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If talk is cheap then blogging is over-priced. Up to day three for the hundredth time this year. If I'd had a shot for everytime I've written about being straight for two days then I'd still have had more shots just scoring and dealing.

It's funny. I go to a job that is the antithesis of everything I ever believed in. Usury, to excavate an old term. Linguacheology. I lend money, well I pat down the systems that make money lending profitable. I'm the medicine man in the Dark Ages. No science to it, no definitive Gray's for the IT guy to reach to. I'm semi-worshipped as a possible guru possible scam-artist. I can lay my hands on a machine and make it work. I now understand the lank travelling medico man in the Middle Ages. Without understanding anything of germs, infection, cellular division, I can sometimes help a fever go away, cure a minor infection just through applying certain remedies of my own secret. Probably 40% of what I do is sheer ritualistic voodoo. But it gives he watchers, the idle be-pocketed watching their broken 'chines get better at my ministrations. People tell me I'm clever and I abrogate their words, knowing them false.

But even voodoo has to win occasionally and on that reps are made.

Instead of going to Africa and helping I stayed and helped myself. Cut off chances for family, for connections, just filled up on gear as much as I could, as much as I needed to to do the job that helped pay for the gear that helped me go to the job that raised the cash to help me score the gear I needed to...

And here I am, in the age of mp3s I'm a broken record, fundamentally un-groovey and falling flat and fat to middle ages delinquency.

Hello gorgeous!

(listening to John Cooper Clark, watching Sopranos but not enjoying, getting old and seeing Tony Soprano as the fat fuck from NJ he always was, but also as something worse, something not worth holding up to the light. Brilliant production values. Beautiful plumage!)

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