nOT dEAD JUST DREAMING...

I'M still here. I swear. Find my myspace if you want more sporadic updates. Wait, less sporadic. I can't type anymore. You can also find my gamertag on XBOX live. I'm playing gears a lot. probably will be tonight. Watching a lot of The Office as well. I'm glad Pam and Jim are together. This one's for NateCon:


Who's The Tank - Watch more Free Videos

I can't wait for Christmas. I had a great Thanksgiving, complete with Gun. Lots, in fact. And my cousin Bonely Jonely is out of the clink. Looks like a friggin football player. Work proceeds, the weather sucks, and I dodn't vote for Obama, but I'm glad he won anyway. Anarchists are weird sometimes.

Cheers,
The Captain

Arm Yourself

I don't care who you voted for, didn't or want to be President. The next few weeks are going to be very tense.

I Still Have A Dead Man's Tape Collection

I have been thinking about the band Pennywise a lot lately. As I scroll through my iPod I always see the name, but alas it's from a tribute CD that only had one Pennywise song on it. So I never get any, and I'm too poor to buy one. I have also been thinking a lot about the tape collection that belonged to a dear friend's friend. I'm not going to go into the details of all that, but I digress to my original point.

"I reached to the back of my closet. I never get into the dark reaches of that area. It holds only ghosts and broken storylines. I was after a particular ghost, however. A gift given to me and not to be taken lightly, proof of a life's story that was finished far too soon. Determined to destroy a gift so precious a bag was revealed. It had a good heft, and appeared to be full. Simply, really. An average, dark green backpack with one large storage area and a smaller one in the front. Familiar with the design I admired the simple lines and boxy bottom. About 3 quarter's full. Unzipping the bag I absentmindedly grab the first Tape that was on top. Pennywise. I immediately drop the tape back into the bag. Too weird. Too easy. Zipping up the bag and pushing it back into the back of the closet amongst clothes and plastic model boxes, I try to shrug it off..."

Cheers,
The Captain

A Quote

"THE best thing he could have done would have been to soak the skateboard and his pants and then rode it down the thing so he would have caught fire on the way down."

-The Captain, about 3 minutes ago.

fIGHT yOUR wAY oUT OF a pAPER sOUL

I woke up in one of those moods again today. I want to call into work. That's the first thing. But I can't because I'm going camping this weekend and I don't have the cash to skip it. So I have to go to work. The very worst reason. SO I get to work and I don't want to be there and I don't want to deal with everyone and their individual types of bullshit and I don't have a choice. Everyone has a crosshairs on them today. I don't want it to be like that, however that is how it is. Immediately everyone notices that I'm not talking. I don't want to talk. Don't want to play in all of the retard games that the morons I work with play. Don't want to hear anyone say my name the way each and every single person says it. In their own cute little way. I don't want to talk to the shop retard about how wasted he got this weekend. Don't want to be told exactly how to do each and every thing I'm doing by the self-proclaimed shop foreman. I know he's going through a lot of effort to teach me how to do stuff right but Today I don't care.

I eat lunch silently, as all day long everyone I work with tries to bring me out of my shell of hate and loathing. They can sense something is wrong, but noone has any idea of what. Every attempt of consoling me just makes my angrier. The only people in the shop who leave me alone are alcoholics. They seem to understand not to bother this one and to just let him work. It's not a hangover. Not from alcohol. It just happens once in a while. A great while. The stress builds up and like a blowoff valve every little thing that I have held in or ignored or blown off previously turns me into one on-edge son-of-a-bitch. Just give him space, and leave him be.

I heard that the great HST had these problems on occasion. It's been told that some magic mushrooms or a couple of hits of acid and he'd turn right around. Unfortunately this is a work week, and I don't have access to those things. So I went on a bike ride. 4 grueling miles at top speed with Orgy blaring in my ears in attempt to burn off all of the rage. But then, as I feel exhausted and hurt and exalted from the ride, it returns. I have to go home. not to my house, or my anything. I have to return to my parent's house and their rules and my tiny, shitty, hot bedroom. Mostly I view it as a safe haven. No matter how scary or weird or drunk or wrong things get, as long as I can make it back to my room everything will be okay. But it's not like that anymore.



How the Fuck am I supposed to stay sane?


I'm okay with being lonely. I've always got voices to talk to. I'm okay with being miserable. I was born to be down. But I need my sanity. It's the only way I can get away with being weird. Absolute credibility. Crazy people don't have it. Hunter had it, and for the most part so do I. But without a safe, happy place I can never turn off. I'll end up strung out, talking to myself in front of people, and acting in an uncomfortably bizarre fashion. My liver is giving me hell lately, which means I'm either gonna have to get onto the wagon soon, or die. Right now it's a coin toss, but I'm leaning in favor of

Cheers,
The Captain