Why not all pleasures? Why not only my RAGE, and there is the silence my boy left behind. Only now, I “talk” to Virgil. I should be training him or writing, but there is another addiction. Anything to take the edge off existing. “Attic, Addict, B, V”
Wednesday, November 30, 2022
Saga 152 ~Attic, Addict, B, V~
Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now. Reality, “I’m just an average man with an average life.” No, “I’m a dick. I’m addicted.”
Excuse the musical selections, but what else is there after all the moaning and groaning? The cumming. Hell! Should that be a secret? TMI? Addiction is real, Inspector. Today? Well, I am time traveling as it’s Tuesday, November 29, 2022. But 668 days without B. It’s safe to assume that I’m addicted to the misery and grief. In this world, aren’t we all? Yet the whole world can burn for all I care. That would never equal my crime, Inspector. Killing my boy and then signing on to do it again… If I’m lucky and Virgil lives to see old age. Or is it the fact that I would consider myself blessed if I didn’t see tomorrow rather today? You can ask, Dear Future Wife.
Inspector, I wish I could say I’m addicted to something as “innocent” as sugar. Tuesday, it’s more like sugar, spice, and everything nice. We’ll get to that. But I’m on a sugar high with sour Skittles, Punch, and a Nutty Buddy. I need a rush, huh, Echo? To talk to you, Inspector. Writing! I’m addicted to lousy writing, it seems. Hey Jealousy. How about RAGE? Usually jerking off… okay, the moment of release is a good mood. Then comes disgust, shame, and depression. Things I want to hide and keep secret. There is an attic here for a reason. At least I’m not tucked away in bed. “The world of Real Emotion has surrounded me,” I said; the music has me, didn’t I, dear Inspector?
And that’s because of my biggest addiction, contagion, infection, etc. SEX! Well, wanking, to be precise. As for what broke me now. There was Nami from One Piece. Specifically, Nami in her Zou Island Purple Dress. After such a look, you can add Reagan Kathryn “Nico.” Also, there’s Eileen Kelly. Leave it to porn to make me a student, but ignorance kills. At the Day Job, I’m nothing more than the “village idiot.” And everything that comes out of me is further proof of my idiocy. Yet I am addicted to it. A fucking zombie. The Walking Dead’s gone. And how I wish I could be all “we ain’t The Walking Dead.” That’d mean hiding and giving in. One in the same no matter what.
668 Days Without B III, Day 109 of Virgil’s Arrival
BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,