Gospel 246 ~You Reading Me Braxton~

I’m wondering if Braxton found somebody like our friend Indiana Gone to type for him. Maybe his tiny, tiny paws can reach every button, thank you “Weird Things Couples Do With Their Dogs.” You Reading Me Braxton, I hope he knows I love him.

Thursday, March 4, 2021

Gospel 246 ~You Reading Me Braxton~

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? If you have time… “I’d love to get a letter. Like to know what’s what.”

Now I didn’t write that. It’s from David Bowie’s Everyone Says “Hi.” I’m sure you understand that now being wherever you are. I haven’t read any more about the Rainbow Bridge, Farms, Heaven. “If I had my way, then surely you would be closer,” Braxton. Looking up so many so lyrics because I don’t know what to say, like the day you left. You didn’t understand what I was signing or the papers I was pointing to. God help me if you’re really sitting there in the darkness. I believe you’re beside me, finally knowing. Braxton, I would understand if you hate me for it. I deserve it. Hell, who was I writing to back in January, and now this is us. How dare I.

Nearly sixteen years and every day, I took time to read and write. Sometimes you took it as nap time, and others, you wanted to play. I told you, I was building our future. No more going to the Day Job, for starters. I did it for us because what does a man do, Braxton? A man provides. However, about that future… I’ve spent my days all over Youtube. With my breaking, I suppose “Breaking Bad” makes sense. I listen to the soundtrack I created daily. Everything I write comes back to you, B III, my letters, your novelization, history. I wanted us to have more time. You deserved a family, my wife, some siblings.

To be that greying old man surrounded in such love. Instead, only me, your daddy.

It’s a better word than Murderer. Is that what you think of me? Over the past few days, I’ve been thinking about how my fingers would drum on your head. Sometimes I know it was like I was smothering you. How you would wake me up after I zoned-out reading. I’m still sticking to a routine. I read in the mornings, imagining you cuddled against me. I’ve earned the pain I’m getting from such books as “A Dog’s Purpose” and others. I look at your certificate with the rest of your things. The last bill rest on the coffee table. Dear B, I just need a sign; a bark, your cuddles, knowing you don’t hate me? You Reading Me Braxton?

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Gospel 239 ~Braxton, Walkers, Biters, Empties~

“You wanna go outside,” I’d ask him, and he’d go running and hopping down to our gate or the front door, and the two of us would “walk” these streets, um suburbs. Our last walk, his, he didn’t have to make but hope… Braxton, Walkers, Biters, Empties.

Thursday, February 25, 2021

Gospel 239 ~Braxton, Walkers, Biters, Empties~

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? As for mine, I walked, I worked, I wigged-out. Only us walking, one more walk…

I’ve told the story of our first walk and the aftermath so many times. I remember even earlier than that. There was a time when you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to go two steps forward or two steps back. One of the many reasons you didn’t believe your furry behind should ever meet tile, hardwood, the deck, whatever. I still feel you sitting on my feet. Oh, I know the law well, my friend. When I was chosen, I wouldn’t move for forever and a day. Now isn’t that everyone that has ever had a furry kid they loved? I’ll need to find a thesaurus for more words for crying. This Sunday, I’ll face another first without… Braxton, when will I believe you aren’t somewhere waiting in the house? Every Sunday night, you knew where I was and staying.

You would run around the house like a mad man when you were young, but on Sunday nights? People usually love the weekends, but I don’t know what your favorite day is? Anytime we were together. Daddy was always there, but The Walking Dead? “B TV.” We watched movies all the time, you know, with Indiana Gone too, a lot.

When we were young, B III. The doctor told me my eyes weren’t getting better, but they weren’t getting worse. Then the Vet told me not to move stuff around for you. We started walking less. But we would always snuggle up together to this screen or that; books, TV, me, and my writing. I’ve seen the end of the world coming, but not like this. We’re apocalypse buddies, Braxton.

The Long Walk, The Green Mile, The Running Man, leave it to Stephen King. Do you understand anything I am talking about, Little B? You don’t have to because we lived it every day. On your Vet visits, I would ask, “are you going to walk in like a man?” When we were outside, the people to me were zombies, and you’d bark. The dogs to you were much the same, and I would carry you. I should have carried you around our route one last time, but I was bawling as I prayed for a miracle. You couldn’t even walk in this time, but those trips to your water bowl. I was proud of you. I walk alone now, and Only God Knows Why.

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Gospel 232 ~Braxton My MAID Man~

Braxton hated the maid. When I started cleaning, he’d hide as if he did something wrong. Braxton had a habit of hiding under the bed when sick. Should have tipped me off when he didn’t. Thought we had it made, my main man. “Braxton My MAID Man.”

Thursday, February 18, 2021

Gospel 232 ~Braxton My MAID Man~

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I keep hoping you are, wherever you are. Everywhere I say and then again B…

It’s been about three weeks, and it’s like every sense is affected by you being gone. The first is sound. I stay in bed longer, knowing I won’t see you. Food, hell, I live because of your schedule. It’s been snowing here, but it wasn’t the outside that was bothering me. I feel colder, which brings me to my point. Touch and smell; I have a bit of your hair wrapped up. I want to pet it, but I can’t afford to lose a single one. I’m trying desperately to keep up our routines but without having to clean up… I can’t smell you in the sheets anymore. I’m still wearing the hoodie. Your bed B, I had to kneel down to be reminded today.

Or when I spill something… I still call you first, and then I remember. Every now and again, there’s a crumb of something or other. On the table, there are eighteen treats, not that you would count them. Water sloshes around when I refill your bowl. At the same time, the carpet is dry, but I’ll get to that. It’s like I’m trying to leave a trail for you to find your way home. I won’t lie that a part of me wants to be wherever you are. You wouldn’t allow that, though. We are a family, you and I, and nothing ever came between that. Besides the mess in the house, there is the mess of me. The dirt I can’t do; won’t allow.

As I said, I have a dry carpet because I’ve started taking evening showers. You hated that and would start crying to get me out. I’ve been having cravings for onion rings because, one, they’re not fries; that’s our thing. Two, you couldn’t have onion rings anyway. The same goes for chocolate. The most we ever had was when Indiana Gone warned me about… never mind. But I bought her plenty and a blanket and ice cream so we could hang out. I was so frightened you’d find some crumb, but that’s when I had it MADE. I cleaned up for her. You cleaned up for us; Life wasn’t messy.

My heart, my mind, and my soul, you got it all B III. You’re Made, Main, Braxton My Maid Man.

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Gospel 225 ~B For I Look~

It’s been 11 days, and not one has passed without me in tears. What I’ve read has only served as a reminder that you’re not here, and yet what do I do. As always, refill the water and, on the other, dust off my nightstand for everything. B For I Look

Thursday, February 11, 2021

Gospel 225 ~B For I Look~

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? Mine… are you looking at McDonald’s or my shoes, the door outside, or my face.

I’m looking for you everywhere. Probably one of the reasons I keep crying because I’m scared I won’t see you again. I slept a bit late today and jumped. Only you can’t go missing… your meds still in the bottle. Your water once again I refilled. A treat, 11 now. I can still smell you all around, your bed and mine, my hoodie. I feel you wrapped around my legs. My hands, sometimes it’s like I’ve dropped something, and then I remember. I would give anything to share a fry with you. I would have called the silence the worst. Nope, it was that final look we shared. I still don’t know if it was goodbye, a why, a sigh as you left me here.

Yet I keep looking for you. Maybe you’re in the backyard though I haven’t opened those doors since you’ve been gone. Every morning I climb out of the shower expecting you in your bed. At night you’d be outside the bathroom whining. Hated evening showers. Braxton, I haven’t been on my knees once to look under the bed, to clean your bathroom pad, or to talk to God. Of course, that third one didn’t happen too often. If I were looking to the divine, I would turn to you. I was blind, and now I see. Only where’d you go. Rainbow Bridge seems to be the consensus. Heaven. I swear I looked for you in the sky yesterday, and it’s been raining ever since B.

If I could see you again, you would be right here with me. Right by my side, walked and full of treats. Wondering why I got up late as I’m still typing. When You were young, you’d going tearing around and about. I’d find your favorite toy, throw it around. Now Braxton, where do I find you? Give me strength as I find the pendant I had made for you. Yesterday you were in a bag, your life, everything I’ve known or wanted to, sitting next to me. You’re on my nightstand picture frame, name plaque stuck to a box. Braxton, you’re on a card in words of doctors and friends, second BFF your grandma. Only you’re not lost, I know B For I Look.

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Gospel 223 ~Braxton Didn’t Cry, Willie~

The person that has made fun of me for crying the most is my Old Man. I don’t want to talk about him, though. Why did Braxton feel he had to be so strong for me? I’ve cried most more times in nine days than… Braxton Didn’t Cry, Willie.

Tuesday, February 2, 2021

Gospel 223 ~Braxton Didn’t Cry, Willie~

Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, so I would only have you cry tears of joy. There is no joy in me.

Was it wrong of me not to take you and our other children with me to Braxton’s goodbye? All my life, I was taught that a man ain’t supposed to cry. Nowhere motivationally, all my music, and from an individual, I hope you never meet; my “father.” Braxton didn’t cry. So how many times have you caught me, hmm? I remain a traditionalist that a man must be strong. My son was the strongest man even when I was running around calling him a puppy. One day out of seven is what I blame myself for, well, two days. The day he did cry, and the day I would never hear him cry again. A Wednesday and Sunday, because he took after me. My Braxton.

How is it okay for a man to hate but not to cry? I hated. Not him, never my son, but I hated people and ignored his crying. Now it’s all I do. I hate myself, and I cry for him, and there’s nothing. Indiana Gone told me before she got married that if her groom wasn’t crying, she was going back up the aisle. I’m sure I teared-up out of love for you when it was our turn. Only the tears that I have shed in nine days alone. Has it only been over a week, and I’ve been sniffling, sobbing, silent except for the times you’ve caught me. I’m sure Indiana Gone has shed some tears, and others, even you. But should I?

For the first time from forever, I have to say this time; I don’t give a damn what you think. I don’t mean to sound awful, but I was Braxton’s father before you. If he had cried just one time that Sunday? No, he cried Wednesday as I stewed in bed, hating the whole world, losing my soul. I lost him, and the fact that such was allowed to happen? No again, this is my fault; only I don’t cry for me but only for him. It makes me wonder why I was made so. It scares me still when our children cried as babies and cry now. Should I let you grieve with me, the loss of my Braxton? No, Braxton Didn’t Cry, Willie.

I Am Afraid Without Braxton

Log 322 ~Blood, Sweat, Tears, I Rather…~

How badly do I want “it,” well, how much time do I give these conversations? I’m always late because I’m doing “other” stuff and thangs. Still, how many days have I missed? Blood, Sweat, Tears, I Rather well um

Monday, May 18, 2020

Log 322 ~Blood, Sweat, Tears, I Rather…~

Hundred And Thirty-Seventh Rule

Madam Justice,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and I WANT to say it’s because I’ve been ignoring what I WANT to do. Even my motivations are mixed in that regard. Either be a man that works his behind off or do what you love and never work a day in your life. I’m both to be sure, but one gets me paid, and the other doesn’t. I bleed, sweat, and cry, for a job I can’t stand, and everything else makes me feel as the song goes Hella Good. Here’s a question, at this moment, how am I feeling?

Ordinary, which means I’m afraid but less so. Indeed fearing to be real is far better than what others would make of me. Whether you know it or not, I’m bleeding with every word I write. It hurts, but at the same time, I find peace. There’s no rage to be had here, and yet people act as if I have struck a blow. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve said some, SIGH, STUPID things but the things others have made of me? To quote another song, he doesn’t look a thing like Jesus, and still as written in the Bible:

19: And He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is My body, given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” 20: In the same way, after supper He took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is poured out for you.… (The Last Supper)

If I could tell you all the things that make me sweat, for example, daring to use the Bible. How about even going to look for that verse? Wouldn’t Christians call that satisfying work? I sweat at the Day Job, but every drop isn’t for the work; it’s for my escape. Now, if only I could use that for what I desire. It looks like I have plenty of time to work on Gulp, doesn’t it? No, I’ll be looking into more porn, won’t I? I was on the cusp of breaking last night, I swear Madam Justice. Such is my addiction, but I made it over a week now.

So you’re asking me why no happy tears? If I have any tears at all, it’s allergies. Sometimes Tony Baker makes me laugh plenty. I cry when there is something wrong with My Dæmon. I’m sure I talked about that last week. Sometimes I’m scared of closing my eyes because I’m tempted to fall right back to sleep. Again you know what keeps me up in more ways than one. If all I was revolved around that. For a good life, Madam Justice, it takes Blood, Sweat, Tears, I Rather…

I Will Have No Fear

Lesson 270 ~Let’s Have The Noise~

Be quiet, shut up, that’s enough noise and isn’t it a dog’s duty to warn his human, but I can take his barking a lot better than the words of most people. He’s indeed his father’s son. Let’s Have The Noise

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Lesson 270 ~Let’s Have The Noise~

Forgive Me Echo,
I Am Not Fine Today but do you think I will tell anyone; oh sure my fingers hitting these keys, the way I groan when my dog wants me to wake-up and live, the way my heart sounds like thunder whenever the phone rings or there’s a knock upon my chamber door.

Hell sometimes I think I’m turning the pages too loud, which is just another reason I use my Kindle; a small excuse, I can carry my library anywhere but still those damn pages in traditional books. How about the words that I don’t say out loud but are bold on the covers, and even my fashion sense, I find red to be a loud color, but black isn’t supposed to speak… did that sound racist, when you think about it, yeah, people of color aren’t allowed to speak against the status quo. Something else I’ve noticed is I shuffle my feet; don’t I have the strength to lift them anymore other than heading up the stairs to paradise… my bed?

Is it my pride, I think words should have such power and when I speak men tremble, honestly ask my general manager, why do my answers frighten him so; I’m a fan of the second amendment but even more so of the first. Inspector Echo you have heard me say again I do such damage to myself before I ever consider hurting another, don’t I see my words do the most damage. If anything I am the walking embodiment of “The Sound of Silence,” and we know how people can’t take that, they are much too afraid of the truths they will hear, only aren’t I telling myself stories nightly?

My gravest sin today is not giving them forgiveness, their absolution, as though “just kidding” has ever been a salve to me; haven’t I said this before, that laughter perhaps is the worst sound. No one has seen or heard my tears in ages and they never will again as the song goes “but to cry in front of you, that’s the worst thing I could do,” so I’m not that great a sinner am I Inspector Echo, you think?

So I ask forgiveness first and foremost for myself, haven’t I said the point is to make noise, and I’m still so afraid, yes I am scared to be; I’m sorry I can endure the silence like any other pain, and I won’t give that pain to others. I’m sorry I won’t give them what they ask for; saying no to, Let’s Have The Noise.

I Will Have No Fear

Speaking of Roar

My dog doesn’t waste his barks… usually, and cats already consider themselves gods, but every once in a while, the lion must remind the jungle, who the king is. Speaking of Roar, this isn’t enough but I wonder how the lions do it?

Lions and men, teach me to roar
Both find the time to teach me to roar

No need to fight as all understand
the cannons or bombs but teach me to roar

I cry these tears but the sea today
Global warming you know, teach me to roar

With such wasted words, what does Newspeak become?
From concept to actualized, just teach me to roar

As autumn leaves and the trees bare secrets
Snap, crackle, and pop, such violence, so teach me to roar

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

Lesson 038 ~Rage, Rage, Against The…~

Let’s just say that what I feel is by no means a straight line but a forest and I am becoming lost so why not burn it down, why not just tell you the desire hmm… “Rage, Rage, Against The…” because maybe I don’t want to accept it truly.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Lesson 038 ~Rage, Rage, Against The…~

Hey Lady Lu,
No Fear though I was sweating bullets today, I’m still not getting the whole “no fear” prospect but I am trying; yeah tell that to the spider web I hit or to the dog I almost lost right? How about the fact that I’m still up and about talking to you, would I call this work, writing is work, opening myself up to you is work, and the fear never ever stops.

It’s a process but I am answering people back, trying to abandon the caveman antics, still no roar as of late but is my neck supposed to hurt this much? To think the one word that was repeating in my brain other than rage was “Hustle” and the first thing I do after walking Braxton is pass out. Fear is as tiring as rage and while I can name a thousand and one things to be afraid of what the Hell am I actually raging against, so is today’s lesson.

2.66 Billion Dollars or so, don’t ask me where I got that number or why I looked it up but that’s a high price for my rage right, what for, what do I want? I heard somewhere ‘satisfaction is the death of desire’ and desire if anything makes us human, the difference between want and need. Even now, Luna, it wouldn’t be enough and that’s what scares me; am I raging against not having what I want, maybe against the feelings I’m having at all, is it against myself, others.

Rage against the dying of the light, Dylan Thomas said this but I ask you what is that light, it could be as simple as me falling asleep, it could be the fires of Hell. I swear you must be getting sick of me and “the incident” but the moment I forget is the moment it repeats again and again.

“That’s the thing with dames, sometimes all they gotta do is let it out and a few buckets later there’s no way you’d know.” – from the movie Sin City (2005)

Watched a girl at work cry today, rage, tears, more rage, and resolve, like watching a flame, people talk about fire as if it’s one thing or another but at the end of the day fire does one thing, it burns but you got to feed it, without a doubt. I don’t think I’ve ever cried because of a woman, not really my aunt was murdered and I cried because it was expected but justice had been done, there was no need for anymore rage.

I wonder about that girl, will she keep it or let it go, we must never let go of the fire Lu, remember that in all its forms we must never let go period for what is left but darkness then? This darkness I know but I have never been able to stay, every time the light returns and I ask myself what will it be today, and for right now the heat reminds me of a fever a virus. What it worked for “28 Days Later”, so does that mean this will eventually burn itself out, do tears work?

My father makes me cry all the time and that has never quenched me of my hatred, tears can be freeing (amongst other fluids) but in the end, there is always that fire. Monks find inner peace because they cut themselves off from the world and even the best of us only dilute it in other ways… yeah, alcohol has mixed results. So we rage, rage against the dying of the light because the alternative is so much worse honestly.

“Hey, that light? At the end of the tunnel? Guess what? That’s not heaven…

That’s the C train!” – Daredevil (2003)

My rage will not bring back her light, you know, even her nickname feels me with fear but my rage will keep the thought of her and will keep me working. Rage can warm your bed just as easily as love, but isn’t that the difference between Hell and Heaven?

“What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient… highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it’s almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed – fully understood – that sticks; right in there somewhere.” – Cobb, Inception (2010)

That’s what this is, for now, fuel, keep the fire going and when there is no longer rage, something will replace it, the light will not be dying. Maybe it will be warmer, sweeter, maybe it will burn away the past, maybe I will just find a way to manage you know, let it burn.

“Here is your final lesson – do not commit the crime for which you now serve the sentence. God said, “Vengeance is mine.”

I don’t believe in God.

It doesn’t matter. He believes in you.” The Count of Monte Cristo

Relax Luna this is not our final lesson together but I long for the day that my rage does subside; don’t underestimate the power of words but you would think that a mean name, being abandoned, and forgotten so easily would be child’s play. Even before ‘her’ rage has been all there is, I mean what else has there been you tell me, and I don’t want to go back to being afraid all the time. If I lose the light again who knows what will become of me, I mean Braxton is my light in a way if it wasn’t for him, would I…

“If you ever loved me, don’t rob me of my hate. It’s all I have.” The Count of Monte Cristo

My little Braxton is great but maybe some pretty girl will come along and get me all hot and bothered for a completely different reason and it won’t cost me 2.66 billion, my heart would be a bargain. Maybe it will be my success, the spotlight, or movie screen, my own island, plenty of warm light sources. Perhaps instead of burning with hate, what’s her face will be a frozen moment of embarrassment, yes I get plenty of those and I’ll just shake her off.

“Well, you know, Henry Miller said the best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature.” 500 Days of Summer (2009)

So what have I learned today, stuff I already know… rage takes plenty out of you, the biggest badass can freak out, that the light is whatever you make of it? Rage, rage, and then rage, even more, keep carrying the fire because you must honestly Rage, Rage, Against The…

Vial Rage

Is it always fair to rage, I see fire and yet the heat it gives off threatens to burn me from the inside and whatever could douse it, sweat, blood, tears, ink, cannot extinguish such feelings. “Vial Rage”, I think I shall not rage

And I would call it a plague
how this fever infects
me, I sweat

summoning up the blood
which can never assuage
the disgust, the dirt, my name is mud.

Better though, tears for fears,
than this need to purge, to clear.
I lock the monster in its cage

the white walls of the page.
A mad world of ink,
kink, mystique, doublethink

Don’t rage, rage

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