Workout 15 Feb 2013



20 minute intense workout on the rackety rowing machine. Is it getting easier to move? Dunno.

Shall these bones live? Shall these bones live? Well, says the Incomprehensible Maestro from his own sick bed, the more important question is to what end. Stabbings of pain, deep. I ask for an extra hit of Jump Juice. Also *spracht* the Maestro, if some fragment of a communications device were to come through my window, in consequence as a result of the Meteor these legs might live for I might hop to it in fear.

Emil Jannings

Emil Jannings in Der Blaue Engel, 1930

There never was an Ontological Proof of my safety, only an Ontological Hope that I was loved.

No fracturing discovered and the pain seems sciatic; rather than the fracturing from inside that is characteristic, I learn that in prostate stage IV, my pain is a sciatic that won’t go away but is responsive to folk medicines for Sciatiac. Compared to deep bone pain this is good news for now.

I need to appeal to the Gods, to the Fates, to the rulers of men and their destinies. I have an internal pain at one site associated perhaps with the twisting of the sciatic nerve, slowly, slowly in the wind. This is right next door to the bedsore so the pain messages are confusing. One (the bedsore) is on the surface the other deep.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, meinen Damen undt Herren, Mesdames et Monsieurs this man has multiple tsuris he is a sort of Job. Has a voice spoken to him from the whirlwind? All he says is suck up the joy as it flies and thou shalt live in eternity’s sunrise. And there, there it is…the morphine bundles up the pain as if it were a baby and steals away with it. But then it comes back, it waxes and wanes.

Will I remember this sad time as I so remember happy times in the past, tootling around with the kids? But if this is the end then I won’t have time to remember it.

OK, philosophy attack. Consider. To exist an event in our life must be capable of being remembered outside and after the event: must be remembered. What Kant called a manifold, the succession of experiences taken as our Experience cannot include a final terminating experience that is not also a part of memory at a later date.

We fear a final anguish and then the lights-out. But if the final anguish is not remembered we need not fear it. And: Wittgenstein has already admonished us that the lights-out is not an event in life. Death, be not proud.

It’s just worse in religious hysteria when we add eternity, becoming complex in the extreme.

But this is malarkey. Common sense tells us that the experience of death including the hospital and the final hours basically suck. But we never know if this particular hospitalization is the final “shaft” (the plant and light filled shaft at Queen Mary). Our existence is unimaginable without it being the struggle for existence. It is not conceivable save as a struggle for existence such as Eddie’s scrunchy and boiled face struggling for air to breathe.

This is nothing like the multiple injuries, burn and bone, endured by many military veterans and documented by Ron “Born on the Fourth of July” Kovic: his grip under the agony of debriding dented solid steel with his five fingers during treatment for a combat burn injury; for “dead” flesh with “live” nerves had to be found and removed where any motion produced 10/10 pain. But ’twill serve as Mercutio said to teach me…what? What is it You would like me to know? Children get this and worse and no argument can be constructed that they deserve it. I was forced to endure drilling without Novocaine in 1957 because in that year dentists didn’t believe that kids feel pain; but I sure did; what was that all for?

Oh Death where is thy lesson? I do not know. She carried to You a dying child and you healed that child. Perhaps it were a simple matter of antibiotics, natural forms of which were available in the desert. But all the while You kept on saying your stunts were distraction, and, at the same time, an attention getter. The main point being “the Kingdom of God is Within You”. For me it has been so at strange and signal times, getting in the car having dodged a bullet through due diligence or dumb luck, also known as God’s Grace Abounding.

God’s grace is abounding to the chief of sinners
Be He show’ring Manna on Scots, Norskahovians or Finners
Or any of they who sail upon the tyrant sea
Who in the storm God’s mercy want to see
Without demanding that it take one form or t’other
Death and then in Heaven your most glorious supper
Or driven aground in the unseeing Wan
To dine on food left by monks in Guan Yin’s Honour.

[This poem is bad so it must be bawled, belting it out like a child.]

And despite all my solemn vows I realize that I am not going to hump to the toilet and strain for a BM despite the fact that yesterday’s did not get rid of everything. This only adds to the risk of being held down and scraped out whilst philosophically reflecting that it’s for my own good. I just can’t endure a trip to the John Thomas Crapper at this hour. I suppose this can be my attitude in a minor and subdominant key but I shall try to mount the throne tomorrow.

I have no more sexual fantasies about water but good memories about it. If my kids were frightened of floods or my wearing Speedoes I’d condole them for I remember being scared when Dad wore a short-sleeved shirt or “Caveman” pajamas from Marshall Field’s. Dad’s short black arm hairs that terrified me, as did memories of early puberty in the kid that sat next to me: Patrick M’Hooligan, or whoever. I thought it more appropriate that men be like Englishmen, fair haired and delicate featured, non Angliae sed angelae, “not Angles: Angels:” in St Augustine’s words.

My brain hurts: my butt hurts. But far less than before I started to write. Next time I shall focus more on “the outside”. Nuts to all this rewriting. Let’s get back to drafting rough.


5 Responses to “Workout 15 Feb 2013”

  1. I don’t agree with the premise that something has to be remembered outside and after the event to exist. I think events must be experienced by mind, yes, but remembered? Surely it is what we remember that no longer exists! As soon as consciousness has moved on from that moment, what is the memory but mental fabrication?

    However, I am a Buddhist, so not exactly impartial on the matter. 🙂
    Your philosophy attacks are very interesting, but I wish you were feeling better. 😦

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: