Tag: Dangerous Words

Meditation 056 ~Listen To The Silent Man~

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How do you make me shut up? You can sign my checks, have Yabbos, or be a ten lb. ball of fluff that watches me sleep and guards the door. What do I listen to? Anime vixens, the man in the mirror, and my son who loves me. Oh? Listen To The Silent Man.

Monday, August 26, 2024

Meditation 056 ~Listen To The Silent Man~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Eighth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Or maybe I’m too noisy these days. I’m talking to myself. I’m moaning out, “Madoka Araki!” E-Day…

STAY ALIVE! That should be my battle cry for the next two weeks. But considering I’m a black man and “This Is America,” I should exercise my right to remain silent. My lost boy, little love, my Braxton would have made a great lawyer. And I should listen to him, wherever he is now. Uh…

My “Spirit In The Sky.” My son Braxton. What? Other people have God. So don’t you dare tell me I can’t talk to a dog that had me kneel more than “my sweet buttery Jesus.”

However, one thing they had in common is that I didn’t listen to either… eventually. Madam, I didn’t hear when my Braxton was sick. And I haven’t bothered talking to God since Braxton passed away. I keep repeating that, Madam.

Braxton would tell me to rest now without a word. He would look after me. But looking over myself these past few days… I’m a deviant, disgusted, depraved, and dumb.

This is “good,” considering how I speak about myself and my greatest worry. Waking up this morning, I turn again to Madoka Araki. What is it about that woman that’s getting to me? I can’t get crazy because Virgil has been so cuddly lately. Again, I didn’t hear Braxton, and I’m not listening to Virgil.

Animation… Hentai, in particular… “surprise, surprise” keeps my mind silent… Or at least busy, which I can “live” with. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, so they say, Madam. If I can’t do one thing with my hands… I can learn about Madoka Araki (Discipline), Netorare, Natsuno, Saimin Seishidou… etc.

Please, BE SILENT! Well, I was crying last night, hoping that I wouldn’t wake up. It was a quiet night between watching WWE wrestling and “adult” wrestling, switching everything off, and then being left alone with my thoughts. Listening to myself, Madam, is the most dangerous thing. Being right here today, I realize I don’t like myself. Not ever. And yet, in these moments, I crave solitude, a break from the world’s noise. I’m old…

I’m almost forty, Madam, and don’t want to hear a word from that old man. What about my Old Man? Every time the phone makes a noise, I get scared. Cutting it off requires willpower.

My Braxton had plenty. I still miss his eyes on me, saying, “Go to sleep. You’re safe and sound.” E-Day brings the noise. I Can’t Listen To The Silent Man.

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

1303 Days Without B III, Day 744 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 049 ~Peace Sells, But Nobody Buys~

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A question for today. The 12th or 19th? What is peace? It was sitting with Braxton and his Aunt watching movies. It was M Anime hinting we’ll “Marvin Gaye and get it on.” Cherry’s naughty pictures. Reading with Braxton. “Peace Sells, But Nobody Buys”

Monday, August 19, 2024

Meditation 049 ~Peace Sells, But Nobody Buys~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Seventh Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… And questions are meant to be raised… And finally, answered? My Old Man beating me about Math…

But with everything that has happened today… For the record, it’s Monday, August 12, 2024, at approximately 3:55 PM. Anyway, today was horrible. But I’ve survived worse. So, I want to talk about my son who was Euthanized. My B. Is there peace with Acceptance?

That’s today’s question. As the rule states, Peace Sells, But Nobody Buys. Hell! I’m broke.

But when it came to releasing my son Braxton from his pain. Price was no object. I could find the paperwork. But I must have spent over $1,000.00 over that weekend. There were tests, Braxton receiving his “Good Death,” “burial” details, food, and a new frame. All for his peace.

Only Braxton would have never bought it, either. He wanted to stay? But I’m Dad.

A Dad does what is right for his son? So what should my Old Man do as I approach forty?

That has been disturbing me this week and the next when you read this. I’m afraid, Madam. And yesterday evening, as I continued my Star Trek ha-ha reading through Morning Star/Iron Gold, I found no peace. No worries? Please! I worry constantly, Madam. I cannot. My mind is a battlefield of emotions. And I’m losing.

This brings me to today. Because of worrying, I could barely answer the manager. But then I had to worry about what she was “scheming.” Dear Madam, I’m told I wasted my “life.” It was my 13th Anniversary at the Day Job. I blame that place for my Braxton’s loss.

My hand and my rage. I want to join Braxton.

Would that bring me peace? Do you notice I’m not answering any of these questions? What? Am I too busy thinking about that hot redhead? Did she think I was calling her cupcake when I approached her as I left? Braxton, help me! I was holding a tray of them.

That could have gone a completely different direction… cue “Girl All the Bad Guys Want.” Ha! And what about the “Visual Chick?” All roads lead to Yabbos, bringing me peace.

Except, No! Every time I turn my hand into a Jackson Pollock painting… It’s so white that I’m singing “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday.” Afterward, I’m only disgusted.

Peace? Can’t find it, afford it, or ignore it… Forever? But I continue to search for it amidst the chaos and pain. The everything… Madam. Peace Sells, But Nobody Buys.

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

1296 Days Without B III, Day 737 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 042 ~ Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies~

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Just keep writing, just keep writing. Writing what? For example, in Math, I have no answers. I can give you another excuse. And while I hate to lie… I’m not as eager to join Braxton as I hoped. Giving the truth scope. Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies

Monday, August 12, 2024

Meditation 042 ~ Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Sixth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… And mistakes have been made. The Trump Thing? The Trump Thing. So I’m sorry. Shall we begin?

As always, it starts with… Braxton. The blank space that my son made in my existence. If you are reading this, you see it. Unfortunately, I am, as well. But anything could happen, Madam. I’m speaking to you from Thursday, August 8, 2024, so who knows? With my luck… Well, I expect there’s a tombstone that is missing my name. And a dash. A blank?

Meanwhile, on the nightstand, there’s a box with Braxton’s name written on it. His grave.

What I wouldn’t give to “sponge away the writing on this stone.” It is far too early for Christmas, Madam. But I would take that holiday over several others. Existence?

Tomorrow is Virgil’s Gotcha Day. I signed my name on the dotted line. Blank Space

And why did I adopt Virgil? Because Braxton asked me to, from wherever he exists. I carry the weight of his request, his existence. His Heaven? “My eldest son, heir to my throne, defender of my kingdom.” Braxton is dead. And to this day, I still make excuses as to why. Euthanasia. Eejit’s job. Ejaculation. Inevitably, the reason is there is none. It doesn’t matter. Oh, there’s always a thing.

Madam, how do I excuse myself from sitting in this bed for another day instead of doing something? Anything! “I came up with a million excuses,” as the song goes. Miracles? Each one explains why I continue to exist. And why I’m not dead. Because, like Trump… Eww! “Oh, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” That’s my excuse for being such a monster, Madam. I struggle to accept myself.

I have something I have to do. That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one, Madam. Well, Look at me! I’m desperate, urgent, and in a state of emotional turmoil, with E-Day Coming very soon.

Better to look at Virgil. I got a call from PetSmart asking about his next appointment, Madam. And what did I say? I have to think about it. Lies are too easy, Madam. My God!

It beats saying, I’m broke? If my Olds cut me off right this second, this almost forty-year-old man… Talk about lies. That I would be alright. I’ve seen the bills, Madam. And yet I lie and say I deserve to be here. What happened to Braxton again? There is always time to make things right. How? It’s a blank space, an excuse, and a lie. Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies

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

1289 Days Without B III, Day 730 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 035 ~Never Tell Me The Odds~

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What are the odds I wake up to questions? Where is Braxton? Why isn’t he here? Does he still look after me? Did Virgil make a mess? What’s up with Star Wars and Disney+. Who’s Yabbos are on Instagram that I can look up on X? “Never Tell Me The Odds.”

Monday, August 5, 2024

Meditation 035 ~Never Tell Me The Odds~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Fifth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… So I’ll ask, but please don’t tell me the odds about Braxton, the Day Job, or Self-Gratification…

What are the odds that I’m still stuck on Sunday, January 31, 2021? That’s when my son, my Braxton, left this world. The weight of this loss is unbearable, and even now, I shouldn’t see more. No more. Everything hurts.

But then came Saturday, August 13, 2022. That’s when I met Virgil. What were the odds I would hear Braxton’s voice saying, “This is black and white, Dad. Save him!”

Indeed, what are the odds that I could live so long before B III found me? And so long after. Madam, E-Day is coming up fast. Forty is too long. The odds of this reality are beyond belief. You see…

But fifteen was not enough. What about eleven? What are the odds that today, Friday, August 2, 2024, I would be in mourning with Braxton’s Aunt? Braxton has a friend.

Gabriel Michael “Gabe” has passed.

B’s Aunt has joined the club… Another parent lost her fur baby, her son, Madam. And what are the odds she wasn’t ready? I wasn’t with the right words, songs of woe, or sage worldly advice. Hell! I thought B would live forever. Or that I would fall before him.

People play with their hearts regarding our four-legged friends or those that swim. Whatever. The odds that we can ever be the same without them… How does zero sound to you, Madam? And what are the odds that we have to keep getting up every single day? I ask why?

What are the odds that I let Braxton down and join him? It’s storming outside. I have my “protection” in the drawer. Trip, Poison, Stupidity…

But the Grim Reaper doesn’t play like that. Not with me, anyway. I’m not a “believer,” but God didn’t save my son. He is keeping me, though, or maybe that’s B III. Come on, dude.

No! I’m the one who plays. Today, I took a twenty-minute nap. I shouldn’t complain, but I’ve been trying to comfort Braxton’s Aunt as she comforted me when Braxton passed. Finding solace in this journey is a constant struggle, Madam.

What about the odds of having fun? Uh? Virgil got into trouble, so I sent him to Braxton’s room, which means I’ve been looking at Olivia Casta, Pawnshop, and anything else. I know, Madam, Eww! Can I keep it in my pants for at least three days? With this existence? What are the odds? Hmm.

Rest In Peace, Gabriel Michael. Be Nice, Braxton Barks, Please.

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

1282 Days Without B III, Day 723 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 028 ~Rage Against Plenty Of Things~

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Some people only seek out hate. Sadness makes it so I can’t breathe. Lust and Fear, too. Rage? I’m like a carrier of the “rage virus” in 28 Days/Weeks Later. But that only condemns me. And the ashes were once known as B. Rage Against Plenty Of Things

Monday, July 29, 2024

Meditation 028 ~Rage Against Plenty Of Things~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Fourth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… like choosing my fears over rage. I choose plenty over rage. But that’s the secret, like Bruce.

“I’m Always Angry”
The Avengers

You know one of the many reasons I envy my son? He’s dead. And don’t get me wrong, Madam. You can hate the dead. Speak ill about them and everything. But of everything I remember about my Braxton. I don’t remember the anger. And I was angry at him, sure.

But not once have I been angry about him leaving, as I told Dear Future Wife today. It’s Tuesday, July 23, 2024. Anyway, I told her I was always angry at me, myself and I.

Again, every book on loss is against this. And I’m mad at those writers. But it doesn’t mean I go around burning books like some people. B III’s death is in the hands of two.

But more on that later. What am I mad about today? There’s been Humiliations Galore?

Which is why we’re talking today. Only what has me now this second? Existing, Madam.

Everything is falling apart around me, for starters. There was a storm. So, I need to check on the fence. A light came on in the car, so I must get that checked out. I mistakenly looked up appointments, and they’re already talking about five hundred dollars. No effing way!

That means I can’t risk ordering something. But “no worries,” Madam. I won’t let Virgil starve. And Virgil is as confused as ever, not realizing his business belongs outside only.

It’s not like I’m training him or anything. Locking him behind one of Braxton’s gates.

This brings me back to the one I hold the most rage for… Myself. And there are not enough words or time to explain why I hate myself so much. And joining my Braxton… sigh.

Okay. First is the euthanasia of my son. I blame myself and the other culprit… The Day Job. There was so much rage for and from those people there that I ignored my son. Then?

B III in a box on the nightstand. My rage burned my son to ash. The Hell within me. Rage!

I look in the mirror. Through a camera lens. Even my search history. For example, Pacifica Ocean aka Paz Ortega Andrade. That’s from a few minutes ago. Talk about fire. Rage Against Plenty Of Things

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

1275 Days Without B III, Day 716 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 021 ~Money Is A Man’s Makeup~

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Phone, Wallet, Keys? But there is money in the wallet. There’s “my” glasses. I look in the mirror, and… that’s uglier than what I put in “my” story. I’d be pretty enough with a dog like Braxton and a good girl. But “Money Is A Man’s Makeup”

Monday, July 22, 2024

Meditation 021 ~Money Is A Man’s Makeup~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Third Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Much like Donald Trump’s face. You’ll have to forgive me. One more week of Trump pics… Eww! But what if I could break the rules that confine me, like the societal norms that dictate my actions, Madam?

If only I could be that much of a grifter. Or if I had thought to use my son, Braxton. I don’t share his and Virgil’s faces to make a buck. I shared Braxton’s pictures because I miss my boy. When it comes to Virgil, it’s so everyone knows that he’s still alive. A miracle?

Madam Justice, all it takes is money, and I had so much of that today, Thursday, July 11, 2024. So if I’m telling you that, by the time you read this, I’m out trying to make a lot more, Madam. And today, between Maxxxine, Moments of “Pleasure” and a Manuscript.

Madam, we’ll get to that. But my son and my boy, Braxton and Virgil. They’re not just my “sons.” They’re the only things that showed that I’m a good person…

But when have I ever cared about that? As I was watching Maxxxine today… Maxine Minx is an adult actress who wants to go mainstream and gets hired for a horror flick. I went in the other direction. I figured I could do poetry. And again, it wasn’t for money. It was to break free from the societal expectations that bind me. Vis-a-vis love, no…

Madam, “What you won’t do, do for love.” I thought to erase my face behind pretty words. Where did that get me? The Dean, the DEA, I’m sure “Beelzebub has a Devil put aside for me.” What I’m trying to say is this. If I got in trouble for words I thought were sweet, why not write the horrors, harems, and horrible desires? I could become the monster everyone sees.

But I could hide, become, and dare I say it? LIVE if I had money! Money is the root of all evil. So, let it grow all around me. My garden of Eden to shield everyone from The Tree of Knowledge. That being what I am. I’m starting to sound like one of those people.

Madam, in the end, we’re all hiding who we are anyway. Anybody with money is only prettying themselves up. But then again, Braxton and Virgil never have a dime, Madam. My boys are handsome. Only yeah, I’m paying their way. With what eighteen bucks? Ha!

The world is so ugly at the moment. Like my new manuscript and the software I got. My Glow-Up? Hmm. Money Is A Man’s Makeup

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

1268 Days Without B III, Day 709 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 014 ~Just Kidding Is No Excuse~

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What are SOME of the worst sounds in the world? My son’s last breath. The silence when his heart stopped beating, and I came back alone. My breathing, realizing I’m alive. The alarm clock. Laughter! And then, “Just Kidding.” Just Kidding Is No Excuse

Monday, July 15 2024

Meditation 014 ~Just Kidding Is No Excuse~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Second Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… and jokes are meant to be funny. How I wish it were true; a comedian died today.

Better myself than my son. And people might think it’s funny to die for my son Braxton or to kill for him. I am/was his daddy. That’s my job, and I failed Madam. No doubt.

Braxton’s absence is a reality I wish I could turn into a joke. I wish I could jest that I’m the biggest bully and that his return is imminent. But it’s not a joke. Braxton is gone. And with him, the laughter and joy he brought. I would give anything for him to return and reclaim his place, even if it meant Virgil had to leave. Braxton might reconsider… It’s a cruel joke, this reality.

That’s what I called it when I heard Braxton’s voice tell me to save Virgil’s life. Virgil must think his life is a joke, and soon, he’ll have a better human rescue him. Poor Virgil.

When I’m not telling Virgil, No, no, no, no, no, no, no! I’m asking him if he is kidding. I take him outside four times a day. We’re out there for twenty minutes. Only for him to decide to “go” in the house. And every time I lay down… I swear, Madam. Braxton would cuddle close to ensure I was safe and then take his post on the corner of the bed to protect me. I know Virgil is not Braxton reborn because Virgil jumps off the bed and leaves.

The demands of my Day Job are like a joke, forcing me to bend to its will. I look at my schedule for this week and the next, and I wonder, where’s my relief? That’s why I’m reaching out now.

Time may be on my side, but the reality is that I’m in a desperate financial situation. I’m left with no choice but to plead for more work hours. It’s not a joke, Madam. I need money if Virgil and I are to have a meal after today, Wednesday, July 10, 2024. And to earn it, I should write, which also requires some financial investment.

Well, if that website I found is any indication. I could even attend Camp NaNoWriMo.

Now, that’s the biggest joke of all. My existence. Every morning, I wake up Madam telling myself I’m going to Live Brave, Do Better, Be A Man. The Man in the Mirror is a bully!

And I’m just kidding when I fail, like today or Monday. But no, Dear Madam, Just Kidding Is No Excuse.

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

1261 Days Without B III, Day 702 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 007 ~Allowed To Hate Your Birthday~

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I’m sure I’ll regret writing this about E-Day. I regret waking up today. And I can hear all my motivations talk about gratitude. 39 years? Well, Braxton was here for fifteen. And his loss trumps E-Day by a mile? But… Allowed To Hate Your Birthday

Monday, July 8, 2024

Meditation 007 ~Allowed To Hate Your Birthday~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-First Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… But not this one. No! Never! I’m approaching FORTY! What a world? Waste? Why? But not today!

Madam, today isn’t even today. It’s Thursday, June 27, 2024. Will I ever stop lying? Madam, my Existence ended on Sunday, January 31, 2021. That’s the day I “joined my son.” Braxton passed away in his bed at the vet’s. Here I go, crying again. But I rather have the pain of my son’s life ending. Than that of my Existence beginning. So am I saying I’ll take the greater pain? In dog years… yes. That entire week was bad. But it’s not like this week has been any better. But again, I’ll always start with Braxton. He deserves it.

Madam, I remember the day I got my son back… in a box. Uh! And what about my Braxton’s birthday? February 13? A made-up day…

Like, I wish the word “birthday” was only made up? I swear! I have a list of words that don’t mean anything to me. Happy, Home, Birthday… I’m telling you I’m going to quit saying that regarding me. For me, it’s E-Day. Emergence, Existence, and if I ever get lucky…

Extinction. But we’ll get to that. Emergence is what matters. But no, I’m not one of those political types. Yes, I have views. But allow me to be selfish and think only about myself. AHEM…

Madam, I HATE EMERGENCE DAY!

Twenty-one years with nothing to show. Fifteen more? Well, I was Braxton’s Dad, for sure. And how did that turn out for him? And every other day, Madam. Inevitable, Imaginable.

I watched Braxton die! Unimaginable.

Please, King Kong, ain’t got nothing on me or my son. But still, I shut my eyes because tomorrow… What about today? I’m talking to you now because of the horrors this day will bring. It’s hard existing through that. Instead of embracing oncoming horrors…

Madam, I dwell on the worst moments. I survived my son’s loss and my becoming. Whatever doesn’t finish you makes you stronger. But I’m not, Madam. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t think about joining my boy. However, now I have Virgil.

Everyone calls it Gotcha Day, and that’s coming up soon. The only thing that would change about “my” rule would be to name Braxton’s loss the most hated day ever.

Allowed To Hate Your Birthday

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

1254 Days Without B III, Day 695 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 366 ~Happiness On Anyday But Birth~

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Eight years. Around three and a half of them without my Braxton. And that’s what I remember. But of the eight years, were any of them Happy? Maybe I should have named Virgil that. But E-Day is coming up in a few months. Happiness On Anyday But Birth.

Monday, July 1, 2024

Tale 366 ~Happiness On Anyday But Birth~

Three-Hundredth And Fiftieth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Along with some ideas. Like finding happiness at all. In Lessons, Episodes, Logs, Gospels, Chronicles, Sagas, Tales…

Tomorrow will mark the eighth year of what, you may ask? Well, a little over a week from now since today is Friday, June 21, 2024. And I can’t remember why I even started. Nor do I want to, Madam.

But for you, Lesson 001 ~Look Who Grossed Up~ Eww!

Think of happier days? Now, Madam, you know that’s not how I operate. The rule we need to discuss was “adopted” on Saturday, September 8, 2018. Please don’t remind me…

Yet I remember the day my Braxton passed away. That was Sunday, January 31, 2021.

But a happy day? There have been good days and bad. When’s been the last day, I didn’t think, “Why not join Braxton?” And seeing how we’re talking today, you know Monday’s been… pretty effed?

Anyway, Braxton loves me. So that Saturday, August 13, 2022, when I found Little Virgil… I’m sure it made Braxton happy because it meant I wouldn’t be following him… sooner.

Madam, we all make mistakes.

I made one today, but I’m unsure whether to “come” clean, Madam. Let’s say this: It involves a dirty blonde, a bathroom cabinet, and looking up black lights on Amazon. Doing such things brings joy but not happiness. Didn’t I say something some time ago about words like happiness, home, and acceptance? That’s one more reason I read—new words.

Speaking of which. I will need a new title if I want to talk to my Dear Future Wife. Right?

Tomorrow will be a new start. Yeah, keeping say that.

Meditations? In honor of Marcus Aurelius. How dare I, right? And Virgil was also a Roman. And considering “my” country is going the way of the Romans… But not today. I’m much too busy being anything but happy. But Madam, baring that, coming so close…

First and foremost, it was holding my son. Knowing that someone loved me. That’s happiness? And then knowing I saved a life. That loving Braxton got me to save Virgil.

The nights when Braxton, his honorary aunt, and I would watch movies on the couch. What I may or may not have done this afternoon staring at some beautiful woman…

Quoting Mad World, “The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.” Happiness On Anyday But Birth.

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

1247 Days Without B III, Day 688 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 359 ~Feeling Good Is A Responsibility~

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Money, Power, Women… Everything wouldn’t make me happy. Braxton couldn’t even do that. But he was better than most women. He made me want to be better. Why, it’s almost like being in love. Now it’s my “burden?” “Feeling Good Is A Responsibility”

Monday, June 24, 2024

Tale 359 ~Feeling Good Is A Responsibility~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Ninth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… And those that aren’t, I don’t need to be reminded of. Like someone asking, how are you?

Give me my son back, and then we’ll talk. I mean, I haven’t washed Braxton’s bedding or favorite toy to this very day. I’ll need his DNA at some point. If this week works out. Oh! So I’m going to finish a book this week. Am I feeling okay, Madam. It’s been 1240 Days. And I continue to mourn my son’s euthanasia. Feeling Good? Oh No! The depth of my grief is the norm. And they say it’s no one’s responsibility to make you happy. It is yours. It’s mine…

So write the book and “go get the money, go get the money,” as the song goes. But that’s not living “my” purpose. Am I trying to sound like a motivational speech? How I wish.

But having money feels better.

Now, if I can’t get my son, Braxton, back, If I can’t feel the warm and fuzzies for little Virgil…

POWER! No one man should have all that power. And I don’t mean in a physical sense per se. Madam, there is literally another rule that talks about how money makes a man look. A man? Haven’t I been talking about manhood equating to fatherhood? And some of the men that I admire most… I don’t know if they have families of their own. Sigh.

When you spend the better part of the day looking up new adult starlets, you find out the men they’re with, too. To have a body like that? To make women like them, Madam… Uh…

Yearn, Yell, Yield… That’s power.

And Scarface said it best:

“In this country, you gotta make the money first. Then, when you get the money, you get the power. Then, when you get the power, then you get the women.”

I want to feel good, if only for a little while. But I need money to spend. And I am struggling to find the energy to stay awake today. But what wakes me up every day? Rather, how do I feel when I wake up in the morning? I check the foot of the bed for B. Then I check his bed. The longing for the past is a constant companion. My Braxton is gone!

And Virgil? Sometimes, he’s on ‘my’ bed. Other times, I have to set up the gate, and he sleeps in Braxton’s room. Which leaves me alone to what? I look for various distractions, like bigger and smaller Yabbos, to fill the void. I know. Eww!

But if I want to make the good feelings last… I must take responsibility. Had I done this before, I wouldn’t need any ACCEPTANCE. Braxton being gone? No! Never! But… Feeling Good Is A Responsibility.

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

1240 Days Without B III, Day 681 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will