TM 231: "Everything passes. Nobody gets anything for keeps. And that's how we've got to live." -- Haruki Murakami.

[OOC: It's canon that Logan is a poet. I am really, really not. So, um. Yeah.]

There's a lot Logan can't tell her. Not now, and maybe not ever. His blog, sure. That's one thing, and he tries not to say anything online that he wouldn't say--or at least consider saying--in person. But the paper journals...those are a different story.

She saw one, once. Stole a poem, but she said she liked it, so he tries not to mind. It was one of the better ones, anyway. There are fifty-four others. Some finished, some not. Some good, some...really not. Lists. Lines he woke up in the middle of the night and scribbled and never used.

He's not a good poet, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that there are fifty-five about her, and they let him say these things. Even if she'll never know.

[From the paper journal of Logan Cale, not posted to his LJ]

Everything passes
Nothing's for keeps
Think we've got You say forever
But talk is cheap

A year of waiting
A twelve-hour window

Slammed closed with a kiss
Latex on your lips and I want
Something more, something that's not

Broken.

Something that's not

Severed.

Something that's not

Shattered.

Something that's not

This.

Logan Cale/Eyes Only
Dark Angel
187 words

TM 226: Name three things that you're looking forward to in the near future and why.

1. I'm looking forward to getting to know the other people involved with the Endeavour Agency better. Not sure I really need to explain. Just moved here recently; don't know them well; they seem like a good group of people. Definitely ones I'd want on my side in a fight. And while I don't mind solitude, hanging out in my apartment alone every night's gonna get old fast.

2. I'm looking forward to Max visiting. I want to see what she thinks of my new place, and it'll be nice to cook her dinner and hang out without mice running around in the walls and the ceiling leaking. I'm also looking forward--really looking forward--to being able to do things with her in LA that we can't in Seattle. Like go out to dinner at a restaurant, go to a movie, a museum... I didn't move here because the Pulse didn't hit as badly here (and they've recovered faster), but I've gotta admit, it's a nice perk.

3. I'm looking forward to getting a cup of coffee and surfing the internet for awhile. I think I'm going to do a little shopping--I need a few things to finish setting this place up. And I might go look at those funny pictures of cats with captions. Sebastian sent me a link to that site, and it's great.

Logan Cale/Eyes Only
Dark Angel
237 words

TM 222: Sleeping on the couch.

Huh. Long time, no blog entry. I've got excuses if you want them. I've moved from Joshua's old house in Seattle to L.A., and there were--uh, let's just say "complications"--with getting my Eyes Only equipment and paperwork, etc., past the sector police. I've been busy settling in. My modem had issues.

But that's not the truth. The truth is, as I've been unpacking boxes and stuff, I feel like I've been sleeping on the couch of life, lately. Uncomfortable, drifting, without a place to really call my own.

I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, leaving Seattle. What I do. The purpose I carved out for myself there. Sure, Eyes Only has been laying pretty low this past year out of necessity, but he wasn't gone, and I--I worry about leaving the people there.

I worry that I'm in over my head with this demon-and-vampire hunting thing. I mean, when I think "Ass Kicking Demon Fighter," personally, I don't tend to get the mental image of a bespectacled thirtysomething paraplegic who drives an SUV, y'know?

So, yeah. Suffice it to say that I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and it's been a long time since I helped anyone in any real way, and--

--And it's like you took Eyes Only, and you turned his computer off, and then you handed him his glasses and said, "Okay. Now, go do something. Be useful for real."

And, honestly? I don't know what I'm supposed to do next. So, that's the truth (coming to you in black and white). I haven't been blogging because this thing was supposed to help me deal with stuff, help me find answers, and instead I find myself with a bunch of questions and I don't know where to start. ...Yeah. That's just great.

Peace. Out.

Logan Cale/ Eyes Only
Dark Angel
314 words

218: Write about a lie your parents told you.

Thing about my parents was, they didn't. Not the lies that make childhood the magical happy place it's supposed to be, anyway. My father didn't approve of nonsense.

So, though we decorated for Christmas with garlands and Santa figurines and an enormous tree every year, the first time I asked if we could leave cookies out for Santa himself (I was three or four, I think), I was told, firmly, that there really was no Santa Claus.

I don't think I ever believed in the Easter Bunny, though Easter was one of the two Sundays we went to church, and my family did get together for a big meal. My cousins and I all got Easter baskets with chocolate rabbits and jelly beans, but we knew they were from our parents.

As for the Tooth Fairy, I remember being surprised when I heard kids talking at school about leaving their teeth under their pillow and getting money. My parents never did that. Or an allowance, for that matter.

I was never told that I did well. For instance, that my kiddie-drawings were good, or my fifth-grade essays were good, or whatever, unless my father actually thought they were. No kid gloves there. I was never told that as long as I tried hard at something, failure was okay. That my best was good enough if it wasn't.

I used to resent the hell out of that, but now, I don't know. Unrelenting honesty's not always a bad thing. Maybe it would have been harder, if he'd been softer, learning to live in the post-Pulse world. These days, the Tooth Fairy is a quaint story from the good ole days, like getting an orange for Christmas used to be when I was a kid. Kind of sweet, but kind of pathetic, too.

So, thanks, Dad.

Peace. Out.

Logan Cale/Eyes Only
Dark Angel
310 words

214: "To be great is to be misunderstood."

It's funny that I used to be a print journalist. That I write poetry for fun. When it comes down to it, what most writers want is to be understood. To put thoughts and ideas into words. You want clarity. Sometimes it's the simple kind, presenting information in a straightforward, logical way. Sometimes you're unclear on purpose to create a specific image, a certain mood.

But the goal is to be understood. Even online, writing informally, we go out of our way to use abbreviations and smiling (or winking, or whatever) faces to convey our tone of voice, our meaning.

On paper, I've never had a hard time saying what I mean. So why, when the conversation is face to face, do I always choke? Especially with Max.

I think of the year when we could have touched, and--I don't know what was wrong with me. She'd walk in the room, and it was like I was suddenly incapable of making the words in my head come out of my mouth. I'd change the subject. Pretend to misunderstand her. Snap something I didn't mean. Turn away.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I actually managed to say something right.

Sometimes I wonder if it just wasn't--isn't--meant to be. Other times, I think that from the moment I met her, I saw a hint of a possibility so great that I was afraid it might not be real. I was afraid of it, period. Guess I didn't want to believe in something as simple as love at first sight. I always thought a great love story had to be more complicated than that.

Peace. Out.

Logan Cale / Eyes Only
Dark Angel
299 words

211: Old acquaintance

Sometimes, it's like it was another lifetime. Someone else's. Not part of this continuity. Sometimes something reminds me of that life, and the jolt of familiarity is there, but it takes a minute for me to remember. Right, that was me.

Before the Pulse, I took so much for granted. Restaurants. Hot water. Electricity. I complained about the price of gas, but there was never any question of its availability. A lot of things were like that. A cup of coffee. Aspirin.

Even after the Pulse hit, I didn't know how good I had it. Then I married Val.

In the years after that, I thought my life sucked, but I didn't care. I had a purpose, and that was good enough.

I met Max, and reconsidered. Got shot and realized just how many things, in my life that "sucked," I'd still taken for granted. But I got past it, kinda. Sure, Max and I danced around our feelings for over a year, but that...somehow didn't suck.

And then the universe, always on schedule, dropped the virus on us. Proving once and for all that, yeah, things can always get worse. And now, some days, having a purpose in the world is almost not enough.

Life is what it is, I guess. But I look back at the guy I was ten years ago, five years ago, even last year, and it's hard to recognize him. He didn't know how good he had it. But I do. And I think that makes all the difference.

Peace. Out.

Logan Cale/Eyes Only
Dark Angel
272 words

205: Talk about a moment in which you wished you had a camera.

For someone who likes art as much as I do, maybe it's weird that I don't have many photos. School pictures, sure. High-school yearbooks, though I was never in many of the candid photos. Chess club, the photo of the newspaper staff, honor society, swim team...but none of someone giving me rabbit ears, me and a friend caught having fun. Nothing like that.

My family photos are the same way. We have Christmas card photos (my father and I in dark green sweaters, Mom in red), professional portraits for on top of the piano or on the mantle of the living room fireplace, but I think I could count the number of candid family pictures I know of on two hands. And I don't think it's that they didn't care. It just never would have occurred to my father to take a picture of me and my mom posing with a snowman I'd made. I learned pretty early not to ask him to come see stuff like that.

I guess not taking pictures (not thinking to) either became habit, or it's genetic, because I don't have many of my own, either. And, yeah, I'll admit, that's probably because I'm not really close to enough people to take their picture, or want them to take mine. (Or want mine taken with them.) With the whole Eyes Only thing, the idea of someone having a photo reference to hold up to the TV screen doesn't thrill me, either.

Not to mention, I've always been more comfortable describing with words, not pictures. If I wanted to do something creative concerning Max, I'd write. It wouldn't occur to me to ask her to sit down while I took photos.

Sometimes, though, it'd be nice if things were different. If I were the (annoying) kind of guy who always had his camera ready. She's so gorgeous. I don't think it'd be possible to take a bad picture of her. There are a lot of moments I wouldn't mind having visual memories of--the first time I saw her, all in black, with that hostile, take-no-bullshit look on her face. The first time she ate something I cooked. The first time she really smiled at me. In that dress she wore to my cousin's wedding. (Actually, come to think of it, there might be photos of that. I'll have to call Bennett and ask.) The night I surprised her by standing. The moment right before we kissed for the first time.

Thing is, though? I'm not sure I could handle having those photos. Actually seeing those moments--seeing how good things were instead of just remembering--would make dealing with the hard stuff that much worse.

Maybe it's better this way. And maybe--I don't know--maybe I'm more comfortable living my life without proof that there are, y'know, other people actually in it. That's probably not good, but, whatever.

Peace. Out.

Logan Cale/ Eyes Only
Dark Angel
503 words

TM 201- Talk about something you lost.

This week, it looks like the topic going around my friends list is loss. I'd feel dishonest not writing something about it. Loss is something I know a lot about.

It's funny how the hardest things to talk about, for me, at any rate, are the ones that aren't there anymore. It's like, if there's a problem in your life, something that's bugging you, a situation, a person, there's still a chance to fix it. So, no problem being pissy about it. You know it's not the end of the world.

But when it is the end of the world, or an ending, period, when something or someone is gone forever and you'll never get it back...that's when it's hard. That's when I choke. I guess maybe it seems too pointless, and I've been accused of being 'Logan Cale: Man of Action.' I don't do well when there's a problem and I can't do something to fix it.

So, loss. Things in my life that are gone without hope of repair or return. There's my parents. My uncle (didn't like him, but he was family). My marriage to Val and, with her, my ability to trust people quickly or completely. The world as I knew it. My family's money. The innocent people who got caught in Eyes Only stuff and died. The Transgenics who died as a result of what I helped do.

I started to type 'my legs,' but, you know, that isn't true. Loss means that something is gone. My ability to walk is lost. (Unless I use the exo, which I don't feel particularly safe doing, if I'm being honest. It shorts out a lot. Besides, living alone, I've saved it for using for PT and emergencies, not just hiking for the hell of it.) But my legs are still here. It's weird, but I think about them more now than I did before I got shot. I have to.

And it's weird, too, that not being able to walk isn't the biggest loss, there. I mean, yeah, it sucks. But it's the loss of sensation that has been the hardest to accept. The first time I looked down and saw myself bleeding (I'd hit the sharp corner of a drawer with my shin) and didn't feel it? It was--you know, there aren't words to describe it.

A few times, before the virus, Max put her hand on my knee. The mental battle between what should have been and what was... It's like falling. Vertigo. Like looking at yourself in a mirror but seeing your reflection do something else.

It was that feeling all over again when Max and I found out about the virus. Loss of sensation. And it's the same thing now when we try to get around it, with gloves and plastic. Comparing what should be with what is; knowing that reality's falling short.

And sometimes I think it was bad enough when I was just numb on the inside. The universe has got a sick sense of humor, and honestly? I'm not laughing. I'd say I just want to feel something, but even that's not true. I do. A sense of loss.

Logan Cale/ Eyes Only
Dark Angel
561 words

[OOC: Not chronological! This takes place after Logan makes a brief trip to L.A. to discuss the possibility of joining a demon-fighting group with Wesley, Cordelia, Lindsey, and Gwen from Angel the Series. Logan accepts Wesley's offer of a new job, meaning that he will be moving from Seattle to Los Angeles. That RP will be posted soon(ish).]

Logan's dinner date with Max awhile ago was one of the best nights he'd had in a long time. She had come over for pasta and chess, but the evening had turned into more than that when they started discussing their relationship. They'd talked about ways to get around the virus that prevented them from touching and had even dared to hold hands and kiss through barriers of latex and plastic.

It was great. He'd come away from the date with the feeling that he and Max were closer than before. Even if they had agreed not to talk too much about their issues that evening, they'd dealt with them a little, and Logan felt more confident than he had in a long time (if ever) about how Max felt about him. Which was good, 'cause he was pretty seriously in love with her, even if he'd only said it once.

And it was torture. Kissing her, holding her hand, just being together, cooking dinner again, like old times, was torture. Every checked gesture, every extra precaution they had to take reminded him of just how much they still didn't have. And likely wouldn't for a long time. It killed him that they talked about dealing with the virus more than they seemed to be able to actually deal with it (or at least ignore it).

All of this was fresh in his mind when he got the email from Wesley. Maybe some space would be good. He and Max had both noticed how much easier it was for them to talk on the internet. Easy to be close when they weren't close physically. On top of that, Logan had to admit that the idea of hunting demons intrigued him, especially considering that Eyes Only was lying so low he was practically dead here in Seattle, and Max and company had things under control over in Terminal City. (Where, by the way, he couldn't join them, for any number of reasons.)

After the meeting in L.A., the choice was easy. It was telling his friends in Seattle he was leaving that was going to be hard. And telling Max...that was going to be unbearable. So, in typical Cale-is-a-coward fashion, he started the really hard conversation from behind a computer screen.

---
From: Logan Cale
To: Max Guevera
Security: High
Subject: FDR seeks Churchill for dinner, conversation.

Hey Max,

Are you free to come over for dinner tomorrow night? Chicken the way you like it, with cake for dessert. (Yeah, actual cake. I cashed in on a few favors.)

On the entertainment menu: chess (I demand a rematch) and maybe a surprise or two. Like dancing, maybe. If you wanna. Seated. With plastic and a turtleneck.

I need to talk with you. This isn't a bad 'we need to talk,' just...we need to talk.

Don't reply, okay? It's more fun wondering when and if you'll show up. Too bad this place doesn't have a skylight, or we could consider it a very early (or very late) anniversary evening.

Love Yours,
Logan

198. If you could have any mutant/super power, which one would it be, and what would you do with it? (If you already have a mutant or super power, what one would you trade it in for?)

I've been thinking, lately, about special abilities. Superpowers, I guess you could call them. For some people--excluding the people who hang out at comic book stores--it might seem weird to think about something like that. It's hard for me not to think about it.

I mean, think about it. I am surrounded by special people. (And I mean 'special' there absolutely seriously, without sarcasm or political correctness.) I'm interested in/involved with a woman who can bench-press--actually, I don't know what she could lift. A lot. She's fast, immune to diseases, has DNA from Churchill and sharks and cats... And she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, on top of that. Oh. With an IQ that's off the charts, too.

Yeah. She's amazing.

So, there's Max. And then there's her family. Jondy, who's now a good friend in addition to being Max's sister, is just like Max. Different strengths, different weaknesses, but...yeah. Strong, fast, gorgous, smart, the works. Max's brothers are like that, too. Jondy's fiance. Their friends (some of whom I wouldn't call gorgeous, but they make up for it by being able to do stuff like withstand temperatures that'd kill regular humans, or see in the dark).

Then there are the people I've met recently, who aren't transgenics but have been living in an entirely different world. I mean, it's this world, but a lot scarier and a lot more serious than the way I thought it was. And they're comfortable with it. They deal with it.

And then there's me. I've been a vigilante for several years, but all that really means is that I'm a reporter. If the government here wasn't so screwed up, that's all I'd be. Logan Cale: journalist. If things were different, I wouldn't need to be Eyes Only.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't do anything special. I'm intelligent, a good shot, and I've got impressive upper body strength, but none of those is, you know, super-human. I'm a lot more Clark Kent than Superman. I've even got the glasses.

Actually, I'm kind of like the sidekick. Everybody's sidekick. Max's. The transgenics'. I'm the guy with the laptop and the headset, running comm. And I have a feeling that's not gonna change anytime soon, no matter who I start working with.

Sometimes it gets to me. Sometimes, I wish I could fly. Or have super strength. Or have the ability to mesh my brain with a computer so that I could hack into anything, with zero effort. I wouldn't mind being immune to every disease--especially viruses--on the planet. I wouldn't mind having the ability to heal instantly from any injury, or to heal others.

No matter what power I'd have, though, I'd try to use it to help people. Which, I guess, is what I do, even though I'm just me. Just human.

I do what I can with what I've got, and I usually keep going even when things suck. (Not always happy about it, but I do.) I don't give up. Maybe that's my superpower.

Logan Cale/ Eyes Only
Dark Angel
539 words

Logan Cale - a teaspoon of romance - a dash of loyalty - a gallon of intelligence Season and serve.

'What is your personality recipe?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I don't know why I do these things instead of writing real entries and talking about stuff that matters. (Huh. I think I just answered myself, there.)

Huh. I do like the movies, but.

OOC: Hey max_freaknation!mun and itsjondy_not210!mun,

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (prodigalwatcher) from Angel recently sent Logan an email, asking if he'd be interested in joining this demon-hunting group (like Angel Investigations, if you're familiar with the show) down in Los Angeles.

I've talked with Wesley!mun and the other muns involved with this plot, and I think I want to have Logan agree to join and relocate to LA.

BUT. I am absolutely fine with "splitting" Logan's TM!continuity, so, while he goes off to LA in RP with Wesley and the others, he also stays in Seattle for closer-to-canon RP with his Dark Angel friends. (I mean, he's already in, like, three places at once, RP-wise, so, it's not like it'll make that much of a difference.) His prompts aren't really based on RP plots anyway, so, nothing will really change there, either.

So, regarding Logan's interaction with your character, do you want him to move to LA or stay in Seattle? If you want him to stay, nothing changes. If you don't mind him going to sunny, demon-infested California (and/or think that would make for some fun RP angst or whatever), he can bring it up with your muse.

Just let me know!

*hugs* For the record, I absolutely adore playing with both of you. :)

- tartanshell (Logan!mun)

INSTRUCTIONS

01. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me" or something similar.
02. I will respond by asking you five questions of a totally random nature.
03. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
04. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
05. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

You can put your answers in the comments, if they're not things you want to put out there in public on your journal. Whatever.

TM 196 - Congratulations! You've been granted one wish. What is it?

What do you think I'm going to wish for?

I wish I could

I wish Max and I

I wish things weren't so

One wish, huh? Anything in the world. Okay. I wish I could stop wanting things I can't have.

Unlike the other things I thought about wishing for, with this one, I kinda have a shot at getting it. It's a long shot, but it's better than holding my breath and hoping for the impossible.

And I don't know, maybe it's lame, or whatever, to have one wish and ask for peace (might as well wish for a puppy for everyone while I'm at it), but honestly? I'd take it.

It's the only thing I can think of that I could wish for and not feel like an ass because I didn't wish for something else. Because there is one thing I would wish for before everything else. And, yeah, wishing for that would make me a selfish dick, for any number of reasons.

So. Guess all I'm saying is, give my wish a chance. Or something.

Peace. Out.

Logan Cale/ Eyes Only
Dark Angel
187 words