Tale 359 ~Feeling Good Is A Responsibility~

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

Tale 352 ~Even The Devil Gets Homesick~

Everybody wants to go to Heaven, but “Nobody Wants To Die.” Wasn’t that why I was working hard at the Day Job? And what happened to my son. And maybe if I read enough to get smart enough to write enough, we’d find Heaven. Even The Devil Gets Homesick

Monday, June 17, 2024

Tale 352 ~Even The Devil Gets Homesick~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Eighth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Concepts, Ideas, Knowledge vs Belief? Just words like, better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

Funny, I bring that up today. Although today isn’t today, it’s Thursday, June 13, 2024.

And I am afraid. You see how the days smoosh together. I’m scared every day. It’s by my doing, for the most part. I don’t Doublethink like some. I overthink! And why is that now?

Yes, Braxton is still gone, passed away, if I’m being nice about it. I don’t mean to sound cavalier about it, either. Madam, my son might have lived if I had weeks like this before.

So, it’s looking like a short week, and the next one will be shorter. I’m not going to be making anything. I abhor the Day Job, but there are three little words: I need money!

For me and for Virgil

And how about more books? Didn’t I mention myself writing one in my “conversation with Braxton?” I’ve got several. There are two I wrote for him. I love reading and writing… As long as it’s not about fur buddies meeting their ends. Why do I read those, hmm? They don’t make me feel better. And they only give me ideas on how to honor B.

Again, that takes money. And I’ll have plenty of time to think about it. But first, I’ll be worrying about the Day Job. Isn’t that what led to Braxton’s passing? Second, I’ll worry about getting in trouble with the day job, my dad, or the “D” in my pants. Third, there’s writing anything worthwhile, period. Don’t I miss it ever?

Yes! This explains why I was at the Dining Room table this morning. And I’m back in bed this afternoon. Because it’s hard not to be dirty. Did I say that? You’re not the Inspector.

But to be honest, what was Heaven? Where is Heaven? I swear, Madam, when I was reading the Day Job schedule and thinking I’d done something wrong… Joining B III?

No! Even on his last day, B wanted to come home with me. B III found his place with me. Heaven was lying with me as I read. Or it was sandwiched between his aunt and me. There’s my drooling over Cherry’s “shenanigans.” Sitting in the middle bed, “relaxed.” Reigning. Day Job’s not Heaven, but… Even The Devil Gets Homesick
“A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys” ― Andrew Ryan, Bioshock

1233 Days Without B III, Day 674 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 345 ~Impossible’s Not Fact But Opinion~

It’s six, three, or one impossible thing a day. Just me getting out of this bed. And never with love or happiness. It’s fear and a J O B (snickers). Most people are of the opinion I have a good life. But me existing? Impossible’s Not Fact But Opinion

Monday, June 10, 2024

Tale 345 ~Impossible’s Not Fact But Opinion~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Seventh Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Tell that to the Six Impossible Things list I make every Sunday. In my “whimsical” tradition, I jot down six seemingly impossible things that bring me misery or betterment… Questions without answers. But how about today, Madam.

I could really use a wish right now. But impossible things are happening every day! Madam, I’m at least writing them out. And since I’m sure I’ll fail five out of six, where shall I go? Don’t tempt me. I’ve got something impossible, but Virgil, the new guy, is here. And so… I’m still breathing.

Let’s talk about Braxton. He’s always number one on my list. And haven’t they been able to clone dogs? Refrain from talking about what I’ve been reading. Just today, which is Sunday, June 2, 2024. I’ve looked it up to see if it’s possible. Not from hair or ashes. Bedding?

I’m sure that carries Braxton’s DNA. And his favorite toy? But besides that, I’ve bought another book to help me cope with losing my fur buddy. And then there’s Backyard Dungeon 11. I’m still bothering…

Cherry has a low opinion of those types of books. I remember when I bought M Anime some titles—awkward. And I still need to get B’s Aunt a birthday present. So, even more books!

Madam, it didn’t take tequila to make her clothes fall off. Did I really say that? Again, she’s almost like a sister to me… Almost. Cherry, M Anime, I fear they’ll get sick of me.

“The horror! The horror!” FEAR, my dear Madam. Of what? Of being abandoned, left alone, or arrested. The things I think about daily. Wild, Wicked, Wrong. Everything I want is insipid, insane, illegal, and/or impossible. It depends on who you ask. B wouldn’t have cared.

Because my son is brave. And the fears I have…

It’s impossible to give each one a name. And if I tell you, I’m afraid of everything, my Madam. It feels like I am more and more with each passing day. My Braxton and Fear.

Three wishes and three impossible things. The third would be to become what I desire.

I can’t clone my boy. I can’t find my courage. And to climb out of bed willing, on any day ending in Y. But why is that? I know full well it’s not a fact. Because Virgil is still here.

It’s impossible for Virgil to be Braxton. As impossible as it is for me to find acceptance in Braxton’s passing. Those are facts. Impossible to live? That’s not Braxton’s opinion. Impossible’s Not Fact But Opinion

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

1226 Days Without B III, Day 667 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 338 ~Height And Weight, Equally Evil~

The question once wasn’t a man or a bear. There were two questions. How tall are you? And how much do you weigh? The reactions while I’m all, “Whether short or tall, we wanna thank you all for letting us… (do stuff).” Height And Weight, Equally Evil.

Monday, June 3, 2024

Tale 338 ~Height And Weight, Equally Evil~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Sixth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… And some don’t need to be talked about. Or I’m not in the mood. In the mood…

A woman once asked me if I always carry that… “lovin’ feelin’.” The truth is, yes, Ma’am, even in the face of the unbearable loss of my son, Braxton. There were 161 days of emptiness. I tried “filling” that void with OnlyFans, and then one evening, looking at Chloë Grace Moretz, I… (Cue Homer drool).

She’s as old as Cherry. And the thing is this. I would do precisely the same thing with them both, Madam. How you like that! But it’s better to keep my hands on the keyboard.

As I mentioned, I’m not in the mood, but I’m a hypocrite. Since my indifference led to my son’s departure to The Rainbow Bridge, I Feel Everything. I’m constantly battling with anger, sadness, and a strange mix of emotions. Things that make Pretty, pretty girls go… Eww! Rage, Depression, Lust…

Please, Madam, which is good, that makes the others evil.

Why is it okay to indulge in one and not the other? Like the unnamed narrator of Andrew Davidson’s novel, The Gargoyle, “I am an equal opportunity misanthropist.” That’s okay.

But amid this paradox, in this day and age, to quote George Orwell’s book Animal Farm, ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’ However, instead of delving into politics, societal issues, or my insignificance… I choose to focus on my two boys. Friend and Freeloader…

Braxton and Virgil are both my boys. But Braxton was/is my son. Virgil’s here, Madam. Even at 660 days, I don’t know what to make of him. But Little B III is frozen in time.

Always and forever, I’m his Dad. But a dog owner…

So let’s talk about me. If a girl asks my height, she’s allowed to do so. If I ask her weight, I’m rude. But I would do the same thing to Piper Niven as to Roxanne Perez. Now, if I could have them both… I know I need to stop, Madam. “Oh, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” But what makes me wicked? Who says that about me? Do you want a list? Ha!

If people want me gone, that’s okay. But if I agree, suddenly, I need help.

If I have money, I’m a player; without it, I’m a per… Anyway, if I want everything, I’m greedy. If I want nothing… I am. Height And Weight, Equally Evil

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

1219 Days Without B III, Day 660 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 331 ~Harder To Breathe Up Top~

Will you breathe? Will, breathe. More like, “Daddy, breathe.” Because when my furry little boy died, I didn’t plan on it. But I’ve managed for 1212 days. There are always more books to read. Or babes to look at. But to exist? Harder To Breathe Up Top

Monday, May 27, 2024

Tale 331 ~Harder To Breathe Up Top~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Fifth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Some people cancel them outright. Some are forgotten about. And still, some will evolve into, well, anything.

It makes my head hurt, along with the time travel. I’m speaking to you on Tuesday, May 21, 2024. However, when this rule was written out, I traced it back to 2018. I mean, wow!

I figured I’d be in another place entirely. Braxton would be twenty next year. And that’s when I expected to lose him. That is if he didn’t lose me by smothering me with his fur.

So what’s making my head hurt now? Why am I breathing when I don’t really want to, Madam? Let’s start by raising my head in the morning. The first breath that enters my lungs. It’s either my Braxton’s name that comes out. Or expletives from my mourning or moaning. Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This.

I’m glad I covered the mirror in the bedroom. But there is the black mirror, AKA the phone, on the table beside me. I hold my breath, looking at the beauty of others. My mind.

Inevitably, I will find other ways not to breathe and instead sound like the zombie I imagine I am. The moans of newly found flesh.

Did I really just say that? And what’s worse is the look on my face when I say or do such things. Taking OnlyFans pictures.

But I could be so exhausted that whatever… risqué book I’m reading falls and hits me in the face. How many times has that happened?

And yet I live. My head stays intact. Breathing away and denying my fondest wish.

What? To follow Braxton wherever he went. The Rainbow Bridge? I am Braxton’s father, but if I had been even more of a man… Would he have lived? I keep asking myself that, Madam. I wanted to be a man of money, merit, and miracles. I would build our Heaven.

There would be no air because we would have everything, and no one could touch my son or me. And yet he found it. I suppose. My B III is sitting in his bed on the vet’s table, not breathing. As for me? When was the last time the “bigger head” has been up? Uhh…

There’s plenty of air as I fall Down To Earth. Nobody but Virgil and I. Harder To Breathe Up Top

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

1212 Days Without B III, Day 653 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 324 ~Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation~

I ask for my Braxton back. I ask not to regret breathing. And to not be a blogger. But I sit in bed messing up the words because I have a Day Job. So, I’m blogging instead of writing. I promised B, but… Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation

Monday, May 20, 2024

Tale 324 ~Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Fourth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… But not this one. Well, not unless I’m not here anymore. And how I HOPE for that.

Another week feels like an eternity. It’s Sunday, May 12, 2024. Another tear? Another breath.

Have I forgotten where I am and what I’m doing? If this is the First Circle, Limbo. Then, I could see no better punishment for a writer. If only that were my greatest sin, Madam.

Nowadays, I drift between what I did to my son, Braxton. Then there’s my father. Blogging away about those two extremes when it is still Mother’s Day. I know, Madam.

But if I stopped writing, I would honor women, specifically my mother. Honoring my father would mean keeping my mouth shut, but I couldn’t. So I’m stupid. And to honor my son, I would join him. Only he has a story. People should read it.

And so every day, whether I want to or not, I wake up, whittle away time, and write. It’s more like I cry out for him, Braxton, B III! I argue about balls. And then I blog away. This is my way of keeping him alive. Or, so I thought.

So, how long have I been doing that? How long has this blog existed? Oh! Please understand, Madam. I’m not begging anyone to look at this “work” anymore. I don’t. Only these words in Sister Act 2 have stuck with me: “If when you wake up in the morning. you can think of nothing but writing…then you’re a writer.” Now, when I wake up, there’s Braxton first. Then, the question of why I’m breathing. And then there’s this blog. Daring to call myself a writer…

That’s like calling myself a reviewer. This leads me to where this rule came from. It’s from the movie Contagion. “Blogging is not writing. It’s graffiti with punctuation.” But my writing is simply a mess. The Mess! Madam Justice, I’ll get into all sorts of movies at this rate. But I’m not here for that. And since I won’t edit my novels for Braxton, Madam.

What is it I’m doing? Right now, I’m hoping the DISH Network people come through so I won’t have to keep writing about being a fool and my father. Forgive me for my whining, dear Madam. Yet my words have done far worse, haven’t they? Up against the wall, on Mother’s Day. I’m not writing. Blogging Is Graffiti With Punctuation.

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

1205 Days Without B III, Day 646 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 317 ~The Survivors Will Write History~

A particular history teacher would quote: history is written by the victors. Napoleon flipped it, as I see White Supremacists do daily. If anything, I only try to survive my own. But writing it gets harder every day. The Survivors Will Write History.

Monday, May 13, 2024

Tale 317 ~The Survivors Will Write History~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Third Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… Only because I prefer to be a victor. But for now, the rule stands: I’m a survivor.

What? Well? Why? Oh! And my name is Will. As I begin most of my days I remember this, Madam. I remember him. My firstborn son, my Braxton, is gone. And he’s not coming back. Did I Outwit, Outplay, Outlast him. No, I’m unlucky and unfortunate. I am not unalived as the youth say these days. “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” I wish I felt that strong. Or that I was that smart. But still, I survive.

And I come to you on Sunday, May 5, 2024. If I were one for prayer… Besides for B’s life. I would pray I don’t have to see this again. But for as STUPID as I am together, we cry…

I’m a survivor! I swear.

I spoke to you earlier today and asked the question… Why. And I’m not for gratitude, I’m sorry to say. And you could have it all. My empire of dirt. If I’d see Braxton again. Madam, I also want Virgil (2V) to be Safe and Sound… I swear I need to turn off the music.

Anyway, what have I survived? I already wrote the Six Impossible Things list today. But…

The worst thing that could happen. And that, again, was losing my son. Braxton passed. Behind that is the thirty-nine years I’ve been alive, each day becoming the worst. There’s the Day Job. I don’t wanna go to work. I don’t wanna work tomorrow. Gratitude, right, Dear Madam. To provide…

To survive. So, number four would be my Old Man. Don’t I sound ungrateful, Madam? Five would be The Zoe Colletti/Tifa Lockhart Incident. And add to that The Cherry Collision. One of these days, I’ll tell you what that all is about. Such Humiliations Galore.

But isn’t that me breaking the rule? Since I won’t tell you how I survived. Or I could be like… THEM. And make my losses triumphs. I could “whitewash” history. But I’m not a liar. And I’m nowhere near as bad as Kristi Noem. Where’s B III again? How’s Virgil?

That leads me to number six. I write to you, the girls, B III, and the man in the mirror. It’s hard, but I survive. The Survivors Will Write History.

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

1198 Days Without B III, Day 639 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 310 ~Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts~

I wish I had any of these things. There’s a reason I’m drawn to Hulu’s “The Mill” and Tubi’s “Share?” The Book of Clarence and Fifteen Million Merits, etc. These Black men lose all to gain or lose again. I’m a man… Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts

Monday, May 6, 2024

Tale 310 ~Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-Second Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… So, if you’ll allow me, I’ll share a confession with you today. Mentally, Spiritually, and Physically Unwell.

“I’m not crazy; I’m just a little Unwell.” That’s the Understatement of the century right there, Madam. That’s not my confession. I have my son on my mind. Today is Sunday, May 5, 2024. And tomorrow, when you see this. As unbearable as B’s passing has been, I wish that were all there was, and then again… There’s a reason I said, heart and soul. Uh, Brains? How about flesh?

I’m not the Scarecrow. “Just stop it! Everybody knows (I’m a bleeping monster)!” A zombie. I’m looking for a brain. I lost my guts a long time ago. The only red I see is on my hands, Madam. And who does it belong to? Hmm? Say his name! Braxton. And now Virgil is here, too. Virgil’s joy, love, and happiness?

Doesn’t the Bible say something about this? Specifically, Mathew 10:28. Life and soul. I keep V alive, as my father does for me. But as far as the spirit of Life goes, both Virgil and I go without it. We wake up asking why. Breaths are taken, and hearts are beating. But my Little Braxton.

He was my heart that I left in a vet’s office on Sunday, January 31, 2021. Or it got mixed in with his ashes. Picking up another one isn’t as easy as walking into Petsmart.

So again, Madam, what am I left with? Heart and Soul, Blood and Guts. I’m not a fan of The Wizard of Oz, and this place is far from Wonderland. Dorothy, Alice, Holli Wood, Jessica.

Are you confused about where my mind has gone? So am I, but allow me to explain for the critic and anyone else… (Hears Crickets Chirping.) Dear Madam, I’d rather hear Cricket barking, Kristi Noem.

Anyway, here is a quick rundown, Madam:
The Wizard of Oz ― Dorothy
Alice In Wonderland ― Alice
Cool World ― Holli Wood
Who Framed Roger Rabbit ― Jessica Rabbit

Okay, Madam. I’m trying to say this: I can no longer answer the question or obey the Heart, Soul, Blood, and Guts rule because I’m hollow—an open book without any lines—make-believe, a machine, a monster, a mutation. And my confession? My Apologies, Madam.

I have no need, time, or will to say anything. Or do I prefer emptiness within? Because when I try filling or feeling it, Madam… Heart, Soul, Trump Blood, Guts.

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

1191 Days Without B III, Day 632 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 303 ~Define Hell, Distance Between Lovers~

Trying to find love… I’d have finished “my” poetry books. A few of the dirty ones. I’d have made money. And I would have saved B. But I gave my heart more like I owe my soul to the company store. And women? Ha! “Define Hell, Distance Between Lovers.”

Monday, April 29, 2024

Tale 303 ~Define Hell, Distance Between Lovers~

Three-Hundredth And Forty-First Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken or believed in, at the very least, belted out in all manner of things. I love you.

When was the last time I said those three little words? Have I told Braxton when I speak to him on Thursdays? Time and distance have been messed up. Welcome to Existence… Enjoy your stay…

Love, the essence of life, is a question that haunts me. Can one truly live without it? The answer is no, yet here I am, still breathing. And what about positivity? That’s a question I should be able to answer, but not today. Time Travel, it’s Monday, April 22, 2024.

So, a whole week. That’s an immense expanse, isn’t it? Further or Farther? Whatever, Sigh.

But where am I heading, really? It’s not towards anyone who cherishes me. Gazing at my reflection in the mirror feels like a journey to the hangman’s noose. But Madam…

Aren’t I in love with dying? Love Is A Long Road. And isn’t that the point of today’s rule, Madam? THEY say that if you’re going through Hell… keep going. But I’m a zombie at this point. Braxton’s a ghost. And Virgil is a werewolf. As in Where Wolf? Funny?

Madam, I’m so Far Away from the things I love. First is always my firstborn child, Braxton. Why don’t you tell me how long the Rainbow Bridge is? How high do I have to jump to get to Heaven? What is the acreage of the Elysian Fields? Anything dear Madam?

Approaching forty, I find myself in a peculiar situation. My parents, my Olds, still love me enough to shoulder most of my bills. It’s a daily walk of shame, Madam.

Do I love them enough to stop them? Do I love Braxton enough to let him go for a third time? Do I love Virgil enough to be the Dad I once was to his big brother? I’m not Alright.

So I don’t even imagine that there is some woman out there anymore, Madam. Thoughts?

You want to say, “She’s getting here as fast as she can.” But as I was working my dead-end Day Job—as I will be doing when you read this—I gave up. Not in the way I hoped because, again, I’m still breathing. But I’m walking through this Hell of unknown origin and distance. Only God Knows Why. Will some lover ever Find Me? Define Hell, Distance Between Lovers.

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

1184 Days Without B III, Day 625 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Tale 296 ~Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire~

I don’t smoke… anything anymore. But now people are banning and/or burning books. There are plenty of hot bodies. And it’s been around 1177 days since my boy was burned. That was Thursday, February 4, 2021. Troubled? Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

Monday, April 22, 2024

Tale 296 ~Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire~

Three-Hundredth And Fortieth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken, but how do I even see them? And no, I have not aligned with the book burners—never! But how do I even perceive these rules, these societal norms that seem to guide our every step? But…

Never say never, right? As far as I was concerned, Braxton, my beloved son, would live forever. And Virgil? I should pick up a book on dog training. I’ve said the same about a cookbook.

That brings me back to cooking. What did I consume that’s causing this unsettling feeling? If I still do, Justice. It’s Sunday, April 14, 2024, and as I converse with you today, you know your Monday is a source of dread for me. I anticipate this entire week will be much the same thing. Sigh.

I see the bad moon a-risin’. Is that another way of saying, I see smoke?

When it came to my son, I pretended not to. And again, there’s Virgil. There’s this house. My entire existence…

But let’s start with something smaller… something bigger. I am equal opportunity when it comes to the female form. I shouldn’t make jokes if I don’t want to be a comedian. Only, I’m not a fireman, either. When things get hot… For example, Sylvia Van Hossen and Saya Otonashi. What is it with me? A few weeks ago, my thing was older women in formal attire. Today, it’s girls with swords. It doesn’t take anything to get me hot and bothered. Heavenly Sword’s, Nariko. Ha-Ha.

Inevitable, like my thirst, terror, or tonight, tomorrow, and the next day wishing I was…

Anyway, I wish I knew what it was that gets me to, “fire away.” Is it the stress of seeing everything getting burned all around me? But again, I pretend.

Only I know I must light a fire under myself to get moving. The fact remains. I got this week’s schedule and know I’ll be burning with my humiliations galore, like the Fourth of July.

Only I know I can’t escape the fires that await me. If I do right by Virgil Vivi, will I have the chance to see my son again? Even before I knew my little Braxton, I was set to burn.

There is smoke everywhere, and I don’t know if I’m cold, cruel, or cowardly anymore. The one thing nobody says about me is, “Let him cook.” No, I’m not that special, my lady. I know.

But I am troubled. There’s smoke and darkness. Lighten up? Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

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

1177 Days Without B III, Day 618 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will