Back in Queen Mary

Back in Queen Mary and in a lot of pain, probably entry level for cancer but pretty intense. In back and in shoulder. See oncologists tonight. Have to wait until 6 for self administered pain meds it is 4. The good news: I probably can get a quick ct scan on the public option and typing this is calming me down.

When you’re in hospital relatives and friends appear suddenly like ghosts. 

This is pain intense enough that even a patch of sunlight or a good solid fart relieves it slightly but one needs to be mentally sharp enough to think in complete sentences to form the thought that it does so. I learned my rule “try to think in complete sentences” in the stress of divorce in 1981, wandering ’round San Francisco in a daze and seeing Jenny Holzer’s work for the first time: IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FILLED WITH JOY.

I am like an airplane pilot seeking open, frozen lakes or fields in an airplane that’s lost power on all engines. That is (das ist) I try to focus on the mission which is bringing the big bird safely down, like Captain Sullenberger.

Click “Listen!” on the link or right here to hear the great John Fahey play. Yeah, I wrote the poem in the above link, a while ago.

This experience has changed everything for me. No more Red Bull or Monster Khaos energy drink through which I tried to preserve the idea that I was “really” 30. Probably no more fearful flying. If I live, organic food up the ass. Carrots. Eh what’s up doc.

TS Eliot was a heavy smoker but he made it to 77 dying in 1965: I remember reading notice of his death, having read his poems. There should be a special place in hell for tobacco executives based on what they have done to artists since the 1840s because I believe that there’s a type of personality, an artistic personality that cannot quit nicotine (I’ve been on the gum for seven years) because the vast Gothic horror novel that is modern “civilization” was designed to eliminate the artist.

But it delights me and I rejoice to acknowledge and admit that if I kick off in my sixties, the responsibility is mine, and mine alone, for choosing to smoke so heavily back in the 1960s and 1970s. My spiritual mentor, who I shall describe anonymously as an older IBM executive who I met in recovery, said, “I find that I must take responsibility and this to me is freedom”.

Hope I can get discharged by Saturday for there’s a dance with friends in the jungle, more precisely, subtropical monsoon forest. I have some new steps based on the fact that I can no longer leap.

Pain is less now. If you are in pain, try John Fahey.


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