22 Sep 2013: Defcon 4 Level Crisis

Total crisis for every time I go off painkiller the pain is truly unbearablw. I do not know what a migraine is supposed to feel like but I kinda sorta think I sorta think I got unsupportable pain. I mean, it is incapacitating. I can’t type or spell rords. I just typed “rords” instead of “words”: this sort of error is happening in every setence. I just dropped the firt “n” in “sentence”. I did do a 20 minute workout aeons ago first thing ago this morning.

When I do get enough pain killer the room shifts around mysteriously and I cannot stop singing silly songs, and I type slow as I am constantly fixing fixing [oops oops] silly songs. I have lost kinesthetic orientation so things will appear out of whack as in the beginning of Kubrick’s 2001, where “down” becomes “up” on board the moon shuttle.

I was going ti analyze Jubrick’s film but the pain and error rate is too high. “You cannot face it steadily, the patient is no longer there.” “The dove descendung breaka the aire with flame of incandescamt terror,” amd I am going to sleep.

3 Responses to “22 Sep 2013: Defcon 4 Level Crisis”

  1. I’m so sorry for your pain. If only we could each take a little piece of it, spread it among us all, to give you some relief….

    At least you know your Eliot–no analgesic, but small comfort, I hope. I’m thinking of the amazing final stanza to “Four Quartets”:

    We shall not cease from exploration
    And the end of all our exploring
    Will be to arrive where we started
    And know the place for the first time.
    Through the unknown, unremembered gate
    When the last of earth left to discover
    Is that which was the beginning;
    At the source of the longest river
    The voice of the hidden waterfall
    And the children in the apple-tree
    Not known, because not looked for
    But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
    Between two waves of the sea.
    Quick now, here, now, always—
    A condition of complete simplicity
    (Costing not less than everything)
    And all shall be well and
    All manner of thing shall be well
    When the tongues of flame are in-folded
    Into the crowned knot of fire
    And the fire and the rose are one.

    • spinoza1111 Says:

      Yes, have known and loved that passage and the Four Quartets since high school no thanks to Mr. Givens, who was in awe of “reading level”. So when I wouldn’t read tripe and checked out books from the library “above” my “reading level”, my lower grades lowered my “reading level”.

      I thought this was “bullshit” and cultivated an Attitude which further lowered my grades with the consequence of “poor” grades.

      Dork. We had a song about Mr Givens, to the melody of Colonel Bogey’s March: “Givens..has only got one ball..Givens..has only got one ball..”.

  2. spinoza1111 Says:

    Moral: if you want to face death, such as a diagnosis in which the doctor feels compelled to say, “the news is not good”, major in English or philosophy. The former will force you to read good stuff, useful in manning or woman-ning up. The latter will teach how to understand that “after many a summer dies the swan” and that any finite sequence comes to an end. To ponder, with Kant, to brood, with the sage, that in place of knowing infinity, we know only how to name an infinity or to construct it, never to experience it in the way we want as a sneak preview:

    “Whaddya want me to tell ya??” “Tell me nothin.” – Terence Malick (Dir), The Thin Red Line.

    Whereas if you major in mathematics or computer science you will find it hard to say goodbye to doing proofs or coding programs.

    [Business? Words fail.]

    I know whereof I speak since I have worked both sides of the street. My spiritual mentor told me that after John von Neumann, the famous methematician (and early computer scientist) contracted a fast-acting brain cancer by virtue of being present at the first h-bomb test by the USA at Bikini Atoll, von Neumann was terrified…of not being able to do math after death, thereupon converting to Catholicism in hopes of assurance of life after death in which not to shout for joy in the presence of God but to do math, idunno, perhaps on the sly in the choir.

    Which if you’ll excuse me was nonsense on stilts and also lacked compassion for the millions already killed by the fission “a-bomb” and likely for the rest of us, sure to be killed by the fusion “h -bomb”.

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