This week has been severely lacking within the excitement factor. Partially due to the notion work grows rather hectic… Sometimes I would just love a break. One day is never enough. But I’m very happy to have my job, so don’t consider this a bitch fest.On the bonus front, I get to work with my best friends all the time.

Pretty much had a Terminator marathon last night. Finished Terminator, because my friends couldn’t make it all the way through… They became tired and headed out early. Wussys. I then watched Terminator 2 : Judgment Day. Liquid guy is such a badass. Don’t ask me about T3, that movie sucked. I will only see that movie once. Part of me wanted to go watch a showing of Terminator Salvation today for the hell of it. Not that I need to see that movie… yet again. I think after three times it starts to become an obsession. After Judgment Day, I put in Gran Torino. That movie was also badass. There are too many great lines in that movie. I wish Clint Eastwood was my angry elder neighbor.

Comic Con is going on this weekend… I’m beyond bummed that I didn’t get to go. I was so close. I mean, Psych and Burn Notice had panels where they gave away free shit. Who doesn’t love that!? Robert Downey Jr. was there for either Iron Man 2 or Sherlock Holmes. Do you think that matters to me? Both movies I’m awaiting impatiently for, fuck Christmas - I’m spending it with Holmes. Sam Worthington is there for Avatar. Which I heard they were doing a screening for, whether it’s the entire movie or just part… I wanted to see it. Come on, I’m .5% gay for that Aussie. There was other amazing things there but reminding myself only makes me want to copy Gabe and scream “CON!!!” while shaking fist. Only to then laugh about Star Trek reference.

On an upside, Grim showed me the new Dexter promo for season four.
Watch it below.
It looks AWESOME!!!!
Seriously, September 27th couldn’t come quicker.
However, August 7th = Psych!
Speaking of which, while watching Burn Notice tonight they showed a Psych clip…
In which they made fun of the Mentalist once again.
I love the writers.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid30402294001?bclid=30413157001&bctid=30465750001

As I was sitting on my computer, USA playing in the background, a show started to commence within it’s allotted time slot. I’d heard of this specific show before - the actor playing the main character happens to be a rather talented one at that. British too. Funny how all of a sudden accents are the new cool thing. Oh wait, they always have been. Anyways back on point. Slowly my attention started to shift from dealing with over exaggerated drama online to the show itself. It was the pilot episode. Right away it was entertaining within the way it was shot, the rearranging of time sequence since the happenings were actually just a re-telling of the experience to a female barkeep (who understandably didn’t believe the man and simply pegged it for a very methodical pick up line). The title of the show? The Philanthropist. I know, I know. How in the hell is that even capable of being a good show, let alone an hour long one? No idea. However, I do know that so far I rather enjoy it. Luckily after my first encounter with the pilot there was the second episode right after. Good ol’USA network. Always got my back… except if you want to bring up the whole cancelling Touching Evil. I mean what the hell people? That was a damn good show. Then again, I should be thanking USA as well. If it hadn’t been cut, Michael Westen would not exist or worse, he would be played by a different actor. I looked up The Philanthropist and found out that it plays Wednesday nights. Sadly, I’d missed the third episode but I can watch it online, will I? Probably not. I hate watching things online - it’s just not the same for me. I did watch it tonight. Again, it was entertaining. It has a mix of everything I like. Funny moments, voice overs that teach you something meaningful, and a cute redhead. Point is, I’ll probably be tagging along with this show until it runs its course. Yeah, I know, not very optimistic of me. But I’m no fool, I’m well aware that my tastes often do not run with those of the greater American Public. I mean, American Idol? Really? Dancing with the Stars? Not to mention NBC has a sting of new shows coming this Fall that look like utter rip offs (On that note, all you people who watch The Mentalist… Psych is soooo much better. There’s pineapple!) …if the world was all about those shows, reality or scripted crap, I’d probably own a hell of a lot more movies then I already do. As of right now, I’m watching The Venture Brothers. I’m finding out that I love this show and all its stupidity.

Random fun fact #567 of Logan’s life: my mother is from Australia.
Questioning what this has to do with anything relevant to you?
Nothing.
Though she is discussing heading over there in a few weeks for a wedding… and then just staying a month for the hell of it, catch up with family and all that “aww” kind of stuff.
Is she taking me? No.
But perhaps this means I’ll be getting that wombat I’ve wanted since I was four.

Anyways, speaking of Australian…
Sam Worthington.
There were rumors that I was 2% gay (Rdjr and JDM, keep up)
Well, I think I’ve now officially bumped another .5% up there.
I think it’s the accent.

Point is, I was watching Bootmen today.
All I can say is “WHAT THE FUCK?!”
I’m not going to spill it out on the lines because if you ever choose to watch it…
I want you to have that moment of complete anger with your DVD as I did.
Oh, you might be asking, “Logan… what happened?”
Nay nay, I can not just tell you.
But I’m still pissed over the ordeal.

Much like Less Than Zero.
Ugh I think they do this to spite me.
Anyways, I’m hopefully off to get undepressed.
Regardless of a movie not actually being real, sometimes the side effects are.

You know eventually I’d have to give in, and write Castiel.
So I took a casual walking start: writing a post for a board I’m on.
Pretty much just revamping what happened in Lazarus Rising.

-------

Castiel had hoped the hunter’s curiosities would have dwindled down after the psychic woman’s mishap. Pamela had pressed too close and for that intrusion; had paid with her sense of sight. The stranger, for the time being, had wanted to remain unknown to the man he’d brought back from hell; but he couldn’t stop the woman from looking. Only give her a fair share of warnings. However, people like her weren’t the type to back down after a simple slap on the back of the hand and a heated warning. The word ‘No’ wasn’t in that personality’s vocabulary. Oddly enough the greater human race were blessed, or cursed, with that trait.

In that aspect, it shouldn’t have surprised him when auditory senses first picked up the summoning ritual being spoken in a long dead Latin dialect. Warnings never worked. Humans were known for their curious nature… their never-ending need for knowledge. There was little draw in what Dean and his older mentor were doing. They were simply trying to summon the unknown name they’d heard Pamela utter before her eyes burned from within her skull. Castiel. The two didn’t know what the name signified. The only knowledge they were comforted with, was the fact whatever this thing was it was powerful enough to rip the Winchester from damnation. Allowing him to return within his own framework, that had long begun to decay and falter from its pristine condition when alive. And all that remained as a trace, was a handprint burned into his upper left arm.


The wind suddenly picked up, blowing gusts of heavy steams against the metal skeleton of the rundown warehouse the hunters had chosen to hold up in. The element tore at the roof paneling with ease as if toying with them before allowing them to slam back down upon their wooden beam supports. The zigzag line of lamps that hung from the ceiling hummed softly before bulbs popped under an unseen pressure. Sparks flew from the form of illumination. The barred door to which the hunters cut themselves off from the outside snapped as doors flung open. Dress shoes came down along the scatter of dirt and gravel. Silently crunching beneath the high-pitched screams of shattering glass.

Castiel’s form walked forward from the dirt road, shadow casting itself along the ground from the moonlit backdrop. His pace wasn’t rushed or forced. He wasn’t here because of the ritual but rather the annoyance. Annoyance knowing that unless he showed himself, Dean would not stop until he got the answers he desperately needed. And that could lead to far worse endings than empty eye sockets. Trench coat swayed softly in the dying breeze. The lamps still spit their disgustful remarks of sparks and embers down upon the trio, lighting up the figure in momentary lapses as footfalls headed towards the two men. Bobby and Dean had aimed their weapons long ago and within the echoing wake of electricity’s cries, they fired.

The rounds of buckshot and rock-salt embedded themselves within this body. Tearing at the well priced clothes the vessel had saw to wear. They didn’t hurt, the body felt but had long gone numb. The man who had once been within was no longer there. He had prayed within the crushed metal rubble and shards of glass that surrounded him to be free from the lack of ache. The loss of sensation that only came with severed nerves… and it was granted. So for all extensive purposes, it was Castiel’s body now.

Sight took in the various spray painted markings that decorated the sheet metal walls. Some of ancient times he’d seen in the dawning of their creation and others were new symbols of religions and beliefs he’d yet to encounter. Concrete hued orbs found themselves retrained back on the Winchester and companion. Guns fired again regardless of the little effect of the bullets before them. However, now that the light had descended from blinding to null the two could see the failure and they exchanged looks of distraught. Castiel moved slower now, his attention solely on Dean as body rounded in front of him. Lips pressed together as he awaited the moment to speak.

“Who are you?” “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Dean barely shifted, “Yeah, thanks for that.” There was something off within his tone but Castiel gave a slow nod in response. Dean Winchester lunged forward, slamming a knife within the meaty flesh of upper torso. There was utter anger draped across his face as he looked up at the mirroring unpleased facial expression. His grip lessened against the hilt of the blade, frame backed up slowly with the utter betrayal handed to him by the knife. Castiel looked down at the carved bone that stuck out from him, his own fingers slipping around it tightly pulling it from its flesh sheath. Instantly allowing it to drop against cement. Dean looked toward the older man for some form of explanation, to which he wielded a crowbar towards the stranger. Without allowing his eyes to leave Dean, Castiel reached to block the steel bar. Abruptly turning to Singer and placing two fingers against aged forehead. Whispers slowly stirred but silenced as the elder man toppled to the ground. Castiel allowed sight to linger over him for a moment before falling along the one still standing, “We need to talk Dean.” Neck crooked a quick glance back, “Alone.”

The Winchester moved forward, past the man in the trench, taking a knee beside the older man. Castiel allowed him this moment, his own curiosities brought irises to the text of books. Fingertips grazing the pages of books far older then some cultures conception. The look of hatred almost burned through him before he soothed out the worry, “Your friend’s alive.” “Who are you?” “Castiel.” “Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?” Attention lifted from the aged papers looking toward the kneeling boy, “I’m an Angel of the Lord.” There was a silence between the two as Dean slowly lifted himself to balance. “Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.”

Castiel took in an unheard breath, questions racing though his own mind as to why HE would have choose someone so cynical. “This is you problem, Dean, you have no faith.” A crash of thunder rattled through the warehouse as light beckoned from behind the stranger. Shadows of elegant wings extended high across the back wall of the structure. And as quick as they had appeared they faded into the cold gray of the atmosphere. Castiel stood silent awaiting the non-believer to speak. “Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.” Neck arched down as if to show regret but there was no real feeling, although it was a circumstance he would much rather have avoided, “I warned her not to spy on my true form It can be… overwhelming to humans. And so can my real voice. You already knew that.” “You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?” Castiel once again nodded slowly, “Buddy, next time lower the volume” “It was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

“And what visage are you in now huh, what, holy tax accountant?” The being looked down while digits gripped at tattered beige trench, “This, this… is a vessel.” The boy almost seemed disgusted, “You’re possessing some poor bastard?” “He’s a devout man. He actually prayed for this.” “Look, pal, I’m not buying what you’re selling. Who are you really?” Neck tilted to the side in confusion, “I told you.” “Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell” Limbs took a few steps forward as he spoke, “Good things do happen, Dean.” “Not in my experience.” At the moment, it didn’t matter to Dean what Castiel uttered. This was a man who’s faith had long been tarnished and mocked past the point of rejection. “What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” There was a sense of hurt behind the hard stare drawn on him, “Why’d you do it?” Lips pressed together for a moment before carrying on, “Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.”

I've been having moments of utter need to write...
Except all I'm picking up is John Winchester, Castiel and partially Sylar. Weird.


Corner of lips pulled back into a grin as John let a laugh overturn the raspy tone in which he spoke. Coffee hued orbs found his older son stepping forward extending a bottle towards his father. John’s fingers fell upon the unopened beer, nodding a set thank you. Other palm fell across the top applying pressure. Dean’s words spoke of reason, one which even John Winchester shouldn’t deny himself. Still, this was a man who lived for his boys and a simple good word would never make right what he’d done.

Eyes seemed to drift off as they removed their glance from the newly opened bottle. Lips pressed together before John spoke. His words were linked to the past and with no real lead in, there was only the simple notion it must have been something he wanted to say to himself. Yet words had found themselves on his tongue, and weren’t easily pushed aside. “You know, your mother and I started a bet the day we found out you were going to be a boy.” Sight fell to Dean as he continued on, “She knew how much I was looking forward to taking my son out front an playin’ catch. Teach you bout football.” He paused. “She joked, you were going to be a famous basketball player, that football was for boring losers who have nothing better to do then run into each other.”

Throat swallowed as he heard Mary’s words. Remembered in perfect clarity the way it had been said, her soft laugh of knowing she was teasing her husband, and getting away with it. “But I told her, that I was still gonna teach ya, that you could be that famous basketball player but you were going to humor your ol’ man and toss the ball back and forth…” At this point John couldn’t keep the pain that realization had caused. Eyes were glossed over as they once again found Dean’s stare.

“Instead, I taught you how to shoot a gun. How to read someone, what a stakeout was, and how to pace yourself for sleepless nights. Taught you how to escape and evade. Basically put you through Marine training without the enlistment papers.” Smile once again found itself across the older man’s worn features. “And you didn’t complain… not even once.”

“Truth is Dean, that excuse might have worked but I’ve only been a Dad. Father? I tried… with all the mistakes, I tried …but I think that man died a long time ago.” With that bottle found itself against lips, as John took back a drink. Before head tilted back downing as much as he could.

Sadly, Burn Notice has come to a drastic close until ‘winter’ - which is basically a tricky way of saying January but alluding to the idea of newer episodes returning sooner to simply throw people off. Those sneaky bastards. In all reality, I’m stuck until somewhere mid-January until I see anymore badassery from Michael Westen. Not to mention the comic relief of one Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster of Psych (which admitted a January return straight up). Now, obviously this would surely be a devastating matter it if wasn’t for the AWESOME that is Supernatural. Yeah that is all in capital letters and bold so you know it’s head to toe legit.

I know it’s been a total of two days since the season premiere and since Thursday’s showing I’ve watched it a total of two times. Granted that’s not total overkill but had I not gone out Friday night, and played Mario Party while slightly buzzed… cursing at the Italian bastard known as Wario, well it would have been watched again. I mean the whole premise of the first episode was interesting. Not to mention Misha Collins has joined the Supernatural lineup as Cassiel. Which side note due to my acute OCD - I still don’t know why people continue to call him Castiel and become giddy about something claiming him as being the Angel of Thursday? Cassiel is the Angel of Saturday but really there’s no reason for anyone to know that as common knowledge. I only do because of my dearest friend Google. Anyways, I’ll continue to spell it how I wish until I’m denied.

At the moment - I’m debating bed.
More so losing the debate.



Damn it - it's Castiel.
Lame though...
Cassiel would have been a cooler angel.

No CSI: NY because of Comanche Moon.
It's like CBS purpously planned this...
Excite me with a new episode then when next weeks rolls around.
DENIED.

Those bitches.
 

Sam Winchester's Journal
Entry #2

I haven’t written much lately. Circumstances, well they’ve become too out of hand to have time to sit down and jot notes.

I’m supposed to be getting rest. “A break, that’s the least we deserve” according to Dean who found no trouble getting to sleep. He’s passed out. Few hours into Miller Time and a X-Files marathon; the dude’s toast. Well, course this is after the discussion as to why Scully really is a skeptic, and Mulder, well Mulder is a “fuckin’ saint.”

He’s not even acting different. I don’t know if that should scare me or not. He’s got one year and he acts like it hasn’t even crossed his mind. Hasn’t even phased him. Then again Dean’s always been the type to masquerade behind a fake smile, hell he learned that trade from the best. It’s frustrating. Every time I hint towards something even remotely about the deal, he immediately backs me off. I get it, he wants to enjoy a few day’s rest. If that’s what he wants to call it. I’m not at rest, I can’t sit here much longer. Sit here and watch. Not with what it will cost me.

Maybe that’s selfish of me. Pushing him into another hunt so quickly after what we faced. What we finally accomplished. For Mom and Dad. But I can’t believe he’s come to terms with his deal, I have to believe he wants out of it just as badly as I need him to be.

Bobby called. Had some news for us as well as a few necessities. I told Dean to go himself. Clearly, he was against leaving me alone, but he knows why. He knows how it hurts… how you seem to be digging their grave a little bit deeper every time you take in a breath. I’m not strong like him, I can’t hide it much longer. This is killing me.

While he was away, I went down to the local church. I don’t know why I felt compelled exactly. I mean I’m not very religious. Everything I know, Pastor Jim taught me. I guess I thought maybe if I left the hotel room… he’d hear me.

Sat there for an hour. Praying.

Even with Dean’s run in few months back I doubt he’s closer to wanting to believe. Now? Well, God’s not giving the best track record. I need this, I need to find a way to save Dean. Because if I can’t save my brother… If we don’t get out of this one…




I think if you truly exist…
You quit listening a long time ago.

Sam Winchester's Journal
Entry #1

Dean’s outside in the yard. Still at the Impala’s resurrection. I go out there from time to time, ask him if he wants a hand, and I get the same response of no. It’s more then just a simple rebuild for Dean, I know. Him and Dad rebuilt it the first time, now he’s just trying to put it back. All the pieces.

Last time I was out there I saw the added damage to the trunk. Gaping holes in the Impala’s body, glass from a neighboring scraped car shattered all over the ground. He took something to it. Whether it be in rage or grief I’ll never know. I quit asking how he was. Dean still gives me that look of "quit always checking up on me” every time I make my rounds out there.

He stopped me before I came back in. Brought up the conversation we had walking from that run down van he hated so much. Apologized for it. He shouldn’t have. He was right, last time I ever spoke to the man I picked a fight and waiting until now to finally start doing what he would have wanted isn’t right. Even with my own realization, he still seems to hold it over me. I don’t think he knows it but he speaks like the man wasn’t my father. Dean makes it seem, like I lost out that privilege of calling him Dad when I walked out.

Maybe I did.


We spent a whole year looking for you. Only to finally find you and lose you again. This time no search will bring you back… you’re not avoiding us anymore. No mysterious texts, or phone calls. You’re gone.

And I never got to tell you I’m sorry…

I’m sorry for not being a son.
For leaving you and Dean.
For not believing in you.

But most of all, I wish I could have had the chance to tell you.
I never blamed you.