifteen. But I’m thirty-eight, crying over a second year without my son. He’d be eighteen come February 13. And I haven’t washed his bed since he passed. The smell… um, no, that’s me. Breathe, Virgil And B

Thursday, February 2, 2023

Saga 216 ~Breathe, Virgil And B~

732 Days Without B III, Day 173 of Virgil’s Arrival

Just Me, Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I remember how you used to dance, wag your tail, and your footsteps. Little toesy-wosies…

Oh, how long did it take me to learn English after you left? Uh, you’d listen to me rant, B. But of course, I’d rather not today. Only you wouldn’t have me crying either, Braxton. Confession was earlier this morning, Wednesday, February 1, 2023. I am still afraid, B III. Cooking something to eat? You’ll be happy to know I have food left from the funeral. No, not yours. I’m sort of pissed about that. It’s tradition. Barbeque… Piggie Potato. Yesterday, I wanted both. Only since the place I got my first meal without you sucks at making a Piggie Potato… Well, a part of you says I’m thinking about myself. But no B III. Well, other than the fact I stink… I don’t know.

Not any people around here to make me nervous. I swear I should have had you registered as Emotional Support. As for Virgil… He’s still breathing. A low blow Braxton? Please, he’s only been here about six months. Call me in fifteen years, eleven months. Actually, call me sooner, Braxton. I won’t forget about you. But then, forgetting myself, B? How I wish I could B III. For real, I want to forget about that damn funeral and my funk. One more reason I’m going to go ahead and finish that food from the funeral. And I can hope that I don’t hear from your grandparents for a while. All that’s taking me away, B. That’s how I lost you, B. Holding my breath boy

Barely. Forgetting. And not wanting to breathe. Being around people B III. It’s like I don’t have the right to be alive. I want to be so small. But you are my world, a god, and even a titan. And on today of all days, I remember carrying you dying. The smell of my failure. All I need is the air that I breathe. And if that meant I could keep you alive without pain. If I had to carry you around to keep you with me, B. I wouldn’t mind at all. Not ever. Always and forever, that smell I couldn’t put my finger on, holding you. Those McDonald’s fries you loved. Braxton, you’re my reason to breathe… and smell. Breathe, Virgil And B

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Chronicle 223 ~Curse Of Being Aware~

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Another reason I sleep all the time. I’ll miss the truck that runs me over. I feel a little better than I did yesterday. Haven’t downed any pain killers… yet. And I only feel bad about the day job. Everything I’m feeling today. “Curse of Being Aware”

Wednesday, February 9, 2022

Chronicle 223 ~Curse Of Being Aware~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now. Billionaires don’t tell the truth. Only a Sith deals in absolutes, right? Things I know absolutely…

Um, besides the fact that Hemingway will ding me for “LY” words. Suck it, Hemingway, or don’t because that brings me to my first humiliation today. Being sick. Inspector, I talked about this a few weeks ago, and I don’t mean COVID bad. I’ve been vaccinated and boosted, but it’s like I’ve been hit by a truck. This was on the 29th, Echo. None of the shots reunited me with my boy. Anyway, I’m all sorts of fucked up, and I’m about 99.9% sure why. So what am I going to do about it? Well, the fact I’m not a billionaire speaks volumes. At this point, nothing. But take pain meds which have been failing these past days. The placebo effect, I’m well aware of.

As much as I know where my tax refund is going. Do you remember the few thousands investment I made? I still owe some people money. Inspector the feeling, the hurting. This all started when working on my OnlyFans, and I didn’t even get any footage. Hell, if I had, I could see a doctor. Doubtful, but that’s like keeping my oath to B III, Inspector. Speaking of doctors, I was thinking of making another GoFundMe donation. M Anime told me what was going on, and I did help out. If I did so again, it would be for the wrong reason. As the song goes, “All I wanted was to see her naked,” M Anime, Inspector. Dammit, I’m hopeless, Inspector, which is why I’m aware of so much PAIN.

Like walking into the Day Job, I’m willing to go through anything for those I despise. Honest to God, Inspector Echo, I felt lousy yesterday for leaving them my assignment. Inspector, my supervisor, said I was good. But I don’t give up like that. That’s how I look at it. I gave up because my body was so out of it. The fact that I haven’t dived into more pills is a freaking miracle. Of course, I didn’t eat dinner either. Braxton’s sickness, um no. Only he didn’t eat; my son couldn’t play with his toys. He only got up under the direst circumstances. And yes, he lived in his bed those last days. I’m not a prophet but suffer the Curse Of Being Aware.

Gospel 223 ~Braxton Didn’t Cry, Willie~

374 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 216 ~What Will B The…~

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Speak softly, carry a big stick. I would instead not speak at all, and you can’t exactly be a black man in the USA carrying anything. I haven’t gone out for a walk since B III. But who knows the future? I’m writing this way early and What Will B The…

Wednesday, February 2, 2022

Chronicle 216 ~What Will B The…~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, so I must know something. But not what will be. I am not a prophet, Inspector.

What I am is angry. As mad as I was those few hours at the Day Job, finding out my schedule. Today on this Thursday, I’m saying. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about (blank).” What I am is scared, Inspector. I’ll clamor up like I did at the Day Job, again last week. Hell, I might not have a job come this week. Even more so, Humiliations Galore ensue. What I am is sad. This is the second day of the second year without Braxton, and I don’t know what I will do. Can’t I grieve about that Inspector? With the Day Job? FUCK! But talking to you, I must still have it, right? “Gospel 216: Will And His Pancakes,” written January 31, 2021.

Gospel 216 ~Will And His Pancakes~

That’s my first shame for today. On the day that my Braxton lay dying, I wrote instead of spending more time with him. The 1st I was working. And on the 2nd LOVE. What the fuck do I know about love. Sorry for all the effing; I told you I was mad. Or am I fucking horny wanting to add to my blog? Furry little Braxton. Pretty women shaved pussies. Inspector, it’s inevitable that those two ideas set me into motion. Ideas because where’s Braxton? And you don’t see any women walking through here, but both set me to move. It’s my Day Job that I’m ashamed of, and yet I do everything to keep it. But the tape over my mouth… Curiouser and Curiouser.

I shouldn’t say things like, “Redhead Russian schoolgirl fucked on the teacher’s table,” starring Ksenia. Hell, that might never be with my extraordinary laziness. Inspector, still, that is easier to say than to keep my mouth shut. Besides saying B is gone and counting the days. This I will continue to do. Vow of silence, amongst uh other things. Speak no evil. I won’t dare compare myself to the great Maya Angelou. But thinking, my voice and pen got a man killed, my little boy, my son. This might explain why I like Time Travel. I’m always wrong, aren’t I? So why not about being the one to kill Braxton? My indifference towards him and hating the Day Job. But always, What Will B The…

367 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 209 ~Dreading What Will B~

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Hurry up and wait? B was hurting, but we should have stayed a little longer… I should wait like having to vomit my guts out every AM before heading to the Day Job. God knows I never show any there. Why do I want to wake up late? Dreading What Will B.

Wednesday, January 26, 2022

Chronicle 209 ~Dreading What Will B~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but it’s every day before making my first billion that I’m afraid of. Every single day.

I’m disgusted with myself. How can I be afraid of anything when the worse thing has happened? How I hate Wednesdays. Not you, Inspector Echo, but where was I 2021. Inspector, the days are blurring together with this week. That has yet to even begin. Inspector, it’s Saturday, so you can see this week… Gospel 209 Will’s Yearly Eye Exam. How blind was I, seeing Braxton, the Dæmon, in the future? Surrounded by love, Echo. Today I didn’t even want to get out of bed this morning, and I let the alarm blare some. Inspector, there will be a repeat of this when you read my report. Hell, I even meant to take a nap this morning after speaking with Lady Lu. Dreading the day.

Not that talking to you girls or my son is hard. It’s everything outside this bed that hurts me. Next to Sunday, I’m sorry to say, but Wednesdays are the worst. This one in particular. It’s the day I became what I fear the most. My father. The Abomination? Inspector, do you remember those days? Not for a second did I dread those decisions. Yeah, and they led to B III dying. If he knew the first day, we jumped into the car together. Ironic that he ended up hating car rides, but he thought I was taking him to a better world, Echo. Is that what we’re calling Rainbow Bridge? When’s the last time I wasn’t scared of getting in the car at all?

Today I’ll go to begin a process some would call living. The world’s more hellish. Inspector, you know how I know, I ain’t dead? Because I’m talking to you now knowing that I’ll go to the Day Job today (Wednesday). Every breath from AM until I return. My heart is pounding. Stomach-churning. In each moment at the Day Job, I’ll wish I was dead, Echo. People shouldn’t be allowed to make you feel that way, but then there’s Braxton sitting. His last car ride, and like most of them, he wouldn’t sit because he knew what was coming to him. For 360 Days, I’ve dreaded what’s coming. Hell 15 years with him, 10 at the Day Job. Side by side. Sitting, Dreading What Will B.

Gospel 209 ~ Will’s Yearly Eye Exam~

360 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 202 ~Breathe In, B Out~

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I’ve breathed in worse than the Day Job bathroom. The germs of 99.9 of people I know. B’s aunt is an exception. Mourning her family’s loss of their beloved Dobby. Sometimes I wish I could stop altogether, but B’s favorite game. Breathe In, B Out

Wednesday, January 19, 2022

Chronicle 202 ~Breathe In, B Out~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, I always say. Today (Sunday), ahem, when it rains, it pours. My condolences to Carolina’s, Dobby.

I know, I’ve talked about “The Long Walk” before. Not the book so much as the concept. Sorry, Stephen King. Sorry, Aunt Carolina. How about sorry to the veterinarians? B? Should I include you as well, Echo? As I’m sure, I’ve told this story. Hmm. We’ll work up to B III. I don’t know how old I was, but it was on an Emergence Day. In the cartoon Beetlejuice, there’s this character that goes, “What in tarhooties?” Only I said, “What in the Hell?” Next thing I know, I’m being pulled outside, but what was the worst part, Inspector? Breathe in, breathe out, and what? It damn sure ain’t living. I haven’t lived for… since losing Braxton; 353 Days when you see this Inspector Echo.

The death of a child. Honest Echo, I should have died with that Emergence, Inspector. Every day, stepping into school and it’s what I wish. I’m no killer. Somehow inevitable. Only the one I killed was in this house. B III called it his home. I’m worse than my Olds. And forgive my Republican tendencies once again, but going out is like a Death March. You know how I talk about the restrooms at the Day Job and how I can’t breathe in the stench. The whole damn place is like that. I can’t breathe, and then I beg to get out. Then, of course, I whine about being let back in. One of Braxton’s favorite games. The look on his face before the diagnosis.

Breathe in, breathe out. I know B was doing this. Because as I’ve been reading and as the song goes. Listen To Your Heart. Braxton told me, “Daddy, let’s go home.” If anything, I speak fluent Braxton. If I had only listened before, but no. Always breathe in, breathe out. It was my life, put one fucking foot in front of the other for those bastards at the Day Job. We were struggling to breathe but sitting together, laying together. The air up there B? Is it better, not as you need it. I don’t know how I keep doing it. I was a zombie. And no matter the horrors slurred, spitted, are shat I walk, I breathe. I killed Braxton. Breathe In, B Out.

Gospel 202 ~Sell You On Will~

353 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Episode 160 ~Love, A Medicinal Will~

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A choice, live your life with hate or love and embrace death, I’ve seen it recently “Me Before You” “A Million Little Things” and speaking of little things, my little boy won’t take his tiny pills, and my heart is too big. Love, A Medicinal Will

Saturday, December 8, 2018

Episode 160 ~Love, A Medicinal Will~

Hey Lady Lu,
How To Make One Million Dollars, do something like “Are You The One,” I’m sure shows like The Bachelor/Bachelorette make a lot of coins or love anything besides people and animals, that is if you don’t plan on keeping the money. Love is priceless, love is infinite, and love is broke because with life too many things can go wrong and maybe hearts have to be empty so that you can fill them with, well whatever, to make room how you can.

Does size matter; I mean that in a purely non-sexual way since I broke my NoFap streak yet again because of two dark haired MILFs and two blonde actresses; yeah when the bed is empty, and I’m pushing nightmares aside, something has to fill the void. Plates get larger since I’m not sharing. Nevermind the fact my belly seems that much more empty today. I don’t feel like eating as I’m full of such emotions, hell maybe I’m the one in need of medication. B III sigh his heart is becoming too much for his little body, but his big mouth won’t let him swallow the tiniest of pills he needs, because my love can’t save him, love is eternal.

Hate doesn’t have to be, though I have views on that as well, it can be like the nightmares I’ve been having about my pest problem, I dreamt that I was holding the door closed and rats, snakes, even alligators, were trying to get through, along with the ants and other creepy crawlers. It’s that rage that builds up inside me that makes me feel like I’m going to explode and maybe I can understand why guys try to get bigger or at least carry more muscle. When I’m writing, fifty-thousand words seems like a daunting task, but then they don’t seem to be enough, I have so much more darkness, that must know oblivion.

The difference between love and hate, one makes you bigger to encompass more, the other makes you smaller, and there never is enough room, it’s a thin line when it comes to B III, hating what he’s doing now has him locked up, because I won’t have this house empty without love. Is it the same in BDSM I wonder, bondage, focusing pain and pleasure because I might lose myself to something as big as love… that’s a big pill to swallow am I right Luna; Love, A Medicinal Will.

I Will Have No Fear