Letter From The Edge...
Letter from the Edge: Belleville, September 8, 2025 From the Desk of Gord Floating Ball of Dirt 8:27 AM, 8.9.25 Timmies
Dear Creator,
The Axex is screaming tonight, its hawk-headed snarl slicing through the haze of this Belleville Tim Hortons, where the fluorescent lights hum like a low-grade fever. I’m Gordon, your guide through the chaos, clawing my way toward authenticity in this mad, twisted game called LIFE. The morning session at Tim’s—hit like a shot of adrenaline straight to the soul. I’m grateful for it, for the pulse of being alive, for the wild spark of creativity that burns hotter than this lukewarm double-double. Proud? Hell yeah, I slept in today, sprawled out like a king in a world that doesn’t give a damn. And I’m feeling it all—horny as a springtime alley cat, courageous enough to spit in the face of fate, and funny enough to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
My intention today? Be humble. Not the groveling kind, but the kind that keeps you grounded when the Axex’s wings are beating chaos into your bones. I’m connecting—Natalie, the Rochesters, and the electric hum of the moment itself. We spent the day with Ali, a sister-in-arms from the last ward imprisonment. Walking the cracked sidewalks of Belleville with her was like dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight. I gifted her socks and underwear—small tokens, but damn, the joy of this lifestyle is in the giving, in the knowing we’re in it together. Took her to the food resources, the secret map of survival we charted when we were homeless. Now we’ve got a roof, but the streets still whisper their wisdom. We know how to play this game, how to make the system bend just enough to keep us breathing.
What’s rattling around in my skull? Crypto, man. The wild, digital frontier where you trade bits of nothing for something real. I’m scheming simple transactions, turning ones and zeros into socks, coffee, maybe a new shirt for that interview. Got a Giant Tiger gift card—$200 from Meta, bless their algorithmic hearts—still kicking with enough juice to score some threads. The system’s a beast, but I’m learning its moves, dodging its claws like the Axex dodging Osiris’s wrath. Teeth, though? Those need work. Jagged reminders of battles fought and won, but damn, I’d kill for a dentist who doesn’t flinch at my story.
I’m sleepy now, the kind of bone-deep tired that makes you crave a hot shower or, God help me, a sauna. I miss the sauna, that primal sweat-lodge where the world melts away. GoodLife banned me—those corporate bastards—and I’m itching to claw back the $75 initiation fee. They don’t get to keep my coin and kick me out. The Axex doesn’t bow to gym managers.
Lessons? It’s okay to sleep in. Dress nice, have fun, walk the streets, do push-ups till your arms scream. Life’s a hustle, but it’s also a gift. The chaos is where the magic happens—where the
Axex spreads its wings and dares you to fly. So here I am, scribbling this in a Tim’s, plotting my next move, laughing at the madness. Join me, you beautiful weirdos. Hit me up at GordonBufton@proton.me or stalk me on Instagram @GordonBufton33. Let’s ride this chaos together.
Connect… Gordon
P.S. The Axex never sleeps, and neither does the battle to stay real.