A handsome piece of deformity.

Get well soon, love. I hope that by the time you read this, you are feeling significantly better from when I last saw you.

xoxo

Today is a musical day.

Greeting me upon my arrival home this gorgeous afternoon was the new Snog compact disc, “Beyond the Valley of the Proles”, with accompanying bonus CD-R to reward my pre-ordering habits. Saucy! I’ve yet to plug in these shiny pieces o’ plastic, but if either are even a fraction of the brilliancy that was David Thrussell’s previous two Snog releases, I shall be most pleased.

In other music-related news, I’ve received word that the new Navicon Torture Technologies CD-R is available for pre-order. Colour me gleeful — Leech, as NTT, is one of my absolutely favorite musicians, and news of any new release from him is always cause for celebration. Thus, with the arrival of one wonderful package, the waiting game begins anew as I wait, with baited breath, for another…

And hey, robots love their mommies, too.

DOS!

An ode to DOS:

“Oh DOS, you I love,
You give my…”

Er. Bugger that.

I am gleeful this day. Not only has my computer itself been resurrected, but with it too has DOS risen from the ashes. With the placement of a partition and a bit o’ the ol’ DOS elbow-magic-mojo, I’ve been able to get everything up to speed in very little time, with the exception of my soundcard. DOS, the senile ol’ sweetheart that she’s become, has failing eyes and ears and has difficulty finding the hot young thang that is my current soundcard.

With a little luck, perhaps I’ll be able to find the necessary time and emulator required to fool DOS into thinking my soundcard is an SB16.

More on that later. For now, I must accomplish something work-related.

The last two nights have passed fitfully, with very little rest accomplished. Sunday night, I admit, was my own fault, having recently become somewhat obsessed with the installation of a DOS partition on my secondary hard drive in what’s likely to turn into a shortlived nostalgia-driven craving. Last night, Monday night, was a beast of an entirely different nature. Having made a point to go to bed early, exhausted from the night prior, I discovered the strange metaphysical crawling of time as not one but two hours passed. Consciousness at 2AM on a work-night doth not bode well for subsequent work-day.

It’s funny, too, the things that drift through the mind when the mind itself should be drifting in slumber. Lying there stationary, staring at the ceiling, the wall, the red-eyed clock, mind running down labyrinthine alleys, my thought processes awkward and twisted, I found the inner processes of my mind gradually coming to resemble something, for example, like this.

Bizarre.

I am so tired. May this night pass more casually and fruitfully.

I am so in love.

Um. With a little help from my ol’ pal sleep deprivation, I was able to stretch out what little free time I often find myself with enough to not only finish Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, but also begin William Gibson’s latest, Pattern Recognition.

Gaiman’s Neverwhere was a gift from my intelligent and lovely significant other and, much like American Gods, turned out to be an imaginative and well-crafted tale.

Gibson’s latest has induced within me a feeling akin to sheer euphoria, one of sheer wonder and amazement. My mind boggles at how a person can say much by saying so little. Granted I am only forty lone pages into the text, but I’m utterly engrossed in the tale that is being spelled out before me.

Much as I appreciate the board’s concern, I’m too much of a cynic to take them seriously.

I’ve the distinct impression that they’re only asking for the input of their staff in order to pay lip-service to the provincial government. That, and to put the onus on their staff to make the difficult decisions involved in budget-cutting, rather than do it themselves.

First of all, I am not equipped to produce the budget necessary to run x, nor do I feel comfortable in making a decision that will cost someone their job.

Second, should the budget manage to be trimmed accordingly, be it by staff or board, we risk setting a very dangerous precedent — the provincial government will be convinced that we can, despite all evidence to the contrary, function with such inadequate funding and face the risk of future cuts and reductions.

Thus, I am faced with two courses of action. Non-compliance and non-participation in the process, forcing the onus back upon the board. That, or doing my damnedest to help shape the budget in such a way that the impact registers the most amongst the public, in the hope of provoking an outcry for the necessary funds.

What fun.

Hell is my imagination as I ponder what could be and what might have been…

Peering up just now through horizontal barrier upon barrier of venetian blinds, I found my attention snared and enamoured with what I saw: countless flights of birds, flitting and flying in frantic formation about the flora of my neighbour’s front yard.

My attentions arrested thus, my heart grew restless with the desire to fly, free and unfettered; to taste the wind upon my tongue, my eyes mist with momentum, to forsake the earth and to defy gravity and whatever gods may be to reach for the heavens, a Babel-inspired skincage.

I am thankful for the sight.

Oh, look at the birds, look at the birds…

“The mind is it’s own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven.”

Welcome, and good evening.

Tonight’s first and only update comes courtesy of love, fatigue, Interpol’s “Turn on the Bright Lights”, the letter A and brevity. Hence forth thou shalt witness herein the amblings, ramblings and smatterings of the Sick Son.

Fare thee well.