I left work early two days in a row. My lovably Indie rock roommate, Zack, was looking out the window at around 3 o'clock or so, and he commented, "It's too nice a day to be stuck in this building." We sit on the 20th floor of one of those filthy Atlanta skyscrapers, so we could tell that it was a genuinely wonderful day. Meanwhile, I'm packing up my stuff and emailing my supervisor and preparing to close down shop completely. I will be unemployed shortly, and to be honest, I am so incredibly "over it." The good folks at The Carter Center and Fernbank will receive my resume very soon.
I walked out of that building and stepped into the cool late-September breeze and that delicious afternoon sun. I hopped onto the Marta, plugged in some headphones, and opened up some H.P. Lovecraft. There was no better remedy for the foolish tragicomedy of the whole situation. Add one part Howard Phillips' delightfully nerdy psychological horror plus one part radiant sunshine plus one part
Thunder, Lightening, Strike and you've got a winning combination:
That is not dead which can eternal lie,Tell 'em how it is, Howard. You crazy bastard.
Yet with stranger aeons, even Death may die.
*
1 comment:
You tell 'em, Abdul Alhazred, in John Dee's translation or whatever.
You need a letter of rec or just plain rec to somebody at F'bank or the p.r. office in the CC? hey, I got 'em fer ya. I got yr connections but bear in mind that the connections' opinion of me may be based on the knowledge that I am someone who can quote HPL's mad Arab correctly (I believe it's "and with strange aeons even Death may die." which is a kind of cool switch on the Sufi "die before you die.")
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