Oh hey! It’s perhaps the quintessential scene from Fight Club without Tyler Durden. Right about shows you how delusion our boy Narrator was? Insanity? Guts? Insane-guts? Just check it out, fucker.

Read the rest of this entry »

It’s been a week since I reappeared on the deck of the ship, smiling through the sludge I’d been wading in for far too long.

I was worried about the transition. Captain Pow had every right to be salty, seeing as I’d disappeared without any warning.  Piloting this old war-bird with even the most seasoned of navigators can be a goddamn nightmare, so my absence certainly didn’t help.Whereas I’d anticipated being on the receiving end of a Big-Brother Bitch-Slap, he greeted me with open arms.

The stalwart captain welcoming his prodigal brother.

Since then, the pop-culture seas have been kind to me, revitalizing me after an extended absence. My sealegs are strong, helping me regain my strength through the wonder of muscle memory. And still, I’ve yet to completely return to form. I’m still suffering the residual effects of being lost in that Modern-Life Maelstrom.

Every other nite, my crewmates find me sleep-screaming about memos to read and projects to complete and bills to pay and other such nonsense that crushes spirits.

So how’m I going to overcome my infected blood? How do I enjoy the ride when I know the high Highs are always curbed by low Lows? Well, I’m goin’ to keep readin’ the maps and chartin’ the stars. I’m going to breathe deep the life-giving air found these glorious, treacherous, horrifyingly wondrous astral-seas. I’m goin’ to suck the pulp until its dried and withered and I choke to death on the juice, clutching my throat and smiling all the way.