Tag: Chronicle

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 002 ~How To B Comfortable~

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I have said that I have never been so comfortable, never slept so carelessly, and never known such courage as having Braxton watching over me. He would cuddle close at night, yet I wonder why without him, I’m so tired. How To B Comfortable.

Saturday, July 3, 2021

Chronicle 002 ~How To B Comfortable~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but will anything be as comfortable as Braxton’s fur. Does the Rainbow Bridge have comfy spots?

No matter how much sleep I get these days, I wake up tired. Do I blame the Day Job? I won’t go all Idiocracy. “I like money.” Only money makes us all comfortable, THEY say. It would be something if Braxton was still here. He had three beds of his own, and nine out of ten, he chose mine. Is that why I’m finding it almost impossible to leave myself? The couch isn’t doing me any favors either whenever I can reach it. As soon as I get up, I’ve told myself that I’m going to make the bed, surprising what a bladder can accomplish. B III and his walks. I would have been awake way before now, and I am wide awake; dubious reasons.

Let’s just say I broke one of my promises when it comes to Six Impossible Things. Dammit, those things are comfortable, which is why I’ve repeated publishing GULP two years. Always and forever, it seems like, but that only works if you’re talking about grief. I continue to count up the days. It’s been 153 days, and I didn’t even care to check my mail. We found a dog that matches you. At this rate, whoever they are is gone, but I’m not comfortable with the distinction of “murderer.” The only person saying that is me, and the truth hurts. It’s like sleeping on stones, sort of like a prisoner. After a time, you forget comfy beds, and the stone is all that you know.

Of course, my bed has not been the same since B III departed. I can change the sheets, which I’m still mad about. I can get another mattress, my sister’s old one, ain’t I pathetic. I can continue to drape myself in hoodies so I can survive the Day Job. Did I ever tell you it’s like Linus and his blanket? It’s summertime, and I’m freezing again, always and forever. I swear, I should have gotten Triple B, Emotional Support status because I was never braver than when it came to him. By making Braxton comfortable, I made myself too. You’re thinking, but why didn’t I buy him those doggie steps. Why aren’t I eating so well? Braxton, Babes, Bucks, knowing How To B Comfortable.

153 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