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My Sweet Prince
Yes, the plugs and cables and things are growing on me, although it still
feels a little amateurish compared to the spooky dark multi-framed works
of craftsmanship floating about out there, but the time when I spent long
hours on my journal are far over. I have more urgent demands on my
time these days.
Never thought I'd have to retirePlacebo never gets old for me. The sweet gets sweeter, the sad gets sadder, and the anger leaps through my veins, and it loses no relevance for me: the more I listen, the more I cry out along with the pervy voice of Brian Molko. For a week or so, I couldn't bear the sound of it, and filled my head with the noise of other music. Then I drank it in deeply like a numbing draught. After that my despair came down again, and I held silence close. Somewhere in the first retreat, I stored away my CD, and forgot where, so now I can enjoy it only in the van's cassette player. Sigh. It may be too sharp and strong to handle, sometimes, but it still isn't old. The presence in the lyrics is weary, as weary as I am. And worldly. I continue to be anxious about the ISP job that I want, not having heard from them over the weekend or today. Meanwhile I am being courted for another job some ways away in Pennsylvania. I wasn't real hip to the idea, but the more I spoke to their HR person, the more excited I got. The environment is very unusual for a financial outfit. That and their nonhierarchical organization sound appealing, as does the chance to do some crisp web design, some of it fresh and some of it reparative. When you are job hunting, you cultivate all your possibilities until they bear fruit, then you have to pick one. Hehe. Oh how I want the ISP job, though. They are on a frontier, and I want to be on it with them. I know many wise and useful guides and traders, and some of the paths they will take are known to me. There would be much to learn and many ways to grow, and they seem the kind of team I want to be on. |