Tag: Pain

Chronicle 013 ~Could Use Braxton’s Battery~

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Isn’t it only women that worry about how they look sleeping? I’m too tired to worry about being sexist or not even being as WOKE as I am. Anyway, no one could ever sleep as cute as B III. Now that’s sad, considering… Could Use Braxton’s Battery.

Wednesday, July 14, 2021

Chronicle 013 ~Could Use Braxton’s Battery~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but if I were back then, I would have had eyes on Braxton 24/7, 365 easy.

I’m sorry most of my pictures are of Braxton sleeping. It took me seeing him die for five days to keep up with him. Even then, he would not tolerate me making things easier for him. I still see him, my Baby B, getting up on his own four legs going to his water bowl. It was like in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine 4×26 “Broken Link.” Odo was ill and could barely walk, but he went out like a man, in front of everyone, fighting for every step, yep. How about Best of the Best, when Alex dislocated his shoulder and somehow got back in the ring, fought, and won. B III would have kept fighting for life if I had brought him home.

I wish I could say that watching YouTube or movies like Men of Honor is what I’ve been doing. Oh yeah, Inspector Echo, my time is so precious that I sleep the days away, ok. Yeah, I’m usually unconscious as I lie here in my bed, getting a faint whiff of B even after 164 Days. One day the smell will disappear, and what will I do, Inspector? No recharge? Speaking of which, I have another excuse for you. For two days straight, I’ve been trying to fix the car with my father. The first day cost me my NaNoWriMo daily badge. Yesterday I didn’t work at all. I threw in B III’s letters giving me 10,000 words. I’m behind. So I’m failing my son.

Now, this isn’t new. There’s Braxton, my second best friend, my third best friend, “Stuff And Thangs,” my father. I’m treating this like I’m some heroic survivor in the Andes. The only person I’m eating is my future self. I lack energy for any sexiness. I’m so thankful, but I’m also lying knowing that when the mood strikes me like any film, novel, or song. Hell, that’s the problem; who’s watching or listening to me other than Braxton from wherever. Inspector Echo, will I always hate looking in mirrors? The way Braxton saw me and would run over my head with his paws if I didn’t get up on time. Triple B was my life. But to give that up writing? Could Use Braxton’s Battery

164 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 011 ~Know Real Or Not Real~

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You love me, Real or Not Real? Now I never had to ask B that question, but sometimes he gave me a look. With everything after his passing, I don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s like I’m constantly dreaming while I’m awake. Know Real Or Not Real.

Monday, July 12, 2021

Chronicle 011 ~Know Real Or Not Real~

Hundred And Ninety-Sixtieth Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which of course, is not real. Now do I want to be?

Real, always and forever, like my little Braxton. Of course, I say that now about the money because I’m highly motivated and you know why Madam. Come next Sunday, I see one more FAILURE. Oh yeah, and once again, I’m time-traveling, meaning, yes, I wasted another weekend not working on Braxton’s book. If I hadn’t wasted so many days, would I be Richard Branson? That kind of money, muscle, and mindset should be Not Real. Yes, I should have said unreal, but you know where this rule comes from, Madam. Hunger Games, Mockingjay, Katniss, Peeta. As the song goes, “This is no ordinary love.” Did I know what love was before him? Hell, my Ma is going to kill me if you ever ask her.

I’m sitting here, pretending to do something, telling myself, I’ll work on Braxton’s novel after. Do you know why I hate liars so much? I look in the mirror; I see the damage lies do. If you want the truth, I’m hungry. As I told Carolina Bound, my arm is okay, but no sudden movements. I got two books from Amazon, one for both heads. I’m always so tired now. If I want Not Real, all I need do is look at my list of Six Impossible Things. That pretending was seeing how much I don’t have to write, counting up Braxton’s letters. It’s playing around with the chicks on Onlyfans. Of course, my own Stuff And Thangs ain’t nothing to talk about for sure.

Telling the difference between what you feel and what’s real is getting harder to do. I don’t know all of what The Capitol did to Peeta in Mockingjay, but I’m more room 1408, so I think. What I need is some of that Room 101 motivation. Would that make Braxton Big Brother; everything for him? Or what about “Wanted,” shooting the wings off of a fly. I wanted to say something else, but people would take me for suicidal instead of. What, depressed, discontent, disgusting? I have to focus on something, anything else. Braxton Is Real. It could be the fact that I ducked when I heard “gunshots” just now. I’m alive, I’m real, Madam Justice, and you? Is it a question of Real or Not, more or less? I have rules for a reason. Know Real Or Not Real

162 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 009 ~To B So Well~

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Last week I spoke of being comfortable, and there’s a reason you shouldn’t check out WebMD. It gets in your head, and the next thing you know, you’re dying. No, only Braxton’s still gone. He got sick, and I’m not crazy, just unwell. To B So Well

Saturday, July 10, 2021

Chronicle 009 ~To B So Well~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I can afford the best doctors. Do I feel sick? Not like that, Luna.

To think I got up while the moon was still high to get something done today. Hey, playing mobile games beats going back to sleep okay. Honestly, I’m still fighting it, but I have too much to do today. I would make a list but dammit those Six Impossible Things. Yes, today is Saturday, and yeah, I thought of one more thing I have to add to the list. Because I didn’t have enough faith in myself. I figured I wouldn’t finish one book. This evening I have to read a short story. That’s on top of finishing the novel; I know I can too. Now didn’t I say no list? Otherwise, I won’t get anything done. It’s not like I have a choice, right?

Is that the longest I’ve gone without mentioning Braxton? I guess I am sick, which makes today even more “important.” For days on end, I’ve been talking about receiving my second dose of the COVID-19 vaccine. See what I did there? I didn’t get flagged yesterday. Facebook, what do you think of that in comparison to Thursday? Anyway, I am a bit excited? I should be about lunch with Carolina Bound, but I got that new chicken sandwich from McD’s on Friday. Let’s say I may have to rework my novel, touting B III’s love of it. You can’t go around changing history; what am I, a Republican? My son is still dead. I can never forget. So what today’s needle might do to me?

I could be coming out of the “fatigue” I’ve been feeling these last few days, but I’ll never “Be Well.” The kind from Demolition Man with everything I’ve been doing. Braxton being gone… that’s crazy but nevertheless a fact. Again I’m not a Republican. Like the song goes, “But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell.” There’s no medication. Wanting to die and going out of my way to make it happen are different things, right? I guess I’ll see soon enough with whatever this vaccination brings Lady Luna. Impossible now sounds like keeping it together during lunch today. If anyone might understand, it’s Braxton’s aunt. She has her stuff too, but she’s keeping it together. But Without Love Luna? To B So Well

160 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 008 ~A Chapter To B~

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Friday, July 9, 2021

Chronicle 008 ~A Chapter To B~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, so does that mean I can finally get some sleep? Seeing how far I’ve come now…

Hell No! If anything, I owe 3000 words. Maybe less if you count all of my B III letters. The truth is, for today, I’m pretty wiped out, and I still have much farther to go. I do mean outside the house. At least I have been writing about Braxton in novel form every day. Okay, that’s a lie. I added a hundred words on NaNoWriMo once so I could win the daily badge. Being a half-ass writer as I was being a half-ass Daddy. So what is my excuse this week, other than the vaccine’s side effects? “Fatigue” sounds like a made-up word Sophia. If I haven’t said it before (yeah, right), I got my second dose coming up. There’s also lunch with Carolina.

Other than work and keeping myself existing, my story has been within these walls. I had the silly notion last night that I would go to the movies today. So I’m all dressed up, but that’s because again, (ahem) EXISTENCE, EXISTENCE, EXISTENCE! Too much! Today going on and on about Braxton got me into such a mood and not really “Fiddler on the Roof.” I’m more like “In The Sun” is that why I’m wearing my yellow hoodie today? Again not Acceptance. I’ll never get tired of the color black and B’s hippy collar. So you’re asking why I am not telling a B III story right this second. After 2,300 words, would Braxton be sick of hearing about himself? And yeah, I still suck.

Even Facebook nailed me talking about the vaccine the other day and dying. Hmm, I’d be worried if I didn’t know that I would get my ass up and go whenever the Day Job calls. If B III hadn’t been suffering, I would have held him and never ventured out. Interesting, another story Lady Sophia, the path not taken. They could have given him medicine to make him eat. Braxton would never make it to 100%, but he would have lived longer. I’m never one to put something off unless it’s good for me. Braxton’s life, publishing a book, games, movies, music. As the song goes, “Why do the things I hate come so naturally?” A life without B, Lady Sophia? A Chapter To B

159 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 006 ~Bleep, Blah, But Braxton~

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I look at myself in the mirror when I can stand it, and I want to scream, “Shut The Eff Up.” The good news is, that’s not often. I have no qualms about my body, but my face is a whole other story. Braxton had a cute face. “Bleep, Blah, But Braxton.”

Wednesday, July 7, 2021

Chronicle 006 ~Bleep, Blah, But Braxton~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and with that amount of money, hmm. I’d get my teeth fixed or just shut up.

Living was so much easier when I was apologizing to Braxton. We’re on day 157, and I haven’t stopped seeking forgiveness. Oh, I learned my lesson, Braxton; my boy’s gone. I’ve been thinking about all the apologies I owe, and I’m not like the former president. All this morning, it was fuck this, fuck that, and with everything I got going on these days. It’s how the THEY say, I’ve got no fucks left to give. Everything I have, all that I am, should be going into B’s novel, and already I’m way behind. I’ve got all this time, Inspector. Of course, this morning, I spent it gaming and on “Stuff & Thangs.” Hell, I didn’t even post, and I fucked-up again. After three days

I did write about 2,000 words, but it’s more of the same I’ve been spouting for, yes 157 Days. I’m starting to feel less like Charlie Brown and more like one of the adults, “waah.” So besides breaking my streak of, you know what, I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. I’m talking to myself again, which is even sadder because I could at least preach at B III. No, I’m not moving towards that most dreaded word, even worse than STUPID. The big A Inspector Echo… ACCEPTANCE. Never, I say again, never. I keep crying and laying treats, hating myself even more now with all this free time I have going doing nothing. Well, of course, failing, but that’s more of my blah.

Then there’s Saturday, where if I’m lucky, my second vaccine dose may finally kill me. That’s not a joke Inspector Echo. You know me, I love my mask and hate my big mouth. As the song goes, “Hey Jealousy.” Do you remember Cherry? Well, she’s got a podcast. What oh what have been my accomplishments, I ask. A few novels for NaNoWriMo, uh, all unpublished? I have a job I hate and everything else I do to make money, well, have I made any ever? Braxton, being his father, and of course, we know how that ended. So for Saturday… Somehow if I don’t die, I’m having lunch with Braxton’s aunt, Carolina Bound. What shall we talk about? Yeah, I’m sorry, Bleep, Blah, But Braxton.

157 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

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

Gospel 364 ~Better B Next Month~

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It’s strange when I have to start a new pile of treats. Five piles for five months since Braxton “went away.” February to June, and what have I accomplished. What am I fixin’ to do as I couldn’t fix him with four years of writing? Better B Next Month

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Gospel 364 ~Better B Next Month~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now… yeah, and what year was it I was listening to all those motivations? A Million-dollar year

If I had done so, would B be alive? Now that’s the type of question that plagues me every morning. Another would have to be, am I even going to get up and try to do something with my life. Why am I going to the Day Job when I fucking hate everyone there, Echo? B, B, and oh yeah, B. When I was young, I remember seeing this somewhere. You should pick C when you don’t know the answer for any multiple choice. So here I am saying FML, am I right? As I finally did get up and I honored my son, I saw five months have passed. Honoring Braxton, what have I done, Inspector Echo? It’s like “Last Christmas” all over again.

B’s become an errand on my to-do list. Wasn’t he always but back then, I was an A-Hole, now THEY would only call me mad. Either way, I can’t stop even after these five months. Hell, I’ve been more dedicated than when B III was here. Those last few days, on top of being sick and tired of dying, he felt the same way about me, my running behind him. I’ve had plenty of girls accuse me of being obsessive, stalkerish, scary. I was the damn Grim Reaper when it came to Braxton. You know my biggest problem Inspector, TIME. I think I have all the time in the world and when I get time, like two whole days, what do I do with them.

“Just one more year, and then you’d be happy,” as the song goes. How long have I been writing with only this blog? Five years Inspector Echo, five years starting Friday. All that time, I was telling B I would give him everything. How much time with him I wasted? Braxton didn’t live to see February, his sweet sixteen, and all the money when he wanted time. Dammit, I selfishly tried to make up for it with five days when he couldn’t do anything. Well, hiding from the Reaper, showing him with love that he was going to die soon. From Six Impossible Things to a brand new year of writing. What will I do, when will I do it, Echo? Better B Next Month

150 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Gospel 362 ~Though Routine, War Never Changes~

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Whenever I left, I’d tell my son, “I love you, B, I love you, Braxton.” Then I’d face the world and return full of Fear, Anger, and Hate. He made sure I wouldn’t suffer alone. I didn’t notice his routine changing. “Though Routine, War Never Changes.”

Monday, June 28, 2021

Gospel 362 ~Though Routine, War Never Changes~

Hundred And Ninety-Fourth Rule

Madame Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I should be screaming at someone, screwing someone over. And still sleeping like a baby.

The routine of what I call my life… When B died, routine is what kept me running or instead shambling. To this day, 148, to be exact, I continue to do everything in my Denial. What I can’t seem to figure out; when it comes to the Day Job, is which is worse, Madam? It’s not “Another Day,” I can’t show that indifference anymore. But it was Anger that led to me ignoring my son. No answer is good for me, and why the fuck should I care what the Day Job thinks? Pardon my French, but here I am on this Sunday; Time-Travel, SIGH. The mere thought of the Day Job. “It makes my blood boil. Turns my eyes to flames,” like the song.

I don’t think I ever spoke about what happened with the signs at the Day Job. Once again, why do I give a damn? I screwed the company over, or routine; every moment is my failure. It’s me being STUPID. Next to Braxton’s loss, stupidity is the worst feeling in the world. The third would be that night remembering the Basic Bitch. Fourth, failing to know success. I said this morning that I screwed myself over this weekend. Not doing a thing to help myself. M Anime and I talked, and she’s expecting a war, and I swear I want peace. So why is it I like to fight, to be filled with rage like one of those Infected in “Patient Zero.” Remember the peace

Braxton and I, sitting on the couch. I would read, and he would sleep, perfectly content. I would wake up in bed. And he’d be sitting on the foot, watching the door. The walks we shared together when it was only us. Brothers, warriors he and I but grateful moments. It was always my promise to give him anything, everything, but that’s not the purpose of war. “War can’t give life. It can only take it away.” It feeds on itself, Madam Justice. Yet we continue, and why? It becomes our routine. For only a little while fifteen years, Madam. At least I had an ally, and I wonder why my rage overflows these days. I am The Walking Dead. Though Routine, War Never Changes.

148 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,