Tuesday, May 6, 2025

Meditation 309 ~Virgil’s B In Language~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? But as Snow Patrol sings, “Those three words are said too much. They’re not enough.”

How do I know? Despite how much my Old Man paid my way, I hate him. My firstborn son, Braxton, died. And I could say it to my secondborn son, Virgil. But I hate lying.

Always and forever, there’s you, my love. There is the family we created together. And you know me, a beast with a beat. “Havin’ my baby. What a lovely way of sayin’ how much you love me.” That’s all you because I highly doubt Braxton would send me such a song. If he were here today, his four little legs would run circles around his two-legged siblings to keep them safe. Virgil would be quieter than them, easy. Long story.

Love can be quiet or loud. It’s a difficult language.

And since I’m reminiscing about people, places, and even pieces of myself I hate. LEARN.

I’m constantly having to relearn how to love myself. Love, I am The Walking Dead. However, I’m not saying that because today is Sunday, May 4, 2025. So we both know, um, Tuesday, May 6, 2025, is going to suck. Oh, we’ll get to the sucking. Uh, ew. Uh, lovers.

Watch my mouth? Again, we’ll get to that. I say the most horrible things, and we’re not a religious household. But love, Jesus had it easy. If we skip the torture, he just died, love.

My Ma would say he died to save us. And I live? Not because I particularly care to do so. That’s my love language. STAYING.

Again, from a biblical context, Jesus came back. God is love. Dog is love, and my B III, “I said he doesn’t look a thing like Jesus,” as The Killers put it. However, “My Goddess.”

Um. Did we put the kids to bed four-legged, two-legged, and all? Okay, dearest love.

Purely in a Shakespearean meets The Pretty Reckless type of way, “You make me wanna die.” Hear me out, my love. My grief brings me closer to my son, B. Not really, but that’s what I’m going with. Being with you brings me closer in a way to dying. Seriously? Neither of us is Rihanna, but “Sex with Me,” sex with you, I tell myself, “I guess I die another day.” Virgil’s B In Language.

“I think I’ll find another way
There’s so much more to know
I guess I’ll die another day
It’s not my time to go

For every sin, I’ll have to pay
I’ve come to work, I’ve come to play
I think I’ll find another way
It’s not my time to go.”
Die Another Day

1556 Days Without B III, Day 997 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, April 29, 2025

Meditation 302 ~Room After B, Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? Every little step I take, you will be there. But I’m not Bobby Brown. I’m…

That’s the thing, my love. I want to say, “All Yours.” But I’m not one to shy away from the truth. And while I’m constantly asking myself where I am going, It’s where I am.

“Where you gonna go, where you gonna run, where you gonna hide? Nowhere… ’cause there’s no one like you left.” — Carol Malone, Body Snatchers (1993)

Darling, I have never left the last place I saw my boy on Sunday, January 31, 2021. There was Braxton, in his own bed on a vet’s table, looking at me to do something, save him, or spare him any more pain. My boy wanted to stay. And since he couldn’t, I have. That is the truth. It could be a new definition of love. At its most simplistic, love means you before me. By that logic, I do love Virgil, too. But the concept that one would only stay.

Baby Doll, I could give you a whole playlist on that “Stay With Me” “If I lay here. If I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” “We were made to never fall away.” You can thank B for that last one. “You’re coming back for me.” Damn right!

However, this is the rub. How can I return to a place that I have never left? Where am I?

We are in a dream. I still see us on a beach somewhere. Our two-legged kids ran along in the sand and waves. Little Braxton pulled with all his might to keep them from the water. And you are pulling me and trying to get me to join you. Where?

Again, I don’t know. A man is supposed to lead, but I would rather follow my boy or have you, my love, follow my rules. One of those reasons is “chains and whips excite me,” ha-ha! You know how I’ve been feeling about money these days. Building our “Red Room.”

More like I wanted to “Paint It Black.” Like all the ink along the pages of the books I write. I read something last night and to see the dark lusts, depravity, and desires. Love? Honestly, it could go either way. Let’s say all the dark places in women that men yearn to go, my love. Because with you, at least, I’m moving forward in a Kama Sutra way, baby.

Love? Room After B, Virgil.

Even if you leave this room, you can never leave this room.
— from 1408 (2007)

1549 Days Without B III, Day 990 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, April 22, 2025

Meditation 295 ~No B In Sharing~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? Enough to SHARE my life with you. Or give it. Oh, to be so noble.

Missing my Braxton, I could be a modern-day samurai. Committing Seppuku? No. That would only dishonor my firstborn son, you, my love, and our family. What? You didn’t think I only studied Japanese Adult Anime. Would you instead have me share more about B III?

Money has also become a concern. I was talking to my Ma the other day and wanted to share with her that I am afraid. A man provides for his family. Husband and father. “What Kind of Man Would I Be,” to admit that I’m afraid I can’t give you and our kids everything you want and need. But I wouldn’t be a good one. “What Makes a Good Man?”

Manuscripts full of bad ones. I was reading “My Writing.”

Yesterday, I kept getting the same response from “the critics.” I share far too much.

Truthful, yes, but too much. There’s “No Hope Left.” Apparently, I can’t say such things. I didn’t tell Braxton that as I watched him die. I don’t tell Virgil that when we walk every day. He needs to believe in a better world. A better me. What about myself, love?

Looking at myself in the mirror, I inevitably say, “I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend.” But what’s the truth? I want to tell the worst things, my Dirty Little Secret.

Braxton was euthanized Sunday, January 31, 2021, because I failed him. I don’t know how to reach Virgil. And I wish I was never born.

Because I am afraid. “It feels like I’m dying. I’m so scared all the time.” So why not share my sins with you? The things I have never done. Is it effed up that I think about this, like sharing food with my boys? Braxton eating hot dogs, and Virgil has pizza bites. You love?

I get off on the idea of watching you with someone being “ravished.” Cuckoldry vs Netorare (NTR). There’s a book in the closet, “Ravishment: The Dark Side of Erotic Fantasy” by Desmond Ravenstone. I’ve been excited by nonfiction violation stories. Exhibitionism is something I’d explore with you. My Sadism. Fear brings out my depravity. I share this with you because telling myself, my boys, I’ve failed. No B In Sharing.

1542 Days Without B III, Day 983 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Meditation 288 ~Love’s A B, Virgil~

Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? Something you and Braxton have in common. The reason I’ve been playing the song “Jumper.”

“I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again
I would understand.”
Third Eye Blind

Must I always jump to memories of my firstborn son, Braxton, who died long ago, long ago, long ago. Four long years, and still, I linger on that first minute. I love it and him.

Only I’m quick to jump onto some mattress with you. Or anywhere, for that matter. Love and lust. Dare I say I might actually like not feeling so sad all the time? I’ll take love over war. As I’ll take Sadism over Masochism. Are those dirty words? If you have read what I have been typing lately in novels. Again, if I sound like anything from Jumper, then be worried.

But Virgil’s here, along with our other children, so you and I, my love, won’t be jumping or bouncing soon.

Son of a B! Am I mad, grieving, horny as the Devil himself. I’m confused and depraved, and even when I wake up, the first thing I think of is that I’ve had enough. Hence, Jumper playing. If only love…

You know what stops me? My son B, B III, Little B, Braxton. I was once… Dad of a B. However, to love like that again, there are no words because there aren’t any answers.

How many words are in the English language again? And I was working with a writer the other day on one of many stories; “The Eve of a Cherry,” “Nightmare At The Meat Market,” and “Cries Come Women, Come Country.” The third is an Erotic Horror War Thriller. And thinking of all the horrible things I put in that synopsis. Honestly, is that what love is to me? Is it making someone feel horrible? Like me 24/7. You’re still here.

“In my trials
And my tribulations
Through our doubts
And frustrations
In my violence
In my turbulence
Through my fear
And my confessions
In my anguish and my pain
Through my joy and my sorrow
In the promise of another tomorrow.”
Will You Be There

My Braxton is not here. But he loved me when I had no earthly or divine idea of how to love myself. And I could honor him by loving myself the way he loved me. The way he chose to love me when he should have been a furball locked away in my sister’s purse.

And that’s why I hear his voice, his bark now. The words “I love you” should mean something. But there are other words… Braxton says, “Don’t be afraid.” You tell me, “Whatever you want.” Virgil and the other kids call me “Daddy.” Myself? “Tomorrow’s gonna suck.” Love’s A B, Virgil

1535 Days Without B III, Day 976 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will