PET scan: “you will fight without fear, passion, or hatred”

Listen! I think Le Roi Danse teaches us what Adam West tried to teach us in his redoubtable one man show of Vincent: that our contempt for artistic creation is a bad mistake. Van Gogh took the pain of life and in one year ripped Western Art a new asshole. Lully took the pain of Louis’ rejection and created rock and roll several hundred years before Elvis…for that’s what his rhythm was…something ultimately from Africa by way of Turkey.

[Hmm, maybe I’m getting ripped a new asshole in punishment for my bad language and prideful desire to rip art a new asshole, with this sciatica.]

A lot like the Bone Scan at the beginning of June: the eye of God as you try to meditate and be still. A combination of David Bowie, Jane Fonda in Barbarella in the special machine, and James Bond in the hand of sinister, lovely and efficient Oriental women.

This is an adventure and is best treated as such, using what I’ve learned in Outward Bound; the difference is that this is for keeps. I have no regrets about Italy for it is clear that I was destined for this adventure and not, this year, for an artistic jaunt. After all, I had a wonderful time in Paris in 2008 and though Poussin’s ghost still is pissed that I have not escaped to Rome, I try to make him understand that medicine has more tricks up its sleeve than it did in the 17th century…when Poussin had to grab the first oxcart out of Paris to avoid wasting his life and spirit as did Vouet on decoration.

Pain medication back up to prescribed levels including one codeine bomb, not good because at these levels, with the new prep medicine, nausea and irritability kick in.

For nausea an especial danger is the mandatory 30 min ferry ride and mal de mer. What I thought I remembered they told me in Outward Bound, as we crossed the (very distinct and clear) boundary between the Caribbean and Atlantic in the Keys of Florida, “look at one stationary spot on the boat” seemed to work, but then I remembered it was “look at different spots” and that worked better.

It would be crazy nuts to take anti-nausea medication like the Dramamine of my childhood. The last time I took that was after a a storm off the Farallones in San Francisco and on top of Anchor Steam it was great back in SF. But if I take it now I might as well get drunk again on top of that, and that’s not on the agenda for today.

Yesterday, staying on the island, I was able to halve the pain medication and not take the codeine bomb. The pain was higher but it is a teacher. I am learning to pop a variety of moves to walk and work with the sciatic pain. One is a hesitation step as seen in London in Trooping the Colour. Another is a plie accentuating the thigh. A third seeks merely to fly.

If I could fly, just hover above the ground, that would solve my problems as in a dream. Hmm…maybe a low-tech anti-gravity device creating just enough thrust to raise me a foot off the ground that would not explode if I farted? No, too much high tech. The way to fly is to swim and water-dance. Perhaps our dreams of flying are deep inter-species memory from when we were dinosaur birds or some sort of extinct flying mammal.

The problem is my dreams of flight always get outa hand. I start flying fast and high without having filed a flight plan with HKIA or O’Hare.

Dang…just heard on RTHK that there may be a level 8 which will kill the swim workout. We’ll have to see. I do find pleasure even in foul weather in changing light patterns, something that is new. Unlike the irritability, these “highs” are not associated with prescription drug levels, any more than my runner’s high was associated with the iPod. The simple pleasure I get from accomplishing a difficult, scary or painful task at Queen Mary’s, and taking the cab down the mountain in that beautiful spot, is always there.

The Crazy Nuts Minibus is cheaper but at my height with the back situation it can be wearisome, although it takes a more local route and is for that reason a fascinating tour of Kennedy Town and Sheung Wan, so I’ve budgeted for a taxi which is about seven dollars US each way. Not much compared to Chicago and New York.

Also, most HK taxi drivers (especially drivers from the Mainland) don’t expect tips…in particular, the Mainland’s Communist culture discourages tipping (but has no problem with just lying about the fare…I was almost charged 100 yuan from Lo Wu to Bai Sheng Zhi Zhou in 2005.)

I didn’t ask for a copy of the PET scan. I don’t want to freak out trying to interpret random splotches or coffee stains. This I leave to the oncology team, with whom I meet next week.

Mission accomplished, sans peur et sans haine, one day at a time. Listen!

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