What do you want? I'm assuming you wish to live. Since you've expressed nothing to the contrary, that is. The question it seems is - Why. Why do you wish to live?
Best I can make out, you wish to sit here watching sport on the TV all day long. Day in, day out, every day the same. It seems not to matter which sport. Nor does it matter whether you've seen it before. On any given day we probably watch that fifteen minute Fox Sports News bulletin twenty times. More, probably. The same stories over and over and over. And none of it worth a pinch of shit of course. If we were to take out the endless histrionic moralising about footballers and cricketers getting on the piss and punching some fellow, or molesting some woman, there'd be very little left.
Wait a minute! Benfica beat Galatasaray on a 2-1 aggregate and escaped relegation in the Bundesliga! In spite of the fact that we have no idea what this means we'll watch it twenty times. As long as there's winning and losing, and all accompanied by screaming, it's all good.
What is there besides Fox Sports? Food used to be very important. Well, not food so much as processed sugar and grease. Actual food, the food I cooked, you would peck at, complain that you were full, or that it was too dry, or that your false teeth couldn't handle it, or whatever (honestly, any idiot excuse was good enough) and then throw it out. Just before you'd shuffle over to the fridge for a creme caramel. Followed by some ice cream. And a bowl of custard. And perhaps a cornetto ice cream. And some chocolates, biscuits, and toffees. Hmm... how about one of those little Woolworths-brand petit choux things? Why not. A day well spent! Ninety percent of your caloric intake comprised entirely of sugar and grease. Oh! It's good to be alive!
Sorry, I'm being sarcastic. But you really loved that stuff. So much so that you put up with chronic diarrhoea for months - shuffling off to the toilet every fifteen minutes. For months! Good God, there was shit everywhere, the walls, the floors. How many times did you shit your bed? I can't even remember. God knows what lies you told your doctors. And God knows what they made of it all. By all rights you should have been constipated, what with that being a major side-effect of your chemo. Anyway you gobbled those anti-diarrhoea pills like yet more candy. And the only thing you could think of that might be at fault was my cooking! Ha ha ha ha - it's funny really.
But now you don't even have that. With the cancer taking hold, and you with no appetite and vomiting all the time, you barely eat anything. The petit choux sit in the fridge uneaten.
You have no friends and family. You trashed all that long ago. No one calls or visits now. If one of my clueless brothers calls occasionally you talk for five minutes and then say, 'Well, I'll let you get back to it', and hang up. Really you'd rather watch TV.
Your doctors are your social life now. Would you argue if I said your relationship with them could be defined as 'Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir'? You go through the motions, they go through the motions - it's a game of charades that goes on and on. I understand their part in the charade. They've got a mortgage to pay and kids to put through an expensive private school. And with your DVA gold card you're their cash cow. They love you to death. Literally, now that I think about it. God forbid your death should come early. Where's the money in that? Prolongation is the name of the game. And billing all the while.
But you don't seriously think they give a shit do you? Billing aside, best I can tell they view you as a technical exercise. Imagine some fellow in charge of a new soft-drink product launch. For him to succeed doesn't require that he drink the product or even like it. And since the product is entirely without nutritional value or anything beneficial at all, he'll oversee a campaign that pivots entirely on violence. Or sex. Or any goddamn thing. He really doesn't care.
And nor do your 'carers'. They don't care. They just go through the motions. And so do you. They prolong your life - you prolong your life. And the question of 'What's it all about, Alfie?' is nothing more than a cue for a conversation about Michael Caine. "Gee, he's good that Michael Caine, isn't he?" Otherwise I know what's in it for them. Money. But what's in it for you? Why do you continue? For yet another day of sitting watching Fox Sports News to see if Benfica escapes relegation?
Perhaps you do it for me? I am the only thing in your life besides the doctors, the TV, and the sweets. And the mad thing is that we have nothing in common. Everything you hold as worthy I have nothing but contempt for. Certainly there's the aforementioned trinity - I hate 'em and you know it. And it gets worse when we take a break from sport each night to watch the SBS news. It's your half hour of suffering as I get iconoclastic on everything that you ever held dear in your life. The government, the military, duty, loyalty, and respect, all that stuff, everything - I smash it to pieces. As I lay bare the litany of lies we're told, the obvious parallels to your life spent making pointless war upon Asians is unmissable. If I call John Howard a war criminal, what does that make you? Everything you were proud of, now shown to be the thoughtless actions of a dupe. What a nightmare. Finally the weather report! You - "Is it alright if we put it back to the Sports?" Me - "Dad, I've already done it." A sigh of relief.
And so we come back to the question - Why do you wish to live? Your wits are gone and the sports is meaningless. You're in pain all the time and you can barely eat. There's no one in your life but for a fellow who's a walking-talking indictment of everything that was you. What is there in your life?
Here, now, in this forum that you will never see, I'll tell you what it is - it's fear. I see it in your eyes you know. It's never not there. And with everything turned to dust, all joy banished, and every reason to live gone - fear is all that's left. Here it is, without adornment, the perfect, elemental, hard, white stone of fear. This is the ultimate fear - the fear of non-existence. Anything but that. Any delusion, any charade, any noisy trumpeting TV distraction is preferable to facing this thing.
You'll never know it for what it is. Which is to say, you will never know yourself. All you know is delusion, and delusion is all you ever were, are now, or ever will be.
I know you have never wondered at the meaning of 'today is a good day to die'. Since you have no idea what it means, you will never say it. Regardless, it's as true for you as it is for one who understands. When your 'today' arrives it will be a good day. The fear, the delusion, the suffering, held only by your terrified grip will become as nothing - a waft of smoke from a dream in some movie you barely remember. A thing that never was, to become never again. An end to it all. A good day.
25 comments:
Ok I get it, your father never will, I hope you really get it as well. Sometime I'll let you in on what I mean.
Oh and the word (ponce)
Hooly dooly, quick off the mark Silv! And you're such a tease. Is now not a good time?
No.
Thanks Silv. Don't you go changing mate.
Smiley winky thing!
Pretty heartfelt stuff.
I had something long written out here . . . but really, I don't know your situation well enough to comment, although I sympathise through the many similarities to my own family stuff.
Sounds like you have been real good to your dad . . . take care of him as he ends his journey, hopefully your efforts make it as painless and pleasant as possible.
peace.
Nobody,
That fear of non existence must be terrifying to want to hold on to such a shit life.
When I was a teenager, I used to visit this old man. He was a sweet guy who used to spend his time making nets. He was a master knotter. And he used to do the whole weather ritual, and walk his dogs. He was a pleasure and his life was good. Then he reached the cursed 90's and he could no longer read, knot, walk or any such thing. He was essentially alone in life. He was also an atheist so he had no sense of a continuing. He had a few illnesses and they rushed him off to hospital and managed to stretch his life out and prolong it and even that age I could not understand why.
One night when visiting hours had ended, I remained. He fell asleep and I climbed onto his bed and just started telling him to let go, that he was safe, that he was life itself. For hours I urged him to let go.
He died in the night.
Whenever I see a crow, I think of this old gent, now free beyond belief.
Take care of yourself my friend.
Do I need to come and do some whispering?
Thanks folks. And thanks Susana, no need for any whispering, it'll happen soon enough I think.
I just read this again and it looks kind of bleak. Fact of the matter is that me and the old man get on well enough. We've only crossed swords once in all the time I've been here and that was due to his insanely relentless attempts to have me join him as his chocolate buddy. It was truly insane and only came to a halt after I turned into Mount Vesuvius. But he dropped it and so did I.
Otherwise I don't actually direct any vitriol at him. Merely at the figures in the news. The thoughts that are here are utterly absent at home. And I don't even interfere with his doctors much. He wants to play the game and they want to play the game, and neither cares for my intrusion, so I leave them to it.
No one reading here will be surprised if I say that I spend most of time making him smile. Never short of an idiot joke, me.
Never had the feeling that you were anything but pure love.
Straight up. That wasn't easy to lay bare here, I'm sure. And now that you've gone and provided such a courageous example I must admit I've been slack replying to that ever-so-similar message you trusted me with what is surely over a month ago now. Let down the side I did.
Hit pretty close to home here too, by the way. The sexy wife's father passed last year from colon cancer, though our story had a somewhat "happier" conclusion thanks to her tireless and nearly-thankless efforts to maintain (and even improve) his quality of life in some very fundamental ways that are not "common knowledge" in this era of the Big Lie extended into every realm of human endeavor.
He passed at home, requiring zero pain medication and without the sick soul and body-crushing joke that is chemo -- which is essentially the modern "high-tech" equivalent of mustard gas. No joke. Look it up.
Between many such sad realities hiding just beneath the veneer of what we so earnestly refer to as "civilization" -- and it's supposed mutlifarious benefits -- by way of swallowing whatever lies populate our individual lives, one quickl discover the realm of "experts" have been bought and paid for just about as long as there have been experts. Which is to say forever.
And the advice you receive from any expert must always be accompanied by that ever-so-practical fragment of latin we less studious Americans had to find on our own: "cui bono?"
It is only when one truly accepts and absorbs in one's life the inescapable reality that "quality control" in all things is YOUR responsibility and your responsibility alone, and that trusting it to others is at best unwise and at worst suicidal, that the most basic things in life like simple abiding happiness and good health can be had. And they can.
I've been walking the walking and paying close attention along the way nigh on seven years now, and I still shake my head when I consider how much of my ever-growing and more serious health problems were self-inflicted.
And you're already halfway to somehere Mr. N.: sugar is the nutritional equivalent of heroin. Again, no joke. It took me quite some time to finally walk away from the 'cane, but each time I pulled back a little further the evidence of it's effects grew more obvious -- until I could not longer deny what was going on.
As for the grease, the fats ("grease") discussion is far more qualitative, and not the way you've been brainwashed to believe by the statin pushers and their ilk. What can be stated unequivocally is that any industrially-produced "false fats" should be avoided like the Plague.
If you can successfully eliminate just three ingredients of the modern "diet": refined sugars, white flour and hydrogenated fats, you will discover that whatever ails you (and who do you know that isn't ailing is one way or another any more?) not only goes into remission, but that the things you replace them with are unbelievably fulfilling to eat. And this includes a wide variety of choices, in terms of local variations.
Naturally, there's also the issue of neurotoxins (MSG, et al.) and the Rumsfeld legacy (aspartame), ad infinitum. As ever, be warned: these rabbit holes be deep and life-changing (not to mention affirming), if approached with true rigor and complete honesty.
If any of this piques anyone's curiousity, I recommend a review of the research of Francis Pottenger and his cats and Weston A. Price's anthropolgical studies conducted in the 1930s. Though some of his ideas and conclusions are a bit dated, the basic thrust of his argument stands tall and proud.
My body has served as my own independent case study, and I couldn't be happier with the results. I suffered chronic joint pain for nigh on twelve years, seemingly a little worse every year after things started going haywire in my late twenties. And I was an active and athletic guy with "good" eating habits. Or so I assumed, having given away the "quality control" jobs in my life to a bunch of overworked guys and gals in white lab jackets at places like Monsanto, ADM, Kaiser Permanente and KPMG.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
And I hope this long-ish post at least in part remedies my lack of a timely response to your earlier trust and generosity of spirit.
Hang in there dude.
Susana, you say the weirdest things. Funnily enough I was precisely pondering that most fraught of words, 'love' just this morning. Perhaps there's an essay in it. Mind you, I think I've maxed out my quota of 'confessional' for the whole year.
What's that word that starts with 'c' and ends with 'ringeworthy'? Anyway, that.
Funnily enough, I like it when other people do it...
Thanks Mir, nice to have you stop in. Folks - when he gets around to setting up his website (one of these days), Mir's - and Mrs. Mir's - thoughts on food and nutrition are some of the most sensible things I've ever read. On my ever handy 'If-human-existence-was-a-twelve-hour-clock-how-long-have-we-been-doing-thisometer' (I'll trademark it as soon as I can come up with a catchier name), Mir is spot on.
This has nothing to do with your post Sooorry, but I'm down at Skyes and I'm watching American tv. They have a show called American gladiator, They have these people wearing body suits and shooting NERF balls and NERF rockets at each other and they have grudge matches WTF is this? WTF hell has America become? And this is a big deal.
America has truly become BRAIN DEAD. I fucking give up I really do.
Silv, what? You got me scratching my head. You've turned on the TV and found a shit show? Ha ha ha ha. Like there are any good ones!
Oh! Wait. I've been meaning to mention a show that has me hypnotised. It's from the BBC and it's called 'Tribe'. It features a fellow called Bruce Parry who travels to insanely remote places and lives with tribal people. Last week was Sarawak, before that Bhutan, Ethiopia etc. etc.
It's the antithesis of those shows featuring fat, white people complaining how hard and dirty it all is. Parry never complains. And he never shirks. Whatever it is they do, he does. It's unbelieveable. The coolest part is hearing what these tribal people have to say about him. They are so intensely hospitable, generous, and warm that it blows my mind.
And Parry himself is just brilliant. Perhaps the least judgemental man you'll ever see. Sure enough, these experiences have had a spiritual effect on him. Now that I think about it, in that old parlour game of 'ultimate dinner party guests', he'd be top of my list.
In case anyone is interested, I just went to youtube and put in his name. I didn't download anything but there seems to be lots there. Worth checking out.
It's been a crazy week, with more to come, sorry I haven't been around here too much.
When reading this, my god, it could be me. Interchange 'sport' with 'News' and bang - spot on.
Creme caramels huh? Donuts for Dad, cookies and chocolate bars, never mind storing them, just throw the whole bag into a bowl and it's feeding frenzy time. Cook a healthy meal and you're not hungry - or goodness forbid I didn't include a mountain of bloody salt. Salt salt salt! Sugar, grease - oh those bangers and mash... ack.
What happens to the fruit I buy? I cut it up for you, oh no - the dentures won't let you eat... but the donuts are easy (bananas aren't?).
Honestly, Nobody - every word here is interchangeable with my own experience. I teared up, shook my head and certainly felt less alone. It seems that my own Dad focuses now only on what is 'wrong', what is hurting today, pain here, tiredness there, it never ends. I'm expected to fix it all, do something - he tells me this - his ails are my fault - why don't I make everything better?
Why doesn't he? He won't. He doesn't know how anymore. Spring is here, golf season coming - there is no way he's going to be swinging a club any time soon. It's always bleak, always negative.
Sometimes I wish you were closer, I'd take you for a coffee and we could compare notes - basically telling each other the same story, only the names are different.
Hang in there. As I do the same.
Buffy
i hope the time is short...
love
k*
Nobody, it is an amazing thing to do what you are doing, accompanying someone close to you (however that may be defined) to the exit as comfortably as possible. As sons, I suppose we often do it out of a sense of duty and maybe to catch a glimpse into one potential exit scene for our own movie, should we so choose the route of our fathers rather than learning from their mistakes and examples.
The modern medical "extension of a life" trip is so fraught with compromise and false expectations, I fear ever having to make any more big choices about "care" or "intervention" for myself or my loved ones. In watching both of my parents go through a "hanging-on" period just before letting go, It was obvious there was a huge sacrificing of quality to eke out a few more weeks or months of "life".
Standing right with your dad and cracking wise while seeing to whatever he has chosen for his final scenes is a great undertaking that I hope will end peacefully for both of you. Please feel free to email me at carfish7@gmail.com if I can be of any assistance, please. I'd love to help any way I might.
And Miraculix, I'd love to hear more about how to change out of the sugar/fat/chemical suit. Major detox and a complete diet 180 indicated to increase survival odds.
My best to the lot of you.
Z
Nice write nobody, must have been quite difficult to write this. I would like to be able to write up my feelings and musings, now that my brother has passed away. It was really difficult to see him, after the reanimation, his brain got a lot of lesions and it was certain that even if he could have recovered physically, he would have been diminished. For the intellect oriented guy he was, a real catastrophy.
as for Miraculix list of ingredients to avoid, he missed another one, which is even more insidious, it's linoleic acid in the form of the "heart healthy" oils. Avoid sunflower, safflower, corn, wheatgerm, grapeseed, ... they are cancer in bottle.
Don't take my word, read Stephan and Peter's blog, they have the science to back that up:
http://wholehealthsource.blogspot.com/
http://high-fat-nutrition.blogspot.com/
oh nobody, I don't know but that post just had heartbreak written all through it.
At least in my mind.
sometimes hanging on to illness is all one has, and maybe that is where your dad is at.
Until he makes up his own mind.
It must be difficult.
(for you both)
I don't think your Dad's life was all for naught, for he did have you.
and your ok, either because of him or despite him, whichever?
sigh
What brilliant people I have commenting here. It's enough to make a man resort to Oprah-esqe psycho-babble, ha ha. But since none of you have done it, I shan't either. Thank God.
And Z. Thanks for that but it's all cool. Oh, and Mir, I meant to say earlier by way of detail, that we've done the mustard gas based chemo already. Now he's on - wait for it - thalidomide. When I went to fill his prescription at the pharmacy I said to the woman, "Hi, I've just come to get something for the wife's morning sickness." Look of horrified confusion, "Ha! Just joking. It's for the old man's myeloma." Well I laughed anyway.
And Pen, that last thought of yours, I understand it precisely. And a question mark followed by a sigh is as close as I got too.
And Susana, can I apologise if I sounded flippant or dismissive before? Sorry about that. It was quite sweet of you. To be honest I laughed, with the thought running through my head that of all people, I don't even know what love means.
My seeming dismissiveness aside, your comment was extraordinary. For me anyway. It set a series of thoughts in train that really took me somewhere. And this morning I watched Zeitgeist Addendum (memory-stick transferred to me by a charming young German fellow I met at the internet cafe). Has everyone seen it? It's very very good. Whilst it's not perfect, ie. I think it fails to make a crucial leap, it has so much that IS good that to quibble would be idiotic. Anyway... the word love featured in that too and it solidified the line of thought that's been running through my head.
At the moment I have nothing more than a collection of disparate abstractions that I know are connected. And now all I have to do is link them and make sense of it all. Sense for other people, that is. Oh wait, a metaphor! There's no point telling a joke if the punchline is 'Well, you really had to be there.'
It's funny I should use a joke metaphor because I am deliriously happy, as light as a feather. That it's a sunny day helps, but really there is nothing better, not for me anyway, than making sense of a thing. Ciao Ciao.
A follow-on here, for the sake of our good fellow Zoner's curiosity and the Gallier's worthy addition to my earlier "list".
As for that list, it was in no way meant to be comprehensive, but an over-simplified starting point for any and all "puffy people" out there desperately getting ever-puffier despite all the supposedly good advice foisted off on them as wisdom by the diet industry and many well-intentioned friends. I use the above label (diet "industry") very intentionally.
For those interested in additional specifics, like Mr. Z, it will be helpful here to know that what the Gallier refers to IS one of the three items on the list: "hydrogenated fats", perhaps best described as "false fats". The distinction is a qualitative one, as hinted at in the last rant. There are enormous differences between the "cancer in a bottle" Gallier describes (and he's dead right, by the way) and organic fats as produced by nature. Production methodolgies are always the key criteria here.
One aspect I'll elide over with only a cryptic and damning glance is the "why" of these industrialized chemical nightmares foisted off on a largely unwitting "public" as "new & improved" over what's been good enough for thousands of years. It's hard not to become acquainted with conspiracy when you learn the history of the FDA. Or what is currently being done to raw milk producers and advocates in the USSA. Or what has been ever-so-systematically done to the american farmer over the last couple centuries. Which were mostly just new-fangled ways of playing the same old games the peasants back home on the other side of the pond had been screwed with for centuries.
As I also mentioned, taking back the "quality control" function from the white coats is the first and most important step we can each take in our individual lives, physically, psychically -- even politically as it turns out. It is part and parcel of increased awareness, for without it you are still overly reliant on packaged conclusions, which are no better for your intellectual health than pre-packaged industrial poisons are for your physical well-being.
Of the two websites Mr. G refers to, the second (high-fat-nutrition) is the perfectly titled "Hyperlipid". It remains one of my favorite places to point the more "science-minded" folk who like to take coarse, under- and over-informed potshots at the broader nutritional theories we share (read: doctors) with those who express honest interest. For the sake of full disclosure, the wife and I also maintain a chapter of the WAPF (Weston A. Price Foundation) here in our little green corner of the planet.
I have yet to see a clearer deconstruction of the exercise in "targeted science" that was the work of Ancel Keys and the Framingham study, which together form the "scientific" foundations of the modern cholesterol theory. All of which is a load of horses**t, excluding data as necessary to form the conclusions required by those funding the research. The dirty not-so-secret secret of the medical and scientific world: for the most part it's pay-to-play, and the results only a couple clicks above advertising on the truth scale.
It takes an unfunded truthseeker like Mr. Hyperlipid, armed with a background in biochemistry, to demonstrate the actual value of such research, poring over the raw data and picking out the means and mechanisms of diversion, distraction and outright falsity. Demonstrating how statistics can be recast -- giving away the game! -- by adding the "excluded" data back into the graphs. Wander by the site and scan just the topsheet if you desire a demonstration. His approach is pretty hardcore, but he is walking the walk, not just talking the talk. The deconstruction of the "hard science" behind the lies all by itself makes him one of the most valuable resources I have seen wandering the tubes, especially as he highlights the ongoing work of other additionally non-corporate iconoclasts/truthseekers like Drs. Enig and Ravnskov.
People like these are valuable allies in the struggle towards not so much "truth" as whatever assemblage of the least tainted information we can hope to build during this all-too-brief burst of global communication we're playing out the pubescent years of right about now. Despite all this fuzzy goodness, we must each still take great pains to tread carefully with regard to relying on ANY single source of information as a basis for what we describe as our "views"; synthesis being the means by which the world moves forward in all regards, integrating that which serves and leaving the rest to rot.
As for my ever writing specifically about nutrition, it'll never happen. I'm far too much the big-picture generalist with a strong penchant (and a good eye) for the details. A Virgo thing, perhaps. I also possess zero desire to deal with corporate PR trolls in any format, blog or otherwise. I've not the patience or the time to spare. Such individuals mission to discredit ideas not friendly to their paymasters only depresses me whenever I've engaged it in a fast-receding cyber-history I choose not to repeat.
So, by way of a conclusion to this rambling diatribe, I'll leave off with a few good words for Mr. Z, who appears earnestly curious. The advice I would offer has largely been acquired and assimilated in the neighborhood of the WAPF organization I pointed to earlier.
I start everyone with genuine interest who asks with background reading at the WAPF website, in specific the "Oiling of America" and their writings regarding the cholesterol myth. And all you low-fat types out there, I hate to break it to you like this, but you've been sold a bill of goods that has now ruined the lives and bodies of multiple generations.
Likewise the vegetarians. As much as I hate to say this out loud in public, at risk of running off well-intentioned individuals, such pursuits are far more religious and philosophical in nature than any other direction. What recorded history we have bears little evidence of any such tribal groups anywhere on the planet. There is always a component of local animal fats -- be they from furry critters or wet ones -- or cases like the Inuit, or all the nomadic tribes ranging across dry lands, with an almost complete lack of vegetable matter in their diet. And yet they have the lowest instances of "heart disease" known to "modern science".
I'm not trying to preach, by the way, just lay bare some facts to get the truly motivated moving in the right direction. You're weclome to your own conclusions.
I've already made mine, and just so you know, they're based primarily on self-study using my own body as a willing guinea pig. So yes, I have been experimenting on a live animal. Ironically enough, the proof truly is in the pudding, which is why I no longer enjoy the stuff. I can sit right next to a chocolate cake and it actually repulses my gut, despite the lovely scent. Even my bane, the innocent gummi bear, no longer entices.
Pain is the most effective teacher I know. But no one is allowed to make the connection that "food = pain" just as easily as "food = pleasure", see what I mean? We are sold this bill of goods about the individual, empowerment and all that, and in one fell swoop they atomize health problems to the personal level and take away a valuable frame of reference. We're led to believe that it's all SO complicated, when really it's not.
There are some basic ideas you need to respect, mostly the local provisions of place. Counting on bananas for potassium and magnesium is a poor choice if you live in western Germany, for example. But we have world famous mineral springs galore. Local solution. In a glass bottle with a stopper. Play this out again and again with sauerkraut and kombucha or kimchee and fish soup and so on around the world.
Modern civilization presents us with the ultimate Faustian bargain. Since we are what we eat (and breathe), we know exactly why we are all so sick. The answer is not complicated, though they'd really like you to believe it is so they can keep writing prescriptions and selling you vitamin supplements. To deny this is to live in... well, denial. Have a look at those "natives" in the BBC series Mr. N referred to. You'll find that those who retain the traditional diet and eschew the western "aid" are consistently the healthiest. Sure, it takes a bit more work to make your own eats, but you can damn well believe it's worth it.
One of the most shocking things for me was the "return" of my sense of taste. I had never realized how traumatized my poor little tastebuds were until I finally went full off the 'cane and their full range of sensitivity began to return. Yet another among the many unexpected benefits. Another shock was the degree to which I became sensitive to even very small doses (for everyting you ingest is, in effect, medicine -- and vice versa) of refined sugars in any form, not to mention the false fats.
To wit:
During a car-lover's road trip from hell with my visiting brother and nephew from the states, on the last night of the journey, I tried an experiment. After a few years of avoiding the stuff religiously, I pretended not to have learned a godda**ed thing and had a burger, fries and four or five glasses of good strong mass-produced beer. Standard sports bar fare. To make this short, I had inflammation in all the usual places by the following morning. It was the first and last experiment of it's kind. And I remain swelling, pain and medication-free.
I started to read this posting, but then I got distracted by one of those hot-looking babes FOX has as anchors on their morning news show.
Damn, but ain't that skirt short!!! You can almost see heaven, if she'd just hike that skirt up another inch or two.
Shit, they're saying something about Bin somebody and the Fed and ..oh, fuck it, that's not interesting.
Shit, she just used her hand to fling her hair back. She's FLIRTING with me and me alone.
Drool slobber, drool...
Well Nobody the fact that I was called sweet is a novelty that I will treasure.
And I hardly found it dismissive at all.
Thanks Mir. More good stuff. And Greg, just stop it! I mean would you really want to shag that chick? Honestly? Think of the conversation mate. My sloop would be headed South under a stiff Nor-easter with all the lower gunports closed and no mistake. Sorry, a bit of unintelligible Patrick O'Brian jargon there, but you get the picture I'm sure.
And Susana, Ha! It seems you get the guernsey as muse of the next piece.
Hmm... perhaps I'll post it tomorrow. It seems a shame to be pushing Mir's brilliant thing down the page so quickly. Anyway a new thing tomorrow called 'Love'. My shortest title yet!
It's to be expected, as Mr. Bacon has just demonstrated -- with appalingly good timing -- exactly how the television actually works.
First, someone says something sensible but requiring some mental traction to take it all in. And before the reader can even make it around the first bend, the television in the background outfoxes their intellect, going straight for the limbic control panel.
Thanks Greg. If you were trying to derail, job well done. Short skirts will always win out over discourse.
Which is why I unplugged the idiot box approaching twenty years ago. Has it really been that long? Sure enough, October 1992. Seventeen years this autumn. I prefer my short skirts like I prefer my rock and roll: live.
And I won't bother with such long-winded diatraibes covering such material here in the future. I certainly didn't intend and don't wish to intentionally attract trolls to Mr. N's net hideout.
Meanwhile, I hope the above was helpful Mr. Z. If you'd like to make direct contact, our host here has my e-mail address and is hereby authorized to pass it along if you have any addtional questions.
That's cool Mir. I don't think Greg is a wicked fellow. Well not from the waist up at any rate. Ha!
Speaking of such long-winded diatraibes covering such material, I won't. Ha
Post a Comment