Workout Log 23 September 2012: the plural of “prognosis” is “prognoses”


Cable Road ascending to Pavilion of Dawn, Lamma Island, 23 Sep 2012

40 minutes walking with weights and freedancing at Power Station beach. Beautiful morning.

I went to the doctor who’s Cathay Pacific’s flight surgeon, as recommended by some Lamma mates, to get a letter requesting upgrade to business class (if a space is otherwise empty): actually, Cathay Pacific even has good seats in coach (and a great film library) but it’s best for me to get the best seat I can lest my vascular problems cause blood clots.

He’s a good doc, but stepped outside his specialty when he looked at the tumor which is slightly visible as a lump on my neck and opined, without any further examination, that my lifespan is in months…while the docs at Queen Mary were talking 3-5 years. But then he said his uncle survived a “month” diagnoses by several years as people often do…gee, “tell me nothin'” like the GI says in The Thin Red Line. The Japs will be on the beach or else they won’t.


Gave me the willies but I think I’ll know when it’s time to check out of Hotel California: this of course is when you are gorked out and cannot move. Right now, here and now, I feel great in the morning, I can haul ass to the City of Sadness to work, and I only feel lousy in the evening for an ordinary reason, I’m tired. I exercise with vigor as I did this morning.

Part of the problem we the contemptible (in Mitt the Asshole’s eyes) 47% have in working after retirement would be keeping our word and making the money to survive with dignity, so, today, we have people, who got PhDs in English or even math from Berkeley in the 1960s, pushing a broom. Somehow, this delights the thug American rich. They always like to say hateful things about Princeton and Harvard while struggling to get their kids places in the Ivy League, just to be sure that the kids who need scholarships don’t get all fancy pants on them.

The reality is the in Britain, getting into Oxford or Cambridge is strictly based on your academic record and A-level potential. Before the War, having a posh background helped…not any more. But at Princeton or Harvard about 20% of places are quietly reserved for alumni children and potential large donors including celebrity brats. Whilst kids like my son, with 1560/1600 SATs (back before the essay requirement, which he would have aced) get no support being of unfashionable gender and race. They don’t matter, being part of the 47%.

It’s unsustainable … Romney cannot give a speech without being mocked because the American dream, that somehow the inferior will alchymically be superior to the readers and the sensitive, and win with nothing more than a smile and a shoeshine, is caving.

The Jacksonian dream was that any old filthy slob could get rich because the Government would clear the Indians East of the Mississipi. America permanently turned away from any idea that New England and the Federalists were the brains of the operation.

This calcified into permanent anti-intellectualism but of course, expertise was still needed. But the fear was that experts might at any time find their balls and morph into public intellectuals. This is what Daniel Ellsberg did when he morphed from a CIA agent to a whistle blower and gave the Pentagon Papers to the New York Times.

The result is the permanent fantasy post 2008. But as half the population raves, it is offered what it says it wants and that’s Mitt Romney but no! wait! we hate him! As in a fever, the Republican electorate is singing there must be some way OUT of this place … too much confusion…can’t get no relief.


That is (das ist) European Fascism is not in the cards because as my guy Adorno saw, America is unlike Europe post enlightenment in that (1) the Enlightenment as mediated NOT by Jefferson (a confused and overrated clown) but by Washington, Adams and Hamilton is the absolute ground of our existence as a Nation but (2) we in effect sealed off this ground under Andrew Jackson, like a character in Steven King who builds a wall where was his basement door (or something).

But as Goya knew the dream of reason produces monsters.

Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me

The doctor also emphasized that I could waste a LOT of money on trying all sorts of cures like some sort of Saudi prince, but should just follow the lead of the team at Queen Mary Hospital. I might see some doctor in Chicago.

As General Pickett admonished his men on the field of Gettysburg, there is no safe place. I fear the violence of America yet there appears to be here on Lamma a gang wherein new members have to beat up a Westerner.

The tumor grows with stress, it got bigger when my poor son died. Today it is a little smaller. I could make this sucker EXPLODE by returning to booze and cigs.

But I have a followup meeting with real oncologists to discuss the results of the operation, and the good Cathay Pacific doctor emphasized that the Queen Mary team is first rate and I should follow their lead…including their prognoses.

It just seems to me that as long as I am willing to haul ass I get a day at a time. I shall try to make the flight and stay in Chicago as comfortable as possible. One thing I need to take care of is having people meet me and if possible take me to the airport, for I’ve been flying alone, like William Blake’s Invisible Worm, for too long.

“Brave Frenchmen! You have done your country honor! His grace, the Duke of Wellington, now invites you to save your lives!”

Edward G. Nilges, “Portrait of Edward Arthur Nilges, 1978-2012, et lux perpetua luceat eis”, pencil, 2009, copyright 2012 by Edward G Nilges, moral rights asserted


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