Tag: Truth

Meditation 046 ~Braxton’s So GOLD Virgil~

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I’ll scream “Virginia” for 3 reasons. One, I was watching Gettysburg (1993). I was a nine-year-old… The things they teach black kids… Eww! Second, the WF in Civil War (2024). Last, Morning Star, Virginia. Fantasies. But my “Braxton’s So GOLD Virgil.”

Friday, August 16, 2024

Meditation 046 ~Braxton’s So GOLD Virgil~

Hey Lady Sophia,
Let me tell you a story… But not one of Olympic glory. So much for my patriotism, right? What about Morning Star?

A book like Morning Star makes me miss my son even more. I would talk to him, read, and even sing. Those were the days. But let’s stick with reading. Did Braxton help me pick books? His Dad’s bad habits…

According to 2019… Hell No! I was deep into my ‘Dom’ phase, except for a few self-help titles. It’s a regrettable phase, I admit. In 2020, I fell into ‘HaremLit’ and needed more help. Plus, I was busy trying to impress Cherry… Who am I kidding? I wanted to see her sans clothing. Her Yabbos…

B only saw January in 2021 before he made it to the top of the podium, if you know what I mean, my Lady. And afterward, my library got crazy. And 2022? Denial and Depression.

What’s with the time machine? It’s like I’m stuck in a loop, constantly revisiting the past through my reading and unable to move forward. Ever.

I said maybe… I want to satisfy you and everyone else since there will be no book review today, my Lady. Am I still stuck on Morning Star? The plight of the Golds, right, Sophia?

For the record, today is Saturday, August 10, 2024. Sophia, the last thing I’ve read…

Spoiler Alert 3, 2, 1…

Virginia/Mustang and Darrow/Reaper have a son!!! Virginia named him Pax…

Seriously, when did Virginia and Darrow get together? Before the Lion/Iron Rain? Like Starship Troopers says AHEM, “Would you like to know more?” I will finish the book after today or a few days, but I should have something new by next week. But as far as this story goes…

Again, Lady Sophia, I’m gross. Am I the only one to look up Virginia’s Yabbos?

A Gold girl and “I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.” But to think I could have read this to my son. If I’m Darrow… (laughs hysterically). Braxton would be my Servo or Pax.

But enough about the book I’ve been slogging through, what about today, my dear Lady?

As I said earlier this morning, I usually waste money on food for myself. I bought Virgil’s life two years ago on Saturday, August 13, 2022. It wasn’t like I was a gold medal prize.

But today I spent money on more books. Let’s say with girls and Silver Foxes. I can’t review those. Such a sleazy mind… So, it’s The Call by Matt Shaw. It’s an effed-up read, I must say. The ways I spend ‘my gold.’ Braxton was/is priceless. Braxton’s So GOLD Virgil

1293 Days Without B III, Day 734 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 044 ~Virgil, Go Cover Braxton~

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One more reason to feel shame about writing. When I write, and I don’t have to. Uh, isn’t that all of “my” novels? Book Reviews? Blogging daily? And the last thing I want to do after a grueling day at the Day Job is to write. Virgil, Go Cover Braxton

Wednesday, August 14, 2024

Meditation 044 ~Virgil, Go Cover Braxton~

Bless Me, Echo,
For I have sinned… Time Travel can be a pain. Recently? I had a conversation with Dear Future Wife on Gotcha Day.

That would be when I met Virgil. Two years ago yesterday, Saturday, August 13, 2022.

Only somehow did Virgil get lucky or unlucky, considering I didn’t have to go to the Day Job. Inspector, I spent a few hours writing to a girl I might never meet. And it was all about a fur buddy who isn’t my son Braxton. And yet, here I am saying I can read anything.

Echo, if I am to read anything, it should be this. Be nice to yourself and Virgil Vivi, too. I would rather read Braxton’s last bill for his euthanasia than that of Virgil’s adoption. Madness.

Braxton’s things cover the coffee table, nightstand, and desk. I’ll look for Virgil’s stuff. Inspector, I’d run to my covers.

That is if I wasn’t comfortable under the covers right now. And yes, pretty embarrassed.

More like tired. Because to this day, I continue to live in the day I lost my little B III. Inspector, today I live with this question. In two years, what have I done for Virgil? Right this second Friday, August 9, 2024. I did go out for Virgil’s food. Oh, I’m a good man…

Of course, I got myself a burger. I’m always finding ways to waste money, Inspector. Finding food for myself is wasting money? It’s not like I have a future. The fortieth E-Day is approaching, and how many “holidays” are there before that? As I said, I traveled to Gotcha Day when I didn’t have to. So what’s next for me?

Uh, yes, Yabbos. M Anime’s birthday is on the 18th. The day after, I should change the air filter like a responsible “homeowner?” This isn’t mine. My Olds are paying for a bum. Their son?

Inspector, they’re covering for a nearly forty-year-old bum. I need alcohol or a drug habit.

But my drug of choice… Yabbos. The story I’m not working on because of the Day Job schedule. It’s something that I can’t read. That’s what you do, Inspector half-asleep. “Throw The Covers” over me.

There’s also looking up “artwork” for the story I want to write. Again, I spent time writing to someone on my day off. Dear Future Wife? Please! I’ll have better luck being covered in dog hair than any woman’s lady parts. Virgil, Go Cover Braxton

1291 Days Without B III, Day 732 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 042 ~ Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies~

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Just keep writing, just keep writing. Writing what? For example, in Math, I have no answers. I can give you another excuse. And while I hate to lie… I’m not as eager to join Braxton as I hoped. Giving the truth scope. Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies

Monday, August 12, 2024

Meditation 042 ~ Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Sixth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… And mistakes have been made. The Trump Thing? The Trump Thing. So I’m sorry. Shall we begin?

As always, it starts with… Braxton. The blank space that my son made in my existence. If you are reading this, you see it. Unfortunately, I am, as well. But anything could happen, Madam. I’m speaking to you from Thursday, August 8, 2024, so who knows? With my luck… Well, I expect there’s a tombstone that is missing my name. And a dash. A blank?

Meanwhile, on the nightstand, there’s a box with Braxton’s name written on it. His grave.

What I wouldn’t give to “sponge away the writing on this stone.” It is far too early for Christmas, Madam. But I would take that holiday over several others. Existence?

Tomorrow is Virgil’s Gotcha Day. I signed my name on the dotted line. Blank Space

And why did I adopt Virgil? Because Braxton asked me to, from wherever he exists. I carry the weight of his request, his existence. His Heaven? “My eldest son, heir to my throne, defender of my kingdom.” Braxton is dead. And to this day, I still make excuses as to why. Euthanasia. Eejit’s job. Ejaculation. Inevitably, the reason is there is none. It doesn’t matter. Oh, there’s always a thing.

Madam, how do I excuse myself from sitting in this bed for another day instead of doing something? Anything! “I came up with a million excuses,” as the song goes. Miracles? Each one explains why I continue to exist. And why I’m not dead. Because, like Trump… Eww! “Oh, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” That’s my excuse for being such a monster, Madam. I struggle to accept myself.

I have something I have to do. That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one, Madam. Well, Look at me! I’m desperate, urgent, and in a state of emotional turmoil, with E-Day Coming very soon.

Better to look at Virgil. I got a call from PetSmart asking about his next appointment, Madam. And what did I say? I have to think about it. Lies are too easy, Madam. My God!

It beats saying, I’m broke? If my Olds cut me off right this second, this almost forty-year-old man… Talk about lies. That I would be alright. I’ve seen the bills, Madam. And yet I lie and say I deserve to be here. What happened to Braxton again? There is always time to make things right. How? It’s a blank space, an excuse, and a lie. Can’t Edit Blanks, Excuses, Lies

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

1289 Days Without B III, Day 730 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 040 ~Braxton, Language! Virgil, Uh…~

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I turned into Hank Hill last night, asking, “Are you Chinese or Japanese?” It was in my dream… I swear, with the “anime” I watch, “I’m turning Japanese.” Wow! I was never good at talking to people. Neither was my B III. Braxton, Language! Virgil, Uh…

Saturday, August 10, 2024

Meditation 040 ~Braxton, Language! Virgil, Uh…~

Hey Lady Lu,
I am a Billionaire right now… So I could buy an island, create a country, and write my own language… Silence Lunalesca.

I ache to talk to my son. If there’s anything that made me truly ‘special,’ it’s the bond we shared. I miss speaking Braxton fluently. But that dream I had last night… I can’t shake the feeling of loss. Who was that talking to me?

Am I losing my mind? I need to eat something substantial, not just fast food. But it can’t be more shrimp and pasta. Virgil can’t handle that. It’s like the only way he can communicate with me is through his pain. It makes me feel like a terrible person. He’s sniffling or sick. How long it’s been without a mess…

Lunalesca, he’s alive. I show that every day. A picture is worth a thousand words.

You’re lucky if you get a dozen out of me daily. Let’s say ten because that’s a round number. Or fifteen because that’s my lucky number… It’s how old B III was before… he passed.

Euthanasia? I still don’t like that word. I understand how Braxton died. By his hand! Lunalesca. It was by my hand signing the paperwork and a vet, showing him mercy.

Every day, I speak a language of grief. And ‘Nobody Knows’ it but me. Not even Braxton’s Aunt. I care for her, but she’s dealing with her own losses. One in particular? The loss of her fur buddy, Gabriel (Gabe). So, who’s left to understand?

I’m either bawling, quoting some book, or singing beats? My modes of communication and language…

I was going to say are “weird,” but nobody wants to be that. I’ll say I’m woke or wicked if anything. And being both? Is that what my dream was trying to explain last night?.

I don’t want to know myself. Honestly, I was done by seven… That’s when Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze came out… I never expected to see seventeen. And now I’m approaching forty. I want to join Braxton more than ever.

Lunalesca, it’s either that or look at some Yabbos. I swear some moaning masochistic mistress… Did I mention I don’t talk to women well? Too much effing on the brain.

Lunalesca, I don’t share that with my boys or female friends. Uh, yeah… I’ll shut up. Braxton, Language! Virgil, Uh…

1287 Days Without B III, Day 728 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 039 ~Defining Mr. B, Virgil~

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The Refraction of Mr. Saturn? That’s a title. How about the books I’m writing? The books I’ve written. Two of them are about my firstborn son. My Old Man can’t define me, and I still refuse to represent my son. Too much to do! Defining Mr. B, Virgil.

Friday, August 9, 2024

Meditation 039 ~Defining Mr. B, Virgil~

Hey Lady Sophia,
Let me tell you a story… Just different from the one I’m supposed to be working on. “Sofía’s Nightmare.” It’s still untitled.

It’s a heavy burden, Sophia. Braxton’s novels remain untouched. And even if I edit them, it’s too late for me now. I couldn’t save Braxton from fifteen, and now I’m left to grapple with the thought that I can’t save myself from being almost forty.

Sometimes, it still burns me up that he was 13 days shy of 16. He died on the 31st, and his birthday was on the 13th. Virgil’s Gotcha Day will be on the 13th of this month. A coincidence? A conspiracy? After crying for my boy and watching some cute girls’ yabbos, I started listening to people define their type of crazy. Racism, running elections, rewriting history, etc. How do I explain my conspiracy theories? How do I define refraction?

Look at the time; it’s time for a book review:

Big Ideas For Mr. Saturn

Well, maybe not, considering this is a short story and what happens in the end. But it gets five stars from me. The ideas are so “out of this world.” At the same time, it is relatively simple for a guy like me and the characters within it. However, Ms. Courtenay Schembri Gray is a complex individual. Or so I think. It’s one of the reasons I rather enjoy her work so much. Though I can’t pinpoint any particular moment in this story, I consider my moment. As a whole, it is an excellent piece. And the only thing stopping me from purchasing several copies for friends is simply that it’s on Kindle. I’ll ask them all the same. The prose is truly excellent, and I’m sure you’d appreciate it as much as I do.

Will that get me to stop thinking about such and such yabbos? I really want to get back to writing “my” story. Well, it’s a story a girl dreamed up who has an impressive set of yabbos herself. The things I write that aren’t a part of the anatomy, Sophia. I complained about the “Day Job’s” hours some time ago, and now I must write to stay ahead. Somehow hmm.

Then, there was looking at the financial books. As Cherry said today, “Everyone is broke!”

So, Lady Sophia, I find myself grappling with the weight of Braxton’s death, the responsibility of keeping Virgil alive, my gazing at M Anime, and the allure of Cherry’s buxom bodies. And amidst all this, I’m reading the book Morning Star. Can I genuinely define myself in this moment? I find myself wanting to try. But Defining Mr. B, Virgil.

1286 Days Without B III, Day 727 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 037 ~Braxton And Virgil’s Helpfulness~

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My friend B’s Aunt is hurt. I can’t go and help. I can’t send her cash. And her helper has joined B on the Rainbow Bridge. Good help is hard to find. And the worse… MAGA, GOP, and Conservatives could learn from dogs. Braxton And Virgil’s Helpfulness.

Wednesday, August 7, 2024

Meditation 037 ~Braxton And Virgil’s Helpfulness~

Bless Me, Echo,
For I have sinned… Or I will? As if that’s even a question. But today is Sunday, August 4, 2024. So sinning!

And never winning. But I’m missing my son Braxton. And what about Virgil? As long as he’s not making a mess on the floor, making me hop out of bed… That’ll be for my good.

If there is always something I admire about my son, it’s this. Every sound Braxton made was towards my benefit. Even if he was mad. My little boy said more than nearly anyone in my existence. Well, short of his Aunt and the pictures M Anime and Cherry once sent.

What was it I was saying about sin? Next to sending Braxton to his end and myself being born… E-Day draws ever closer. Admiring a nice pair of Yabbos is my kryptonite. Help yourself to my cash. Pretty, pretty girls.

But I’m still thinking about what happened to Braxton’s Aunt. And before that, her Gabe.
She got hurt, and Gabe died in his sleep. I had to watch Braxton’s euthanasia because there was nothing I could do to save him. Last year, I told 2-V I don’t know my friend.
We were burning up in this house, and I could not help us. Not to mention how much money I lost when his Old Man and his friend took me for a ride with fixing the AC, Inspector. But who am I to talk about money with everything he spends on me? Hmm. I’m ungrateful.

Pathetic, Useless, less than Helpful—my crime with existing. I can’t help anyone, but can I get out of everyone’s way, Inspector? How I try…

If Braxton and I had a theme, Woodkid’s Run Boy Run would be it. I’d tell Braxton I wanted to find a place where we wouldn’t ever be in someone’s way. That would be my way of helping the world. To be far away from it. But because Braxton was alive, I needed to stand.

That’s what a man does, Inspector. He provides, protects, procreates, ha-ha. He stands because the world needs good people. Helpful people. Braxton was a helper. A great man once said look for the helpers. Braxton saved me. He was a godsend, a savior, a dog…

Braxton was a helper, and Virgil could learn plenty. And me? I have no cash or courage, so I can’t help… Braxton and Virgil’s Helpfulness.

1284 Days Without B III, Day 725 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 035 ~Never Tell Me The Odds~

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What are the odds I wake up to questions? Where is Braxton? Why isn’t he here? Does he still look after me? Did Virgil make a mess? What’s up with Star Wars and Disney+. Who’s Yabbos are on Instagram that I can look up on X? “Never Tell Me The Odds.”

Monday, August 5, 2024

Meditation 035 ~Never Tell Me The Odds~

Three-Hundredth And Fifty-Fifth Rule

Madam Justice
Rules are made to be broken… So I’ll ask, but please don’t tell me the odds about Braxton, the Day Job, or Self-Gratification…

What are the odds that I’m still stuck on Sunday, January 31, 2021? That’s when my son, my Braxton, left this world. The weight of this loss is unbearable, and even now, I shouldn’t see more. No more. Everything hurts.

But then came Saturday, August 13, 2022. That’s when I met Virgil. What were the odds I would hear Braxton’s voice saying, “This is black and white, Dad. Save him!”

Indeed, what are the odds that I could live so long before B III found me? And so long after. Madam, E-Day is coming up fast. Forty is too long. The odds of this reality are beyond belief. You see…

But fifteen was not enough. What about eleven? What are the odds that today, Friday, August 2, 2024, I would be in mourning with Braxton’s Aunt? Braxton has a friend.

Gabriel Michael “Gabe” has passed.

B’s Aunt has joined the club… Another parent lost her fur baby, her son, Madam. And what are the odds she wasn’t ready? I wasn’t with the right words, songs of woe, or sage worldly advice. Hell! I thought B would live forever. Or that I would fall before him.

People play with their hearts regarding our four-legged friends or those that swim. Whatever. The odds that we can ever be the same without them… How does zero sound to you, Madam? And what are the odds that we have to keep getting up every single day? I ask why?

What are the odds that I let Braxton down and join him? It’s storming outside. I have my “protection” in the drawer. Trip, Poison, Stupidity…

But the Grim Reaper doesn’t play like that. Not with me, anyway. I’m not a “believer,” but God didn’t save my son. He is keeping me, though, or maybe that’s B III. Come on, dude.

No! I’m the one who plays. Today, I took a twenty-minute nap. I shouldn’t complain, but I’ve been trying to comfort Braxton’s Aunt as she comforted me when Braxton passed. Finding solace in this journey is a constant struggle, Madam.

What about the odds of having fun? Uh? Virgil got into trouble, so I sent him to Braxton’s room, which means I’ve been looking at Olivia Casta, Pawnshop, and anything else. I know, Madam, Eww! Can I keep it in my pants for at least three days? With this existence? What are the odds? Hmm.

Rest In Peace, Gabriel Michael. Be Nice, Braxton Barks, Please.

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

1282 Days Without B III, Day 723 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 033 ~Braxton, Virgil Burial Furs~

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Everything happens for a reason. NOT? Like me reading about the Howlers and one of Darrow’s best friends dying. Uh, spoiler alert… My best friend is gone, and now my second best friend is mourning her fur baby “Gabe.” Braxton, Virgil Burial Furs

Saturday, August 3, 2024

Meditation 033 ~Braxton, Virgil Burial Furs~

Hey Lady Lu,
I am a Billionaire right now… But that doesn’t make me miss my boy, my son, Braxton, any less. If cryogenically frozen…

But I’ve been lost in fiction for this week, Lady Lunalesca. The cosmos’s coldness? Yes, I’m still reading “Morning Star.” We’ll get to that. There’s “my” unnamed title, “Sofía’s Nightmare.” Sofía, in a bunny costume from The Blackmail II: The Animation, is with the CEO. He’s saying, “Let’s Get It On”. There’s a random book I bought, too. Burning cash. It’s my way of finding comfort in these trying times.

Lunalesca, what am I forgetting? Got To Be Real, right? Braxton’s on a seventies kick. Wherever he is? Again, he’s not cryogenically frozen. B died. And now he has company.

Yesterday, right after speaking with Lady Sophia, I got the word from Braxton’s Aunt. Her fur baby, Gabriel Michael, joined Braxton with the “Spirit In The Sky.” August 2, 2024

Braxton’s Aunt’s son passed away.

If I didn’t make that clear, Lady Lunalesca, may his little soul rest in peace. She has to make decisions as I did when Braxton met his end. But Gabe tried to spare his mom. He died on his own and can say I did it “My Way.” That’s Frank Sinatra in 1969. Sixties and seventies music? I wonder. How will Gabriel talk to his mom? I’m trying as well.

Lunalesca, I’m at a loss. I have a record of what I did when Braxton fell, but I don’t know what to tell his Aunt. Who have I ever buried before… That I loved? Really, Luna. Two-legged family… I swear.

Braxton is in a box on the nightstand and a pendant I wear. Burial details are something new to me.

But I know she’s getting Gabe back as well. Braxton was cremated on February 4th, and he was “home” on February 10th. As for a ceremony? That I lacked Lunalesca.

This leads me back to reading. I showed Braxton’s Aunt as many books on grieving as I could—and there are even more. But how did I spend the rest of my night as she grieved?

I’m burying myself deeper with M Anime and her troubles as well. She’s the “Girl All The Bad Guys Want.” Why she deals with me, I’ll never know. Grieving, Groaning. I feel like I’m drowning in it all. Depression, Depravity.

Lunalesca, I’m doing one or the other. Or reading Cherry’s writing. There’s the Day Job humiliations. But Thursday pales in comparison to Friday’s news. Poor Gabe. Braxton, Virgil Burial Furs

1280 Days Without B III, Day 721 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 032 ~Virgil WRITES B’s Goodbye~

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WE don’t write like I once did with B. He would sleep under the table while I would type away. WE don’t read like I once did with B. I don’t go and lie on the couch and try not to drop my device. And reading about pet loss… Virgil WRITES B’s Goodbye.

Friday, August 2, 2024

Meditation 032 ~Virgil WRITES B’s Goodbye~

Hey Lady Sophia,
Let me tell you a story… Or sing you a song? I would rather go back to sleep. Always. Yesterday was bad.

And I only write bad stories. Sad ones, at least. And so I remember the worst story I ever wrote. A bill for euthanasia, cremation, and my son, my boy Braxton, in a box. It still amazes me I can sweat over days like yesterday. The weather Sophia… Please! Hell?

That’s what I deserve, whether it be from embarrassment, Eros, or, again, B III’s euthanasia.

I’m just a “Sucker for Pain,” It’s what makes me a great $adist. The fact that I understand my ma$ochism. And I trying to fool any censors and the like. Like little Virgil? That’s TMI.

I haven’t had much private playtime. Not with Virgil, “my constant companion,” (rolls eyes) always by my side, even when I’m trying to write.

Even now, he’s lying here while I write a book review:

It Takes The Hardest Goodbye

To do what exactly? Heal? I won’t say I like this book. But who can say they like any book about dog loss? It’s good, needed, necessary, but no one wants to read them. Still, I did to the tune of three stars. I’m still reading things like this, and my fur buddy, my son, has been gone for three years. Titles like this blend together after you read enough of them. But the fact that I took a few quotes, here or there, to heart honestly says a lot. I know a few fur parents, and I could recommend better. But The Hardest Goodbye is a good starter book for anyone taking this long and lonely walk of loss.

Can I say, Sophia, for the record, that I’m absolutely livid with the Kindle App for removing this book from my list? It’s not like anything I’ve written or will. Will ever be seen… like for real. Ever! My works…

Sophia, I’m still working on “Sofía’s Nightmare,” And I “won” with my goal of 15,000 words for Camp NaNoWriMo. But each chapter only gets worse. What’s the last one without:

  1. Houkago Ren’ai Club ~Koi n Etude~ Casual Romance Club
  2. The Blackmail II: The Animation
  3. The V Games
  4. Slaves To Passion Hana Dorei
  5. Olivia Casta
  6. Dakota Skye

And there’s more…

But I should shut up and wonder how I’ll pay for the next crisis. Virgil’s fur is getting around everywhere. It’s like he’s leaving a trail of his presence, and I’m left to clean up after him. There’s always something. Hello! Virgil WRITES B’s Goodbye

1279 Days Without B III, Day 720 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Meditation 030 ~Virgil, Don’t B Bad~

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Roleplay, Cosplay, and will I even make it to Halloween. With texts from my father and the things I have to do at the Day Job… If I can be real. I wish I were… uh, with Braxton. Which explains Virgil being all cuddly. “Virgil, Don’t B Bad.”

Wednesday, July 31, 2024

Meditation 030 ~Virgil, Don’t B Bad~

Bless Me, Echo,
For I have sinned. No, not Virgil. He’s been a GD angel from last night to now. How long will he last?

I always expect the worst of people, including my Old Man’s dogs… But that’s a good story for another time. The question is, why am I so late talking to you today? It’s 7:30 a.m.

Humiliations Galore? Sure. But as always, let me remember my biggest sin of all. Echo,

my son is dead. It started on a Wednesday afternoon three years ago. Braxton Barks. Conversely, Virgil pulled a move from Braxton’s playbook, which explains where I am right now. Surprise, surprise, still in bed. And I have time before outside shenanigans. How about breakfast? Both Virgil and I skipped dinner last night as well, Inspector. Why? Braxton dying, me being born, not accepting what I’ve become. Monster, Savage, Coward?

Braxton’s father was my calling.

But yesterday, what was I? Don’t I always say the Day Job makes me into a villain in one way or another? There’s acting, and then there’s whatever I did at the meeting on Tuesday. Inspector, I owe the entire Harlem Nights cast an apology. Especially Della Reese as Vera.

“Are you saying I’m stealing?” Vera from Harlem Nights 1998.

Roleplay Inspector… There’s plenty I can do with that. I scare myself sometimes, and according to my coworkers, I scare them too. But aren’t I roleplaying every day anyway to get by? My Old Man texted me the other day, and I had to pretend to be okay. Echo, it’s exhausting. And the truth is…

I am not okay. I haven’t been since Braxton. It’s hard to keep pretending. They say fake it till you make it, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever make it. Only the real me…

Dead. That’s what “bad” people deserve. But to live as a monster or to die as a good man? You know that’s from the movie Shutter Island. I need to watch that. And the Olympics?

What happened to my patriotism? I’ve had a few POR… Passions. Saddens me to say. I’m starting on Day One again. But I blame the novel I’m writing. I blame Camp NaNoWriMo. But you know what, Inspector? I’m not giving up. I won’t get close to 50,000 words, but 15,000?

But why bother? What “reasonable” person imagines a girl with several gentlemen callers, I ask?

Or think to borrow… well, steal the hotel scene from Himawari wa Yoru ni Saku?

Inspector to spend the day cuddling with my boys. That’s What Makes A Good Man. Maybe. Virgil, Don’t B Bad.

1277 Days Without B III, Day 718 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will