Episode 138 ~To Will Wash History~

History is at the mercy of the victor’s whims, but I always like to believe that it’s the wheelhouse survivors, then again Hitler’s book was a best seller, and most of the erotica I read is from white women, but here I am. “To Will Wash History”

Friday, November 16, 2018

Episode 138 ~To Will Wash History~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, but it wouldn’t matter if I did anyway as no amount of money can cover up the truth but the thing is, that enough of it does make it easier to live with some way. Right now I’m doing what I do for free so no wonder it’s so damn difficult to keep going over it, hell if people can’t get past the title, that has changed, but still, there’s Facebook.

Of course, I could always delete it but what kind of man would I be because there still is that belief that one of these days I’ll be bragging to these people and I want evidence that even though I screwed up plenty, here I am writing my victory speech, rather than my concession. I’ve said before that I write so much attempting to outrun certain words, ideas, and names but I can never control all of it; hasn’t it been a while since I thought of the “Fly Girl” better left to the past. The thing is I wish I could forget today’s writing for Pay Two Plague, how about erasing the schedule at work, and always the words I speak, but there is an Echo for one reason or another in my head… yeah, Where Is My Mind?

If anything My Lady, do you know how many times I’ve written “My Master” but that’s another story literally, my brain would be about as useless as the backspace and delete keys and 27,500 words I don’t care to explain. Speaking of words, I don’t need *ahem* Raid: Ant Baits, when I’m not busy writing I’m putting down ant invasions and those pieces of sh*t, both bug and weapon are not worth anything. For tonight it’s looking like I don’t have to tell you in horror stories but Then The Morning Comes, I’m going for five thousand words, NaNoWriMo is a word I have come to respect and admire, but my words don’t do it justice to be completely honest.

How many words will it take to drown out the past, how many to make the present worth living and how many to rewrite the future because what I know and even what I don’t is not worth reading. It’s like 1984 with everyone else’s words I wonder of my existence. Do I honestly want to, this weekend the day job will see since I’m not going in and I don’t want to with Black Friday coming, but there’s no way To Will Wash History?

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 131 ~Your Willie Don’t Mime~

The pretend man is at it again, well that was until I was cradling “B III,” fighting an ant caravan or wondering what the hell am I becoming while writing other than a terrible writer… too late, but I am a clown. Your Willie Don’t Mine

Friday, November 9, 2018

Episode 131 ~Your Willie Don’t Mime~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, you have to work every day, and today I make no excuses although I always have a million of those, another ant invasion, “B III” having to visit the vet because of his heart, and here I feel as though I took a hit in mine. Literally Lady Sophia my chest hurts right there, could be breathing in that bug spray, my exhaustion, I nearly threw up last night because I was so out of it, still am, and maybe that’s why I didn’t want to talk to you, the universe, and what’s that they say of dead men my friend…

This whole week I’ve felt like a “MIME” in everything I do, at work being the hard-working employee and still feeling so guilty when somebody writes down I’m not showing up. As a writer, talk about being an epic failure, on the one hand, shouldn’t I feel proud, I can turn off everything in this life and focus only to fall into the black of words, TV screens, or pools of ants, I swear I have no idea where any of it is coming from. What about what I can see, I’ve been fucking up as a father forever and a day and all it took was one bad night and it surely was a million times worse for my kid but sleeping in my bed, his food, going for walks, that fear Lady Sophia seeing him struggle to live.

Lady Sophia that silence would kill me; if I couldn’t write anymore and if I lost everything trying to work so hard to remain nothing more than an “UNPERSON” I don’t feel as though I exist, that I should, or that I even want to. Indiana Gone and I were talking about this, I always get called into work but if I don’t show up then so what, it doesn’t matter the day continues and if they call me terrible or people are indifferent towards me. On the other side, I’m the entertainment, I’ve said that before, the inspiration of jokes, the example of how not to do something, the monster makes the damsel relevant.

Now that is something I don’t mind or mime if you were to look up my internet history, in this world, there are never enough warning labels are there, and again last night I was so wrecked, I was like everybody else, close your eyes and ignore everything. If you can’t see a mime though, does he exist, one more reason I’m a writer, I can pretend to write, or I can do it; with desire, Your Willie Don’t Mime.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 124 ~By One Man’s Will~

If not looking so many enemies in the face, I’m busy creating them or anything for that matter to populate my new fictional word which will probably never see the light of day but who knows. “By One Man’s Will”

Friday, November 2, 2018

Episode 124 ~By One Man’s Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, seriously man created God, man destroys the Earth and any man that’s able to gain dominion over women well; here we go again with “dignity and respect,” but my actual point is, it shouldn’t be difficult to make a million. The second day of NaNoWriMo and I’m still trying to create a world, and please excuse me for picking your brain about this, it has been a long day, and I owe over a thousand words before I get some sleep.

“You cannot have a protagonist without desire; it doesn’t make any sense, any fucking sense.”

My plot at the moment is rather simplistic; I’m always a fan of harems, brothels, ranches, whatever name people give them these days and in my story (yet to be titled) the main protagonist owns one but not staffed by ordinary women. Now you know I have always been a fan of “Thirteen Women” so I think I will need that many monster types of women or somewhat supernatural qualities; Angels, Banshees, The Dead, Lilith, Nymphs, Possessions, Scream Queens, Sirens, Succubi, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, and Zombies. The protagonist will also tell the story, but I think I need four more characters to balance it out, with my “love” for words, why is it I’m always worried about doing the math, five speakers four chapters each.

Twenty Chapters total with Two Thousand, Five Hundred and of course, it will get bigger, and here I haven’t even finished editing “Apocalypse Rush,” and the sad thing is I’m forgetting all of my stories and the idea of rereading them… Anyway, I think one of my characters will be a gravedigger, another one a pretty doctor, and I always need a love interest and of course the antagonist. A question I’m asking myself is always, what’s my motivation and none of my characters seem to have that though I have already completed the first chapter and still have more words to go but what about tomorrow, not like I have a deadline or the day job to contend with; probably my general laziness streak.

Seriously my biggest enemy right now is, well they say all you have to do is bleed, but most of my stories require other bodily fluids; a man has to get inspiration from somewhere and so far, that’s “Anja Juliette Laval.” Right now my goal should be to finish this story before the 30th or even better the 20th, strangely enough, I was never an overachiever in school which explains a lot; hiding in the wrong books and now writing them By One Man’s Will.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 117 ~Scared, Will You Say~

I’m not your boss, I’m not your boss, not anymore if ever, in the bedroom I have far more control, but in life, well there’s fear and don’t I talk about it often enough, and being so close to Halloween not that it matters. “Scared, Will You Say”

Friday, October 26, 2018

Episode 117 ~Scared, Will You Say~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, to tell you the truth a million doesn’t make you a BOSS; it does put you in a good position compared to most Americans though, like something sounding like “Fiddler On The Roof,” If I Were A Rich Man. I don’t mean to sound so political, I mean, what do I know right, that’s what I was saying at work, that I’m nobody’s boss, but a couple of people were looking to me for what… leadership, last time that happened I met DUMB, DUMBER, and DUMBEST.

“And it won’t make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong.
When you’re rich, they think you really know!” – If I Were A Rich Man, Topol

I’m never scared to write about my more “DOMINANT” persona when it comes to the bedroom; as I was telling a friend, being in charge is a lot different when you can tie a person up and do all manner of “unspeakable” things. Even in my own stories sadly I show caution and then I still idolize someone like Le Marquis De Sade but he did go to jail and even he backtracked when it came to his novels. That’s going to be a reason for writing if I ever hear one, yeah I write because you have to think at least a second longer before letting anything burst out of your face I believe.

How about me singing, I won’t lie Ha, Ha anyway I’ve been thinking about that R. Kelly song I Wish, and I’m going to get the lyrics wrong, but I like those lines that go:

“And all I ever wanted is to be a better man
And I try to keep it real with my homies man
Want me to save the world I don’t understand
How did I become the leader of a billion men?”
R. Kelly, I Wish

The second reason I’m writing is, I believe there are other people out there like me, hell there are people a million times worse, and maybe this is my idea on “trying” to find them, but honestly, that scares me. How about this Lady Sophia, I was talking to “Okay” about The Fever Series by Karen Marie Moning and when I write it’s like I’m creating the “Sinsar Dubh” my dark magic attempting to get it out of me which should scare everyone, rape, murder, apocalypse and so much worse.

Better to keep it fiction right before I go off writing some BDSM contract, comparing a girl to a Brazzers or Reality Kings model, and don’t get me started on the words, more like the numbers on money, I once offered a woman three hundred for, yeah, more an Inspector Echo conversation. Good thing NaNoWriMo is coming up but how did I spend most of this day besides not reading the word “manager” under my name. I slept because I was afraid to write today, figured I’d sound like something out of “The Vault Girls,” “Virgin Roster” or my story “Love The Way You Run,” I put those two MILFS and that English Tart in it. I swear the things men come up with, my face is the horror, but my mind is apocalyptic; where is the terror, the man that is no longer writing of love and happiness perhaps *sigh* Scared, Will You Say.

I Will Have No Fear

Love The Way You Run

It’s a disease this thing called love I once heard, but I think I’m an asymptomatic carrier when you get right down to it, or as the song goes, Love Don’t Love Me but I haven’t written any “sweet” poetry lately, or short stories. Love The Way You Run

My heart beats faster and faster, as though it can escape me, soon I almost mutter aloud and yet she sees, one of the many and if she thinks I can turn around and face the rest of them as her voice breaks through. “How about today, Mr. Berton” Ms. Everard tutted, how she surely must have gone into the wrong profession, but who better to teach a man about life and death but a woman but this was Math.

How long have I been staring at her, could I count the breaths that I missed and apparently I must be missing a brain, I must be the Tin Man, minus the ax as well… one more reason I couldn’t turn around. Her eyes as brown as the dirt I wanted to bury myself under, was I not one more dead man and yet it’s dead things that make others grow, as hard as the board I haven’t touched in ages, please let me just hack away and build a coffin. Yeah but my heart won’t allow it, or that’s what I keep telling myself, fighting to stay alive though I was already in Hell, though nobody would know it with my complexion but hers?

The dead can be monsters, lucky for her, though I could see the rivers of red run along her tanned cheeks, the small scars healing as though she met a beast long before me, though her soft pink lips called me anything but her worst nightmare. “Mr. Berton” she cried as she walked over to me, her black top barely containing her but it could be worst, if it were her heart I was after, and then men chase skirts, the tigress’s one she was wearing, no I would instead trace the black heart tattoo along her cheek or the designs along her wrist. Surely she must be crazy to approach me, killing me like this or bringing me back to life, I would choose the former rather than face the class once again in this state, I just couldn’t.

Saved by the bell, as the class began to leave, my backpack not big enough to hold me, no EMT’s or coroner’s to pronounce what I already knew, was it wrong for me to even wish for a cop, death might come that much quicker. No, I wouldn’t need that, as Ms. Everard, cautioned “see you tomorrow,” now honestly I am no track star, but I am surely going to give it a chance as I ran out of there as fast as my feet cared to carry me now.

If I didn’t see her, her, or even her, why was I still going to school if my only job prospect was looking at the ground, knowing the moment I looked up, I would be knocked off of my feet, better to find the whole now, get it over with.

Better a cabin in the woods than being eaten alive, a careless whisper, a kiss, the scent of perfume, there was no fighting this, I wanted to believe, as I scurried along, call me a coward, or worse one of the infected. Rage, at them, at myself, hell that’s what I felt, but it’s nature, even the animals that have no concept of it, knew it, and here I thought people were supposed to prefer the privacy of their own homes. That’s where I was headed, maybe I could attribute my sickness to anything but the butterflies in my stomach, though I doubted even Noah had the problems I was feeling running through my veins.

No, they will not make a monster out of me, idle hands being the devil’s playthings and all but I didn’t have anyone to call, no money to spend, and while violence was far more accepted, it could never be condoned. If I could be like the cool kids, I could probably get a drink somewhere, maybe I could smoke something, it might even make me that much braver and live or die, it wouldn’t matter in the end perhaps.
Some idiot laughing on the ground and the pretty girls’ laughter brings him back to life, and he’ll only fall down again, for her I suppose or she for him, why don’t I find more joy in my immunity to all of this? Sickness is never a good thing, and that’s what the world would make of me as I ran that much faster, I must look like a lunatic and if only they knew they would have me committed by sundown. Why couldn’t this all exist in the dark, that’s where the monsters were supposed to come out and play, but where was I headed now, there were no bright lights where I was going if I kept my computer off of my obsession.

I would make myself a sacrifice for the good of the world, the sole survivor but to what end, and her’s, had God chosen to curse me so, as I stared and in the next second wondered who put that pole there as I crashed.

Light as a feather but only a board, was written on one of the books she carried but she did not stop, perhaps I was already a ghost, and none of them could see me, even if she was attuned with the spirit world as her library would suggest. It would make sense the way I was haunting her, some might say stalking, others would make me out to be a creep, nobody ever saw me until far too late.

Not good enough for Heaven and not bad enough for Hell and yet I was surrounded by angels and the devils that would have them, if but a word from me, after all, a ghost still needed a place to haunt some nights. It would explain a lot, I didn’t eat much, nobody ever heard a word I said, well at not women and some women loved to pretend that I would jump out at them when they least expected, it’s like being an alien only that beast would be my heart crawling its way out of my chest. Just it wouldn’t be today if I could make it back to my haunting ground without any more bruises or scars.

At least that’s how the guys saw me, maybe I was surrounded by ghosts or angels, and every guy saw me as a necromancer, I was paid to bring girls to life, and those men got to “love” them, I could be the grim reaper. Only it was grim I would ever see that girl again, her burgundy hair, those greenish-brown eyes, her snow-white skin, clad in black top similar to my teacher’s and blue jeans that would have to be peeled off of her slowly. Much like my dark skin if I ever got the chance, she was probably looking into the tarot now, coming up with a million reasons why we couldn’t be together in some way maybe.

I could help her out with that, but I will be damned if I was chasing after such a beauty like the beast I could not choose to be for the life of me, or for the life of her, and that was one million and one if she could hear me. We didn’t belong together because I was already dead or would be I imagined all the more as I saw my reflection in a puddle, yes I decide what I was going to be or was, a zombie.

Some zombies were only interested in brains, others were connoisseurs of the flesh, and while I could admit there was something about brunettes, I was not picky from wanting a dark-haired single mother, to a girl interested in the next realm. Still lacking my brain, why else would I feast on or find any thought I had elsewhere and not on the tip of my tongue, I must be starving.

Werewolves would lock themselves in cages, vampires had one coffin, but what could hold a zombie, the cure would be a million times worse than the virus, the ground may not change on the path, but these people were walking obituaries. Feasting upon each other time and again, some for their whole lives, and they pitied me… maybe they were right, but I accepted what I was a long time ago, and how dare I take somebody with me, zombies have mobs, as for me… I wanted to tear her apart, but I wouldn’t turn around and follow my black magic woman, I wouldn’t taste those juicy pink lips, bite or even nibble upon her.

Too many people had taken bites from my brain already, no wonder I couldn’t remember what it was to be like them or at the very least what I pretended to be because what I was could not be allowed anywhere. Let the disease run rampant all over the globe, I would run, I would hide, better than being one of them, no never, I kept telling myself, until I turned blue in the face, but I was so close to the house now. A zombie that would not bite, because no the world did not need more of me running around and I’m sure there were enough women that wanted to blow my head off for a few reasons.

What kind of monster thinks that; not a zombie that’s for sure they fear nothing, most monsters don’t, but there is something that is full of fear as I ran faster and I saw her standing there waiting to be let in. Have I had it all wrong, as I was clad in my black hoodie with matching jeans and boots, staring at the brunette vixen, cleaning supplies in hand, not that it would be enough; am I a psycho?

I’m only a man, and there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide now, but she was just the maid, not that I would think of her in such simplistic terms, not with a body to die for, the thought kept replaying in my mind. My would-be prey who was making sure to clean all the evidence of her arrival, she would be all that was left for me, the only picture taken in her soft brown eyes, a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and the matching underwear I bought her for Christmas once.

A psycho was always prepared, only there were no axes, no playroom, not a respectable torture device to be had, gloves, machete, or a chainsaw, and they say that humans are made in the image of God. While I still wasn’t a believer in such the things I wanted were less than holy without a doubt and would damn me for all eternity, well damned if I do or damned if I don’t, so why was I the one backing away looking to get out. She was only a girl, but any would-be man would tell you that can be the scariest thing in the universe easily; witch, siren, succubus, and yet somehow here she was on her knees keeping me at bay easily enough.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Kaelyn asked, probably reading my darkest intentions as she hurried towards the door, but my hands were shaking as I reached out to hand her the money and she was on her way, safe and sound. As I was lying on my bed, throw in alone, and all would be well except for the knock on my door, Kaelyn forgetting something I wanted to believe but there was nothing there and everything, it was in the air. My next question should have been how did all these ladies get in my house and taking hold of me, but I didn’t need to ask who they were, Aphrodite runs deep these days; if anything I should be flattered but terrified would have to do.

“Who do you think you are,” Cupid asked me, already there was an arrow pointing straight at my heart, as the women held me down and telling them I was a Titan might be the wrong answer as I was surrounded by these gods and goddesses of love. “Now you take the time to find me” I grunted, as they moved forward hungrily, staring at everything that womankind chose to ignore forever and a day.

“Our worst nightmare” Eros chuckled, putting two fingers to my forehead and suddenly I was filled with visions, broken hearts as far as my eyes could see, I indeed was one to be despised so why bother to apologize. On the other hand, they owed me that much and a lot more but what made me think they were interested in me as a person, not when I saw those fangs and claws come out.

Finally, my hands were traveling to the loveliest of places, of course, they were ripped from my wrists, with all sympathies to the Devil, no more worries for any of these gods jobs at this point as I found my voice. I screamed as I felt their jaws, their claws tearing me apart piece by piece, ripping into me, my final love letter and it was being written in blood, or is this why they wanted me all along. Even now I couldn’t help but find the beauty in even this or at least one part of me continued to believe so despite being made into a buffet for over a dozen or so gods of old, that didn’t understand that love has now changed.

I could have even been one of them I sighed or was that my last breath as my heart was finally stolen and Aphrodite smacked her lips holding it in her hands announcing then “I Love The Way You Run.”

Episode 111 ~One Way Will Work~

Let’s give the boy a hand as the song goes, failed to get fired, to be completely lazy though if I heard the voice on the PA right but how often am I right, after all, I work retail, and that’s not working for me. One Way Will Work, such is hope

Saturday, October 20, 2018

Episode 111 ~One Way Will Work~

Hey Lady Lu,
How To Make One Million Dollars, last week I talked about going to work and how scared I was of losing my job and is it sad that nothing has changed about that; yes I am grateful, but the thing about any of the employment I’ve held is that I’ve wanted to go. Writing has its good days, and off days, but with the day job there is mind-numbing terror every day, hateful, half-sick, hiding but never hopeful, hell I have PCH for that, and I screwed that up too; my mailing will never make it before the deadline to be sure.

The thing is, what I will do for writing, start a blog, chug a 5-Hour Energy, drive to the library, the money I have spent wasting my time but that makes me feel better than the day job ever has. Hell take today as an example, I researched where to buy stamps so I can mail that stupid PCH letter that won’t make it because that gives me a hope that the rest of this week has never brought me. I know you must be asking yourself Lady Lu why I’m ragging on the day job so much considering, some announcement I’m not even sure I heard succinctly that scared me enough to think I’m losing my job, that does nothing.

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” Thomas A. Edison

That is how I feel at work Luna; seven years I’m not sure how many days but not one of them has brought me hope, happiness, or hunger, indeed I’m more likely to puke my brains out and don’t get me started on the bathroom situation again. So like my friend “Okay” suggest, write the book, get published, do the work, one of my motivations talks about how to get rid of fear, but how does one stop Sloth, today still sets the perfect example because how much have I gotten done. One book review written up, picking up stamps, and now talking to you, and once again I believe there is a chance of winning the big sweepstakes; the deadline is the 22nd and tomorrow’s Sunday, so there’s that.

Writing should be my only plan, but I can’t break free, at least not intentionally, a fight, a feeling, getting fired and that brings up a random writing concept… what’s with me and “Alliteration” these days, it’s quite fun with titling my Pinterest “Spank Bank” as Cherry calls it but how many times have I used this writing trope today? Thousands of words that haven’t worked but how do I know, I know retail isn’t but with so much Lady Lu, do I still believe, One Way Will Work?

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 110 ~Enemies Wills And Writes~

Who doesn’t have an enemy, you could be sitting in a monstery and Tibet, and some monk is giving somebody grief, and how much is a shiny rock in comparison to a weapon. “Enemies Wills And Writes”

Friday, October 19, 2018

Episode 110 ~Enemies Wills And Writes~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, isn’t it ironic that we spend more on our enemies than we do on our friends, I swear cruelty can be exhausting, and I have a new “respect” for those that practice it. Any writer must know a thing or two about suffering and fear; I don’t care if you’re Mother Goose, and I love my son like pancakes and can give you a million stories, but of course, the last one will hurt the most, a great fear Lady Sophia.

When that day comes, but no worries today about him, only why don’t I write about him more… because when would I find the time to write something good, when there is so much evil in the world. Worry about everything else, that’s what I do, like today at the day job, one enemy said something over the PA, hell I wish there was a memo I misread so I wouldn’t be killing myself over it. What a weapon a voice is, and don’t get me wrong I do believe that the pen is mightier than the sword but that doesn’t stop me from owning a few weapons and what is a weapons purpose, what is a writer’s reason hmm?

“The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.” ― Woody Allen Midnight in Paris: The Shooting Script (From Goodreads)

Words are just so potent as a weapon, am I writing a will, a want, how about a warning, it’s a good thing I didn’t give one of those to an enemy right; I still haven’t seen him since last week, and I would almost be giddy if it weren’t for today. Working today *sigh* I had so much time but that’s the real problem, most days I’m my worst enemy, and while I’m not a killer, I’m a pretty decent sadist next to one group in particular. Women, before you freak out, I would never consider women the enemy, this is more keeping myself in check but as much as I hate to admit it, and I have several times, why did I go back to blogging these days.

Writing is not my enemy, to me, it’s like limping off the battlefield and asking myself the question of what will I do with the rest of my life, what dream was there before the war, what dreams may come after, why is there no longer anyone to fight. Wickedness that I can create enemies out of my imagination isn’t it, and OCD mixed with some paranoia doesn’t help but when you know what haunts you, hurts you, and makes you horny well then you have something to write about, so Enemies Wills And Writes.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 103 ~File It Under Will~

It won’t be a best seller or some grandiose poem, not some song lyric that everyone gets wrong on Youtube, how a movie line that shows how the guy gets the girl *sigh* nope it will be how I didn’t get into a fight at work. “File It Under Will,” FAME.

Friday, October 12, 2018

Episode 103 ~File It Under Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How to make One Million Dollars, because I’m not as young as I used to be and if I’m reading all this political mumbo-jumbo right, I won’t be seeing any social security checks; one more reason I should have died young. I’m aging like crazy from worrying about the day job, and now I have two whole days to think about what’s going to happen next, and it feels like I am always writing lousy news, unfortunately.

At this rate I may not have a choice but to write but you know I’ve never been published before or hell I thought I was at one point and how did that turn out for me… as always I should be grateful for what I have now, back then I was begging for a laptop. “Indiana Gone” is perpetually busy with her paperwork, but I haven’t dealt in honest to God paper in forever until Tuesday, and strangely enough nobody ended up bleeding, but the words fell all the same. One way to kill the spirit my Lady, doing what I love in the place I hate, and what about when I went on that yearlong tirade of poetry that barely received any recognition, but then there’s a whole notebook that’s sitting in a college filing cabinet somewhere. There’s even more ramblings with the police, more Inspector Echo’s thing.

My point for today is merely the fact that the only writing of mine that has blown up, in my face, is anything that gets me into trouble and this week I brought it on myself but what choice did I have? The battle cry of the truly committed because when you find your purpose (burned through my motivational playlist) you have no choice but to do it and isn’t that where we find ourselves on day 468 but how long have I held the day job… I saw on a plaque that I have worked there for five years, though at this moment it’s over seven years and I may have ended it with the stroke of a pen.

May I be so loyal to writing as I have been to that place, my hands cracking and bleeding but at least I’m not like one manager, writing about how I was hurt at work but wasn’t I Lady Sophia? Hurt feelings right, maybe I should stick to nonfiction these days, I mean all you have to do is bleed right, and in my fictional stories it’s never me that does the bleeding but in reality, File It Under Will.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 097 ~Will At The Table~

“You did not wake up to be something, something, mediocre.” That assumes I got up this morning. Maybe I’ll blame my alarm. Perhaps it’s the dog lying on my legs. It’s cold; in the house, because it’s hot out. Will At The Table but the bed works well

Saturday, October 6, 2018

Episode 097 ~Will At The Table~

Hey Lady Lu,
How to make One Million Dollars, when you don’t know how to build computers, need a picture to make the bed and do you know how long it took me to put together two bookcases and my coffee table Ay Yi Yi. So much for the week of positivity am I right, I remember someone saying The Summer of Love was more like the summer of getting your ass kicked… I know “language,” one more thing I’m not doing today, finishing Under His Heel, but you never know, isn’t that right Luna?

Isn’t that why people write out a will, I think all writers realize the inevitable, from the journalist writing his next story; to the ones that create novels, poetry, and everything else, new worlds, to the other artists and innovators, or the person that merely sees this world without themselves. My chair lies empty most days, and I wish I could tell you I was out there living, other than my daily walk with my son and continuing to break promises, giving my word, no my words find their way here, along with that one I refuse to say except on Wednesdays. Stuff that I should probably erase, things I don’t want on my tombstone, might as well call me Rick Grimes, his fate is sealed but not mine so why do I spend so much time on my back, The Walking Dead, Youtube, and Pinterest though something else got me today dear Lady Luna.

My will, if it’s ever written but that doesn’t happen without power and honestly how much does it take to walk from one room to the other, to sit up rather than lie down, hell if I treated every day like before cleaning day? To be fair that isn’t my will either, I always get things done on behalf of others, and that’s the problem, I do nothing for me, it’s called discipline and November is coming, the pressure will be on and if I can’t get started on any given day? All cards on the table; more like anything I can get my hands on, being idle, *sigh* which is one more reason today has been a waste; I shouldn’t say that though, whether I’m looking at beauty, the MILF *Homer drool*, Morgan from “FBE”, or whoever I have in my photos this moment.

No, on my table is just one more bill due, a bottle of water (the last of my health kick) and another mediocre tirade on what my life is, hell what everybody’s life is, putting food on the table so yes Will At The Table.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 096 ~An Inkling Of Will~

Tattoos can become addicting they say, and that’s only one of many things that I have to remember in this life, and I don’t think of myself as much of a multitasker or disciplined, so about sitting here? “An Inkling Of Will.”

Friday, October 5, 2018

Episode 096 ~An Inkling Of Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How to make One Million Dollars, “you step”; an idea, a concept I heard once in a motivational video I watched, a thought that seems a bit ironic with me sitting here but you know what I mean. It’s like inception in a way, oh sure I talk about these speeches I listen to, the voice of a pretty girl, the movies, books, and video games, I see on the daily, I found myself remembering “Sometimes In April” *shudders* didn’t I talk about things written in stone once, like God’s Plan hmm?

What truly lasts forever Lady Sophia, some would say diamonds and surely plenty of people have met eternity in one way or another because of those rocks; speaking of stones, as hard right, I was working on my “Fear Blacking Out” and suddenly had a craving for Haley Pullos. Three things about that, one, shouldn’t I have more respect for women, two, I was a huge fan of General Hospital once, and it took me forever to remember her name “Molly” and three, I can’t forget that I’m a man, it’s Rule Sixteen. I know you’re asking, have I forgotten my point, and I’ve said it before, I don’t forget anything, but I’m asking how do I remember one thing more than I do others?

Cherry is heartbroken over her fur baby Millie R.I.P., and I’ve seen what she is doing In Memoriam which of course got me to thinking about my son and should something happen to him… he’ll see twenty, but I want to get a tattoo for him, a paw print with “BBB” or “B III.” Sad that I can’t forget about one other B am I right but again tattoos, “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam tibi” which is Latin for “I will either find a way or make one” surprisingly that didn’t make my list of rules. All the things that I haven’t written down today, this week, or month but I’ve shared a lot of words, okay texts but still that’s sort of like talking and “Okay” was over here yesterday, I’m starting to think Church Logan was right, every word spoken costs, mind, sanity, even your soul I know.

That’s why it’s important I do what I do, I write, but do you think anxiety has a purpose, again a plan, a position, like having me sit right here and focus for only a little while, I swear Lady Sophia the ideas that have popped in my head from “Patiently Waiting” to The Purge. Pain, blood, they remind me I’m alive, that my son is breathing, that I have enough things in my mind that I want to live and that my dear is my strangest idea, that life is something I want to experience, An Inkling Of Will.

I Will Have No Fear