Saga 269 ~We Cannot Learn Without Pain~

Didn’t I say I’ll break a hand someday? It hasn’t happened. At least I’d have an excuse. Not to pet Virgil. Or pound away at keys for… reasons. And yes, the palms of my hands are filled with… Anyway, existence is pain. “We Cannot Learn Without Pain.”

Monday, March 27, 2023

Saga 269 ~We Cannot Learn Without Pain~

Two-Hundred and Eighty-Fifth Rule

Madam Justice
I AM a Billionaire right now. Or if I decided to be honest. I’m just a sucker for pain, as the song goes.

Of course, not a day goes by; I don’t think about the pain that defines this existence—my son’s death. Has a day gone by that I haven’t brought up Braxton Barks Bradford? And what did I learn from his leaving me? Well, more like his murder. THEY say at the Day Job with all the Humiliations Galore that goes on there. My face turns red. Well, tries. But it’s my hands, Madam. What color was the pen I used singing Braxton’s euthanasia? The Hell if I know. But my hands are red with his blood. Gray or black with B’s ash, hmm? I’m not opening that box again. What about B’s memorial, the money, and the memories? So many pictures I should look at.

Because everything hurts so much, and I’m still so effing STUPID. That happens when you’re busy pounding away on one head and ignoring the other. Oh, with these hands, Madam. With these hands. I can’t say I use them for anything that resembles love. LUST? I could go on and on about that. But first, I’m talking to you on Sunday, March 26, 2023. And I’m trying to keep my hands off my dick. Or from typing perverted desires. Why do you think I keep repeating The Zoe Colletti/Tifa Lockhart Incident on January 11, 2022? And The Cherry Collision Thursday, February 16, 2023. I didn’t learn from one, so here I am, suffering. Will the pain subside after the lesson has been learned? Or vitamins…

And what did Virgil Vivi do to deserve the pain he’s in? He’s sitting in Braxton’s room because… I could give you an excuse Madam. I’ve been rereading a lot of quotes from all those dead fur baby books. About when I thought B III would be reincarnated and return. All the books I read only to remain STUPID. I should join the Republican Party. Only they don’t read, and the only burning I’m doing is the heat here. Me, being effing horny and waiting on my time in Hell. That’s right. The Day Job again. What’s there to learn? Madam, I want to join my boy. But he wasn’t smart enough to leave. Harsh! I decided that for him. We Cannot Learn Without Pain.

785 Days Without B III, Day 226 of Virgil’s Arrival

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,

Lesson 321 ~The Bad News Squares~

Do we call it bad news anymore, one more school shooting and more people will stick to their televisions, computers, and phones for even less time, the revolution will not be televised they say but why risk going out these days. The Bad News Squares

Friday, May 18, 2018

Lesson 321 ~The Bad News Squares~

Hey Lady Sophia,
Can You Love Me Again, after I give you the bad news, that’s the world today, endless bad news, maybe one more reason that my eyes hurt or perhaps I should go outside, but that’s quite dangerous for African-American men these days?

Do you ever wonder if they hate it, the news anchors that at least once a week write about a school shooting, more young people dying, black people, immigrants, all being torn apart every single day? What about the liars who have to know what they’re saying and yet they continue, from our computer screens, our televisions, the snippets in our phones? As the song goes it’s Hip To Be Square but notice how it’s not so much to be a rectangle with as many people as we’re putting in boxes, I wonder if death still avoiding me, just saying.

“This a celly
That’s a tool
On my Kodak
Ooh, know that”
This Is America

To think what was once the norm, people going about their lives, squares, and next thing you know they’re more round faces for squares to use, numbers on charts and graphs, and it looks like other boxes, prisons are filled with the wrong people. So we hide in these boxes, we call homes, for the record, as stupid as it sounds I hate that word home, I’m in a house and while the home is where the heart is, my heart more often than not is pieces. I told “Indiana Gone” my heart was broken five times in one day, from stories, friends, and movies, no Deadpool 2 spoilers here.

“The world will break your heart ten ways to Sunday. That’s guaranteed. I can’t begin to explain that. Or the craziness inside myself and everyone else.” Silver Linings Playbook (2012)

I keep telling myself I’m going to list all the reasons I’m a writer *sigh* well here is another one. I talked about rectangles not being cool but writing is my gift to myself and everyone else, and I only want to get all this down, put it in a box with a pretty bow and hide it. Add it to all the skeletons in my closet because it hurts to look at, like all the potential submissive clothes, and Hardee’s uniform (did we ever talk about that), maybe another day. Let’s not talk about my favorite box either, another reason I haven’t been working on my story as much as I should be and what’s the point with how this country is looking it might be illegal to read and write again, for anybody, children aren’t educated these days.

I never believed them when they would call television the idiot box but look at the people talking, the president is filling boxes one way or another, (don’t look up Stormy Daniels “entertainment”) but do any of us hate it, writing The Bad News Squares.

I Will Have No Fear

Grave Vocabulary

Words hurt, words kill, on one hand, I’m not one for politics or religion, some words though do damage on a more personal level I suppose, sometimes I wish we were more like the people of Pontypool. Grave Vocabulary

And we all fall down

from the graduate to the class clown
What defines us, is the letters
which fair
no better when we put them together

to allow a king his crown
or any man to speak for God
Feel it coming in the air
tonight, every sin, how we are flawed

Not friend, not lover, or a victor, no noun
Enemy, fiancé, target, mutt
Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally, we’re all scared
But we shut up

when the new girl in town
wants us to believe
she’ll be the last beautiful girl, anywhere.
Please, please, please, it’s a disease

this vanity that somehow
people still ask why
hateful words are all we have to share
Do you think God is listening on high

until he can no longer grin and bear
because I’m already there

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved