Still hurting some inbetween, even the older cuts and generally where the implants had been, but fortunately stopped getting too much each time after having worn a cap. So it's back to bloody mandatory camo in public. (Am I not a nice, considerable fella, or am I?) Still not so bad going 'incognito' for a change, rsp. not ALWAYS being stared at etc.
Ok, frankly am still quite pissed about the actual state and look of especially the back of my head, and therefore even less in the mood to comply to other people's hypocrite ideas of how to dress and behave in public, or just plainly when and how being allowed to appear there at all, or not.
I mean, there's thousands of people out in the streets and transports that everybody just passes without really noticing every day, not to mention quickly looking the other way if considered necessary -- so why should it be my problem, stupid people gawping instead of just minding their own business?
So, what are you staring at? Don't like what you see? Well, nice, thanks -- and f**k you too. Pluck your eyes out. Stay at home. Go shoot yourself. No problem by me. No sir, ma'am, not at all. Just go ahead.
Oops, got a bit carried away there, I'm afraid. Since well, just because some people seem to be inconsiderate a**holes, doesn't meant this being an excuse to act like one yourself, right? So, though myself don't have too much trouble just fading them peepers out of my perception for good (and plenty practice by the way), ok, ok, as long it doesn't hurt too much etc. putting on a cap, might as well just do so. And with people I e.g. have to do something together with, so they can't just avoid me, admittedly it's something else again.
Like this other guy in the bookshop we do presentations now and then, saying he had bad dreams after having seen me taking it off once lately (1st time in about 18 months at least, by the way). Don't remember when and why exactly, probably at some point between surgery and cause I started sweating too much leaving it on, which I was to avoid in order to prevent infections, so there wasn't much choice actually. Sorry anyway.
But as said, pain and infection being no problem no more in the meantime, so back to bloody mandatory camo in public, again. Though it's been only a few weeks me skipping that, still have to get used again always remembering to pocket a trusty one as son as I leave the house.
Like today, running off to this meeting, and then having to run back again even faster just for guess what, being lucky still making it just in time. (Last meeting wasn't able wearing one, no f**king way, so just put the hood on, but now it's too warm for that anyway.)
Working'd be plainly impossible without either. The two or three times I forgot the cap, selled almost nothing, just got asked stupid questions all the way.
Actually, sometimes when I'm busy or something, only notice at the reaction of people that, oops, must've forgotten something, ouch.
These and the like being the occasions you could hear me mumbling more or less clearly the above line about forgetting it again including the T-word. Meaning I'm aware of offending people just by my bare, unveiled existence, for which I'm sorry. (Offending them, that is.)
Only recently in Berlin in this co-op house I was staying, realised it could also have a totally different meaning, too.
Was fixing myself something in the kitchen, by accident bare-headed, only noticing it when this girl entered and suddenly her eyes went wide, then going like, 'Uh, what's that?!' So without thinking too much, just uttered the above line to kinda apologize -- but suddenly she's looking like SHE'd feel guilty for having terrorized ME.
Funny, how alla this time when feeling sorry for having forgotten putting it on, never before came looking at it from THIS point of view, now isn't it?!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
I've always felt like a pariah (Pt. 1)
As far as I can remember, before I was 5 probably not so constantly, though. Actually got along well with virtually all of the other kids. Until then only on a few occasions had this feeling that in the long run kinda just might not fit in.
Like e.g. when I persuaded my brother to polish this arrogantly gleaming new car in the street with sand together, making it look more natural. Gee, were my parents happy having a liability insurance. Though I must say they weren't too hard on me, more like, don't do it again, this can give us lots of trouble, so of course I obliged.
More difficult was when one morning I went with my then girlfriend to see where she went to kindergarten (she was a year older than me, but didn't have to go that day cause of holidays). Must've been after 12am when we eventually got back. Whole flat full of cops by then, and it was let's say kinda less easy than after the car episode. Though I could understand that my parents were worried, still never really got it what all the fuss was about. Maybe the first time I started realising perhaps I wasn't as free as I had imagined all the time, and not only me (though the girl's parents treated it considerably less as a drama).
Of course the real trouble started when I had to go to kindergarten and then to school myself, though grades weren't too much of a problem. Contrary e.g. to the plenty hippocrite grown ups in charge, handing out bollockings and punishment even when for everybody else it was plain to see it was THEM that were wrong.
Though I must admit, one teacher, once when giving a poor italian kid a dressing-down for a simple equation she got wrong for whatever reasons, after about my 5th attempt to set things straight actually listened to what I was saying, did the calculation again, and thereafter apologised to the boy. But even for the gullible 7 or 8 years old I was then, it was bright as the light of day that, had I not been the kid with the good grades and the respectable parents, probably she wouldn't have listened at all in the first place, so this remarkable incident not being much more than the famous exception proving the rule.
The other problem being plenty of the kids as well, convieniently just passing their anger and frustration on. Ok, probably was just kinda the perfect victim; first fitting the concept of the enemy, and second, though never having been really religious, I never hit back, not even tried running away, but actually just literally turned the other cheek, eye, side of the ribcage or whatever. Still have one or the other scar to remind me.
(Took almost 2 1/2 decades more till I finally gave in, rather literally drawing back my arm in order to get spared rsp. not getting f**ked over in other ways. Though without never actually having had to deal the blow -- and the coward bullies probably just passing it on to some other poor bugger not willing or able to hit back, or sometimes even just onto themselves if they couldn't find another victim -- which till today is the part still bugging me every time I manage keeping myself outta harm's way like that.)
Little surprise when playing indians and cowboys usually sympathised with the redskins and not the whities, getting extinguished by the latters, but at least knowing how to die beautifully and with dignity.
So, when eventually the lumps started growing, as mentioned was neither really surprised nor too embarrassed, but rather pleased, cause at least to me it made perfect sense, like getting a physical proof for what I had always felt inside anyway. And wanting to get rid of them now and getting into real trouble for it or not, actually I'd still be more irritated by never having had them.
Did you see him smile?
Mugshot, 1993, used on cover / poster
of The 'BLUTGEIL Case'
(Lump on the forehead already visible, while
the one on top increasing my height about an inch.)
© SSI / TV-STOP
Like e.g. when I persuaded my brother to polish this arrogantly gleaming new car in the street with sand together, making it look more natural. Gee, were my parents happy having a liability insurance. Though I must say they weren't too hard on me, more like, don't do it again, this can give us lots of trouble, so of course I obliged.
More difficult was when one morning I went with my then girlfriend to see where she went to kindergarten (she was a year older than me, but didn't have to go that day cause of holidays). Must've been after 12am when we eventually got back. Whole flat full of cops by then, and it was let's say kinda less easy than after the car episode. Though I could understand that my parents were worried, still never really got it what all the fuss was about. Maybe the first time I started realising perhaps I wasn't as free as I had imagined all the time, and not only me (though the girl's parents treated it considerably less as a drama).
Of course the real trouble started when I had to go to kindergarten and then to school myself, though grades weren't too much of a problem. Contrary e.g. to the plenty hippocrite grown ups in charge, handing out bollockings and punishment even when for everybody else it was plain to see it was THEM that were wrong.
Though I must admit, one teacher, once when giving a poor italian kid a dressing-down for a simple equation she got wrong for whatever reasons, after about my 5th attempt to set things straight actually listened to what I was saying, did the calculation again, and thereafter apologised to the boy. But even for the gullible 7 or 8 years old I was then, it was bright as the light of day that, had I not been the kid with the good grades and the respectable parents, probably she wouldn't have listened at all in the first place, so this remarkable incident not being much more than the famous exception proving the rule.
The other problem being plenty of the kids as well, convieniently just passing their anger and frustration on. Ok, probably was just kinda the perfect victim; first fitting the concept of the enemy, and second, though never having been really religious, I never hit back, not even tried running away, but actually just literally turned the other cheek, eye, side of the ribcage or whatever. Still have one or the other scar to remind me.
(Took almost 2 1/2 decades more till I finally gave in, rather literally drawing back my arm in order to get spared rsp. not getting f**ked over in other ways. Though without never actually having had to deal the blow -- and the coward bullies probably just passing it on to some other poor bugger not willing or able to hit back, or sometimes even just onto themselves if they couldn't find another victim -- which till today is the part still bugging me every time I manage keeping myself outta harm's way like that.)
Little surprise when playing indians and cowboys usually sympathised with the redskins and not the whities, getting extinguished by the latters, but at least knowing how to die beautifully and with dignity.
So, when eventually the lumps started growing, as mentioned was neither really surprised nor too embarrassed, but rather pleased, cause at least to me it made perfect sense, like getting a physical proof for what I had always felt inside anyway. And wanting to get rid of them now and getting into real trouble for it or not, actually I'd still be more irritated by never having had them.
Did you see him smile?
Mugshot, 1993, used on cover / poster
of The 'BLUTGEIL Case'
(Lump on the forehead already visible, while
the one on top increasing my height about an inch.)
© SSI / TV-STOP
Monday, June 26, 2006
And the winner of the Frankenstein Lookalike Contest is ...
Finally could remove the bandage.
Aw, f**k, that doesn't look nice! Not at all!
Not the back of my head! No, sir! Neither the sides! Nor on top either!
How it looked like 4 weeks later ...
© Anger 2006
Guess all in all it's at least about 12 inches of scars, plus the grafted area. And all in vain ...
The scar on top, necrotic wound lips finally healing 'best possible'.
Pic from about 2 weks ealier, just before the grafting surgery.
© Soulless 2006
Ok, was warned from the photos I got on disk for some days now (yeah, yeah, told you was a bit lazy recently ...). So I already knew it was quite a wee bit more than a 2 £ piece of not so long ago perfectly healthy scalp with then still all of the hair on it that he had to cut off in the end. And that mostly even where the skin recovered, the hair didn't.
Ok no. 2, also know it will look, erm, well, at least less worse in a few months or so, but still ...
Not to mention how it FEELS ... but that once again will be another story.
Aw, f**k, that doesn't look nice! Not at all!
Not the back of my head! No, sir! Neither the sides! Nor on top either!
How it looked like 4 weeks later ...© Anger 2006
Guess all in all it's at least about 12 inches of scars, plus the grafted area. And all in vain ...
The scar on top, necrotic wound lips finally healing 'best possible'.Pic from about 2 weks ealier, just before the grafting surgery.
© Soulless 2006
Ok, was warned from the photos I got on disk for some days now (yeah, yeah, told you was a bit lazy recently ...). So I already knew it was quite a wee bit more than a 2 £ piece of not so long ago perfectly healthy scalp with then still all of the hair on it that he had to cut off in the end. And that mostly even where the skin recovered, the hair didn't.
Ok no. 2, also know it will look, erm, well, at least less worse in a few months or so, but still ...
Not to mention how it FEELS ... but that once again will be another story.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Very few things more beautiful ...
Yesterday he pulled out the stitches. Still looking pretty well, the grafted skin already connected by arteries for good, veins building up. Should even be able going back making regular paid overtime from sunday on again. Plus shower the whole head, like first time in over a month.
Guess I'll give it 5 weeks to recover completely, getting the most urgent things done and myself into a slightly better shape again, before going back having the one on my right side cut off. Instead of by that time having gotten rid of all of them already, which was the original plan. Now it's going to be one after the other, and every time the skin on my throat will have to regrow first before getting harvested again. Gonna take it's bloody time.
The only thing I liked about being sick and mostly having to stay at home reading or watching dvds on my posh 2nd hand powerbook (not to mention trying to get some work done inbetween), was going to walk in the woods -- even more, making me going back there regularly.
Only missed very few sunsets. Like 2 times visiting relatives, 2 or 3 times too much rain, 2 shows, once going to the cinema and the day before yesterday even going to that gig of 14" GENERAL @ General Guisan Quai in Winterthur. Partly mates and lasses going back a long time and now being exiled in Germany, actually collaborating on a soon to be published pulps / book thing. Probably the first concert for over 6 weeks, though I was staying low and calm the whole nite. (Except pikeying two more small beers, and not sleeping really much, that is.)
Of course, the night after the surgery, being another one I didn't leave the flat eventually, had been the last one with an almost clear sky for a while. Tough heavy rain inbetween also has advantages, like cleaning the air. And the woods smell so nice after (fields too), varying on the predominat herbs, bushes n trees. Guess best air you can get without moving outta town way more than you could pedal back in convieniently.
Also like the wild strawberries. Black- and rasperries aren't ripe yet, while the broad-leaved garlic went by earlier before I was able walking off the ways again. Deadly nightshade just started to bloom. (Though that's nothing I'd put into my mouth while passing by, nor taking home for later consumption. Not everybody that lucky like this girlfriend of mine, who the next day in school couldn't read her test sheet cause still she could see only totally blurred, but at least recovered again after a while. And by the way am not into suicide either, thanks. Though sometimes I do take a derivate of its agent, but only locally and in prescripted doses.)
Generally love the light before and after sunset, red turning into blue. Obviously Tarkowsky used it a lot in his movies, too. Like it best when there's not too many clouds but a bit mist for the colours and also that the sun doesn't blind. There are very few things being more beautiful than the sun going down on a wide open sky in front of (mostly) grass, fields and trees. How could I miss this for so many years?
The place I usually go has a few public fireplaces (one even with a huge roof, woa). Lately a load of young blokes there, chatting and boozing. As I walk by, they turn around and then go all silent for a while. Surprise, surprise.
On the other hand, this girl in the train, when I was coming back from changing bandages. Unless it's rush hour, usually I have 4 seats for myself no problem, 2 as sure as I'd got 2 tickets. (Zurich local trains placed are grouped in 2 and 2 facing each other on each side of the rows.) So she comes along, seeing my compartment being the only one with 3 empty seats, makes half a step, the looks closer at me, hesitates a moment, but then goes for the seat, still looking at the lumps and bandage. Then she opens her mouth, and I already start rolling my eyes mentally, but instead of the usual line, first thing she says is 'Doesn't that hurt?'
Guess I'll give it 5 weeks to recover completely, getting the most urgent things done and myself into a slightly better shape again, before going back having the one on my right side cut off. Instead of by that time having gotten rid of all of them already, which was the original plan. Now it's going to be one after the other, and every time the skin on my throat will have to regrow first before getting harvested again. Gonna take it's bloody time.
The only thing I liked about being sick and mostly having to stay at home reading or watching dvds on my posh 2nd hand powerbook (not to mention trying to get some work done inbetween), was going to walk in the woods -- even more, making me going back there regularly.
Only missed very few sunsets. Like 2 times visiting relatives, 2 or 3 times too much rain, 2 shows, once going to the cinema and the day before yesterday even going to that gig of 14" GENERAL @ General Guisan Quai in Winterthur. Partly mates and lasses going back a long time and now being exiled in Germany, actually collaborating on a soon to be published pulps / book thing. Probably the first concert for over 6 weeks, though I was staying low and calm the whole nite. (Except pikeying two more small beers, and not sleeping really much, that is.)
Of course, the night after the surgery, being another one I didn't leave the flat eventually, had been the last one with an almost clear sky for a while. Tough heavy rain inbetween also has advantages, like cleaning the air. And the woods smell so nice after (fields too), varying on the predominat herbs, bushes n trees. Guess best air you can get without moving outta town way more than you could pedal back in convieniently.
Also like the wild strawberries. Black- and rasperries aren't ripe yet, while the broad-leaved garlic went by earlier before I was able walking off the ways again. Deadly nightshade just started to bloom. (Though that's nothing I'd put into my mouth while passing by, nor taking home for later consumption. Not everybody that lucky like this girlfriend of mine, who the next day in school couldn't read her test sheet cause still she could see only totally blurred, but at least recovered again after a while. And by the way am not into suicide either, thanks. Though sometimes I do take a derivate of its agent, but only locally and in prescripted doses.)
Generally love the light before and after sunset, red turning into blue. Obviously Tarkowsky used it a lot in his movies, too. Like it best when there's not too many clouds but a bit mist for the colours and also that the sun doesn't blind. There are very few things being more beautiful than the sun going down on a wide open sky in front of (mostly) grass, fields and trees. How could I miss this for so many years?
The place I usually go has a few public fireplaces (one even with a huge roof, woa). Lately a load of young blokes there, chatting and boozing. As I walk by, they turn around and then go all silent for a while. Surprise, surprise.
On the other hand, this girl in the train, when I was coming back from changing bandages. Unless it's rush hour, usually I have 4 seats for myself no problem, 2 as sure as I'd got 2 tickets. (Zurich local trains placed are grouped in 2 and 2 facing each other on each side of the rows.) So she comes along, seeing my compartment being the only one with 3 empty seats, makes half a step, the looks closer at me, hesitates a moment, but then goes for the seat, still looking at the lumps and bandage. Then she opens her mouth, and I already start rolling my eyes mentally, but instead of the usual line, first thing she says is 'Doesn't that hurt?'
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Same old (a.k.a. Straight back to the middle ages)
Oops, been a bit lazy on the blog front lately. On other projects', too, I'm afraid. Probably some other people involved will not like me too much, and I'm not happy either.
Only stupid hassle here, stupid hassle there, and then, erm, some even more over there. A.k.a. tightening the screws. This time the landlord of our practice room, and the slaver e.g. not yet handing out sick pay from march, and the like and the like and so on. Becoming a regular megatrend this year. Getting squeezed out and f**ked over, usually so somebody somewhere can save some money on admin costs and then instead shove it well-you-know-where.
Gladly know how to mobilise sufficient back-up, but still a lot of time and energy down the drain for stuff they were obliged to fork over without even getting asked for in the first place anyway. A.k.a. even more unpaid overtime. Hello again.
Though looking at it from the bright side, if I find enough people willing to bet that next year it'll be anything else than just same ole tightening up some more again again, I'll be bloody rich myself and no more concerned by such petty end-user probs. Cause hey, face it, always at least one turn left, always. Wanna bet?
Only stupid hassle here, stupid hassle there, and then, erm, some even more over there. A.k.a. tightening the screws. This time the landlord of our practice room, and the slaver e.g. not yet handing out sick pay from march, and the like and the like and so on. Becoming a regular megatrend this year. Getting squeezed out and f**ked over, usually so somebody somewhere can save some money on admin costs and then instead shove it well-you-know-where.
Gladly know how to mobilise sufficient back-up, but still a lot of time and energy down the drain for stuff they were obliged to fork over without even getting asked for in the first place anyway. A.k.a. even more unpaid overtime. Hello again.
Though looking at it from the bright side, if I find enough people willing to bet that next year it'll be anything else than just same ole tightening up some more again again, I'll be bloody rich myself and no more concerned by such petty end-user probs. Cause hey, face it, always at least one turn left, always. Wanna bet?
Monday, June 19, 2006
Tears are a gift from heaven
If this planet is the 'valley of tears', must've been living in hell.
Most of my life, couldn't cry when I should have, no matter how much I wanted to and tried.
Didn't actually notice when they stopped, so I guess went just down the same road like love and feelings. Lost faith, broken heart and dying soul. Sometimes returning a little, but only to vanish again soon.
Took a long time to just realise. Even more to change it. Plus somebody who cared.
Though didn't take long, and started losing it again. Going numb inside. Seven Kings, sitting on the bench, waiting for the train. Starts setting in. Feel like crying but can't. Wish so much I could but just can't. Same again.
Still don't know really why this time I remembered. And more important, why I still was able nourishing it back to life. Of course got some clues, but doesn't feel like I got them all.
But something I know for sure. Never be ashamed or afraid of your tears, ever. Never hold them back, either. (Ok, unless e.g. they'd be the reason for a painful misunderstanding or something, maybe.)
So today, though of course (besides some catching-up I still got to do) the reasons for doing so are still sad ones, nevertheless I'm just happy everyday I shed some.
When your soul is in pain or even dying, tears is the best medicine there is. That's what they're here for. (Well, at least saved mine from dying all over again this time.)
I was so far out
until you brought me back
I can even cry again
tears are a gift from heaven
missed them so much for so long
I'm so happy to see you again
it's the thing I want most in the whole world
(continued ...)
Most of my life, couldn't cry when I should have, no matter how much I wanted to and tried.
Didn't actually notice when they stopped, so I guess went just down the same road like love and feelings. Lost faith, broken heart and dying soul. Sometimes returning a little, but only to vanish again soon.
Took a long time to just realise. Even more to change it. Plus somebody who cared.
Though didn't take long, and started losing it again. Going numb inside. Seven Kings, sitting on the bench, waiting for the train. Starts setting in. Feel like crying but can't. Wish so much I could but just can't. Same again.
Still don't know really why this time I remembered. And more important, why I still was able nourishing it back to life. Of course got some clues, but doesn't feel like I got them all.
But something I know for sure. Never be ashamed or afraid of your tears, ever. Never hold them back, either. (Ok, unless e.g. they'd be the reason for a painful misunderstanding or something, maybe.)
So today, though of course (besides some catching-up I still got to do) the reasons for doing so are still sad ones, nevertheless I'm just happy everyday I shed some.
When your soul is in pain or even dying, tears is the best medicine there is. That's what they're here for. (Well, at least saved mine from dying all over again this time.)
I was so far out
until you brought me back
I can even cry again
tears are a gift from heaven
missed them so much for so long
I'm so happy to see you again
it's the thing I want most in the whole world
(continued ...)
Sunday, June 18, 2006
The 'good stuff'
Yaaiy!
F********k!
Almost had forgotten, how much it can hurt. Only a much smaller area this time. Also the headache's gone now. But still.
Grafting went no problem, though the fresh cut in my throat is a bit longer than the other one.
The marked area where the skin will be removed for grafting.
© Soulless 2006
Even the graft seems to be more at the top of the head than I'd feared, while below there's only a cut. (Or at that's least how it feels.)
Partly even hurts in the same place like before, just when the 'miracle' started. First night after surgery even considerably; and after changing the dressing plus removing of the excess crust of coagulated blood two days later again some.
Just relied on the good stuff. Had still plenty drops left from before, almost the whole 2nd bottle. Fades most of the pain out and gives some peace of mind, too.
The rest of the nights only on the 'normal' painkiller, though. Got a rather stubborn policy on opiates, though not that stubborn as not to opt for the odd EXCEPTION. Only when it REALLY HURTS, of course.
JUST THIS ONCE! TONITE ONLY! ONE LAST TIME! And even more favourite excuses and lies (hey, everybody's just a little bit a junkie, too).
Learned about it when I was 13. After having read William Burroughs' NAKED LUNCH, that is. Especially the Appendices. Not to forget Uncle Bill's advice to have a close look at Junkie Road BEFORE travelling it down yourself.
Probably saved my life. Literally.
Like when couple of years later, despite most of the people I hung out with being junkies, never felt really tempted doing so myself.
Still appreciated them more than most 'normal' people. Like e.g. they never cared too much about how you look like. Don't expect you to hide the pain and smile. Much unlike the rest of the world I was confronted with.
Such a waste, seeing them wrecking their bodies and die. Losing teeth and limbs. Desperately trying to hit a burst vein, black and dead inside a dying arm. And other stuff making my recent medical problems look like peanuts.
Going down fast. Just like I felt inside already anyway.
'War on Drugs' a.k.a. The only good junkie is a dead one a.k.a. Who needs ovens, when you can just flood the neighbourhood and the problem solves itself, even generating profits?
Fortunately never worked with me.
Thanks, Uncle Bill!
(Guess people that have to tap me for blood or drips are grateful, too. Never a problem with my veins.)
F********k!
Almost had forgotten, how much it can hurt. Only a much smaller area this time. Also the headache's gone now. But still.
Grafting went no problem, though the fresh cut in my throat is a bit longer than the other one.
The marked area where the skin will be removed for grafting.© Soulless 2006
The stitched wound after the marked part having been removed.© Soulless 2006
Note the transparent string sticking out at both ends. Stitching is done below the skin, string is to dissolve within 4 months -- though sometimes, rather gets pushed out through the skin before doing so. By the way, this time the surgeon didn't clip the ends, so I did it after the bandage could be removed. Up to now, else no parts of the string coming out yet
Partly even hurts in the same place like before, just when the 'miracle' started. First night after surgery even considerably; and after changing the dressing plus removing of the excess crust of coagulated blood two days later again some.Just relied on the good stuff. Had still plenty drops left from before, almost the whole 2nd bottle. Fades most of the pain out and gives some peace of mind, too.
The rest of the nights only on the 'normal' painkiller, though. Got a rather stubborn policy on opiates, though not that stubborn as not to opt for the odd EXCEPTION. Only when it REALLY HURTS, of course.
JUST THIS ONCE! TONITE ONLY! ONE LAST TIME! And even more favourite excuses and lies (hey, everybody's just a little bit a junkie, too).
Learned about it when I was 13. After having read William Burroughs' NAKED LUNCH, that is. Especially the Appendices. Not to forget Uncle Bill's advice to have a close look at Junkie Road BEFORE travelling it down yourself.
Probably saved my life. Literally.
Like when couple of years later, despite most of the people I hung out with being junkies, never felt really tempted doing so myself.
Still appreciated them more than most 'normal' people. Like e.g. they never cared too much about how you look like. Don't expect you to hide the pain and smile. Much unlike the rest of the world I was confronted with.
Such a waste, seeing them wrecking their bodies and die. Losing teeth and limbs. Desperately trying to hit a burst vein, black and dead inside a dying arm. And other stuff making my recent medical problems look like peanuts.
Going down fast. Just like I felt inside already anyway.
'War on Drugs' a.k.a. The only good junkie is a dead one a.k.a. Who needs ovens, when you can just flood the neighbourhood and the problem solves itself, even generating profits?
Fortunately never worked with me.
Thanks, Uncle Bill!
(Guess people that have to tap me for blood or drips are grateful, too. Never a problem with my veins.)
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Good news and bad news
Back on the train again. Show went nice. Decently packed, audience lovely. Laughed in the right places, too.
Way too hot to wear a cap, also definitely not a pleasure at the moment. Perfect legitimation (or should I rather say excuse?). First show without a cap or hood since quite a while.
Also on the streets. On the way to the place met a guy who didn't just pop the question, but also said some warm things like but you're still human, not letting anyone put me down, and 'It's what's within one's heart that counts.'
Later realised, when getting asked about the lumps, this must've been the first time that the first thing I said about them being something like 'Ah, not so well', instead of the usual 'It's ok'. After all this trouble and pain recently guess I'll be just glad when it's over. Still a long way to go, though. Ah, there's the place now.
Next thing happening is a police car stopping beside me, and guess I'm just one lucky guy again for not having known that it's illegal putting up stickers of our evil homepages on to poles 'n' stuff (incl. bodyfascist.com, I'm afraid). Next he wants to know if I got some more, but well, in this case frankly didn't think so, and for what reasons ever they weren't too much in the mood of getting up and out've the car. So just hope my recent lucky streak will not become illegal itself at some point.
But the real luck is, histiology reports are finally out now from both my blood and tissue samples, and fortunately it's NO auto immune aggression. Just a complication cause of my scalp being way too hard and too much attached to the muscles above the skull itself. Probably due to a chronical low-lewel inflamation of the fat layer inbetween, caused by the steroids I had to take for some years. (No, wrong type of steroids, I'm afraid. A.k.a. Cortisone, which only makes you fat, but doesn't help with muscles. Still can't sleep, however, rsp. -- looking at the bright side -- won't need too much of it. Also known to make agressive, in case one finds no dumber excuse. Though just for the record, and irony OFF, always still managed to restrain myself well enough no problem.)
So the good news is, don't have being afraid no longer of more and more and even more spectacular 'surprises' after each forthcoming surgery, cause it's local on my head and known now, and by itself no actual problem. In case I didn't have surgery there, wouldn't've been noticed it at all.
Quite a relief! Sure beats wondering all the time, now just what might be the next parts of me suddenly going tits-up, starting to ooze and hurt like hell, becoming putrid and later perhaps will need being cut off?
Also just removing the lumps and making the holes smaller by cutting / shifting the scalp and then grafting skin from the throat over the rest of the hole like when I had the first lump removed at the forehead, again should work ok without real complications, cause like that the skin is lifted and shifted incl. the muscles below.
Normally lifting only the skin should be much easier, though. As the surgeon told my mate, one should be able just to put a finger inbetween, and then by moving it, lifting the skin no problem. But in my case, well, try a cowbar perhaps.
So, and here's the bad news, growing spare skin by inflatable implants, usually being easier, faster and delivering much discreter results than grafting skin from elsewhere, is definitely out. Though having been fairly obvious since a while anyway, still BAD news, and NO fun.
Stigmatized for life, no matter how much I was determined and how hard I tried. (Though of course, still will look by far less conspicious than with the lumps still on. Hah, friggin hah.)
Aw, just f**k it. Wasn't meant to be. Just why am I not surprised?
continued ...
Way too hot to wear a cap, also definitely not a pleasure at the moment. Perfect legitimation (or should I rather say excuse?). First show without a cap or hood since quite a while.
Also on the streets. On the way to the place met a guy who didn't just pop the question, but also said some warm things like but you're still human, not letting anyone put me down, and 'It's what's within one's heart that counts.'
Later realised, when getting asked about the lumps, this must've been the first time that the first thing I said about them being something like 'Ah, not so well', instead of the usual 'It's ok'. After all this trouble and pain recently guess I'll be just glad when it's over. Still a long way to go, though. Ah, there's the place now.
Next thing happening is a police car stopping beside me, and guess I'm just one lucky guy again for not having known that it's illegal putting up stickers of our evil homepages on to poles 'n' stuff (incl. bodyfascist.com, I'm afraid). Next he wants to know if I got some more, but well, in this case frankly didn't think so, and for what reasons ever they weren't too much in the mood of getting up and out've the car. So just hope my recent lucky streak will not become illegal itself at some point.
But the real luck is, histiology reports are finally out now from both my blood and tissue samples, and fortunately it's NO auto immune aggression. Just a complication cause of my scalp being way too hard and too much attached to the muscles above the skull itself. Probably due to a chronical low-lewel inflamation of the fat layer inbetween, caused by the steroids I had to take for some years. (No, wrong type of steroids, I'm afraid. A.k.a. Cortisone, which only makes you fat, but doesn't help with muscles. Still can't sleep, however, rsp. -- looking at the bright side -- won't need too much of it. Also known to make agressive, in case one finds no dumber excuse. Though just for the record, and irony OFF, always still managed to restrain myself well enough no problem.)
So the good news is, don't have being afraid no longer of more and more and even more spectacular 'surprises' after each forthcoming surgery, cause it's local on my head and known now, and by itself no actual problem. In case I didn't have surgery there, wouldn't've been noticed it at all.
Quite a relief! Sure beats wondering all the time, now just what might be the next parts of me suddenly going tits-up, starting to ooze and hurt like hell, becoming putrid and later perhaps will need being cut off?
Also just removing the lumps and making the holes smaller by cutting / shifting the scalp and then grafting skin from the throat over the rest of the hole like when I had the first lump removed at the forehead, again should work ok without real complications, cause like that the skin is lifted and shifted incl. the muscles below.
Normally lifting only the skin should be much easier, though. As the surgeon told my mate, one should be able just to put a finger inbetween, and then by moving it, lifting the skin no problem. But in my case, well, try a cowbar perhaps.
So, and here's the bad news, growing spare skin by inflatable implants, usually being easier, faster and delivering much discreter results than grafting skin from elsewhere, is definitely out. Though having been fairly obvious since a while anyway, still BAD news, and NO fun.
Stigmatized for life, no matter how much I was determined and how hard I tried. (Though of course, still will look by far less conspicious than with the lumps still on. Hah, friggin hah.)
Aw, just f**k it. Wasn't meant to be. Just why am I not surprised?
continued ...
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Why I'm happy in the woods
Just catched the express train to Berne for another show. Local train to the mainstation was bloody late, so I'm quite relieved just having made it.
Tomorrow it's back to the beautyfarm for another skingraft. Means last day I'm able to enjoy leaving the flat and doing at least some of the other stuff one usually takes for granted till suddenly for one reason or another it's not anymore.
Lately even was allowed to go for some walks in the woods up behind the housing estate again. (Am afraid definitely spoils having such a thing just around the corner, but still being able to pedal into the city in 20 min -- if you're able / allowed doing so, that is).
Really enjoy going there, moving and breathing under all those trees. Especially at dusk or in the night (though the latter's nicer in winter when everything's white and bright from snow in moonlight, but that's another story). Usually more to run and do exercises, though.
Now always went not too long before sunset. Just like after the first surgery in march, before the whole mess started hitting the fan. First walking some into the hill as fast and hard and far as I'm allowed to. Then arriving at this spot with a nice view just in time to watch the sun kissing the horizon and going down. Looking at all those beautiful colours changing slowly. Taking in the fields and villages, the soft, wooded hills. And of course the sky and everything it shows. First ime I was able going there again, just had to cry.
Then, walking back again through the fields, towards the full moon, rising. Perfect.
Pain is quite moderate and perfectly bearable at the moment, though sometimes annoying. Am off painkillers again for almost a week now. Surgeon said the wounds from placing/removing the implants (not to mention rinsing out and desinfecting the cavities ...) are healing well for a change, and also the one still needing the grafting doing fine. Even said he'll be able to make it a bit smaller again before grafting.
Seems all of the wounds working in shifts now making themselves noticed, which of course is nicer than all of them at once and always. Most unpleasant of all feel the cavities themselves, where he'd removed the scalp from the muscles above the skull, now obviously also growing back on again. Feels a bit like I was wearing a tight cap always, sometimes the different areas also hurt a bit, and generally are very sensible. Specially with the heat outside on now, also give me slight headaches, too (no, Dr Surgeon, still won't take any aspirin stuff again, no sir).
Tomorrow it's back to the beautyfarm for another skingraft. Means last day I'm able to enjoy leaving the flat and doing at least some of the other stuff one usually takes for granted till suddenly for one reason or another it's not anymore.
Lately even was allowed to go for some walks in the woods up behind the housing estate again. (Am afraid definitely spoils having such a thing just around the corner, but still being able to pedal into the city in 20 min -- if you're able / allowed doing so, that is).
Really enjoy going there, moving and breathing under all those trees. Especially at dusk or in the night (though the latter's nicer in winter when everything's white and bright from snow in moonlight, but that's another story). Usually more to run and do exercises, though.
Now always went not too long before sunset. Just like after the first surgery in march, before the whole mess started hitting the fan. First walking some into the hill as fast and hard and far as I'm allowed to. Then arriving at this spot with a nice view just in time to watch the sun kissing the horizon and going down. Looking at all those beautiful colours changing slowly. Taking in the fields and villages, the soft, wooded hills. And of course the sky and everything it shows. First ime I was able going there again, just had to cry.
Then, walking back again through the fields, towards the full moon, rising. Perfect.
Pain is quite moderate and perfectly bearable at the moment, though sometimes annoying. Am off painkillers again for almost a week now. Surgeon said the wounds from placing/removing the implants (not to mention rinsing out and desinfecting the cavities ...) are healing well for a change, and also the one still needing the grafting doing fine. Even said he'll be able to make it a bit smaller again before grafting.
Seems all of the wounds working in shifts now making themselves noticed, which of course is nicer than all of them at once and always. Most unpleasant of all feel the cavities themselves, where he'd removed the scalp from the muscles above the skull, now obviously also growing back on again. Feels a bit like I was wearing a tight cap always, sometimes the different areas also hurt a bit, and generally are very sensible. Specially with the heat outside on now, also give me slight headaches, too (no, Dr Surgeon, still won't take any aspirin stuff again, no sir).
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
TA!
(click to read)Nice one!
Most embarrassing actually was how many times I had to type in the word verification twice ;-o
Though I got slightly better after a while ...
Monday, June 12, 2006
Social Pressure (Bodyfascist Pt. 5)
In all their fully grown splendour and glory ...London, a few days before 1st surgery.
© Guy Smallman 2006
© Guy Smallman 2006
From a strictly medical point of view, there's no actual reason to remove the lumps. I.e. they're no threat to my health, and even less to my life expectancy. I only have to take care to avoid them and the rest of my head getting too cold, especially in winter, since they've very poor circulation. And also trying to keep them from becoming inflamed, rsp. regularly checking on that.
Funny enough, medical trouble encountered only by trying to get rid of them, in connection with the 2nd round of surgery, but never by the lumps themselves. Which -- if I'm lucky -- after 1, 2, 3 more sessions of slitting and grafting eventually will be more or less sorted (but with the rest of the lumps still remaining to be removed somehow).
Ok, in the last years they began growing faster exponentionally, so partly started becoming less practical or sometimes even getting in the way. Frankly also liked the look of them better when they were still small and cuddly.
But besides that, myself I had no further problems with them, in contrary.
That I'm eager to get rid of them now is mostly for social reasons: Cause virtually everybody else seems having a huge problem with them (and then in the end also with me). Obviously having the cheek of getting myself these things grown and then even showing them automatically revoking my right of being treated as a full fledged fellow member of the human race or something.
A long time frankly didn't care too much about all of that (to say the least). Probably not being the overly social type anyway. Not to mention not having a specially high opinion of most people.
Though in recent years got the impression them lumps beginning more and more to define my relations with whomever I meet, as long as I'm not submitting to mandatorily wearing a camo (though that's in many cases only postponing it). Means me anticipating their rejection and treating them accordingly before they even expressed it. Which of course can easily turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy rsp. a vicious circle.
So eventually got to the point where I thought probably wouldn't actually do me really good just stubbornly going on, insisting on this being simply the way God, Nature or whatever created me -- and f**k about the rest and especially everybody who's got a problem with that. The more since I can just have them cut off more or less easily -- or at least that's what the doctors said ...
Ok, there's also special situations, where I can potentially (and actually) still feel hurt personally. Like meeting this special girl again, and she smiles at me, too -- but not anymore when realising what's exactly under my magic cap.
So, after a long and heroic struggle against society's unwritten laws and most of its members' inherent stupidity, eventually decided to give in and finally submit to the social pressure (shame on me). So here I am, eagerly doing whatever necessary in order to humbly conform to the oh-so-beloved average norm visually. And live happily ever after. Yessir!
However, still with a bit of a bad conscience.
Actually never felt more guilty of being a body fascist than when going over to the beautyfarm having cut off the first one. (Even kinda prayed for forgiveness for doing so. Perhaps should have done that a lot more before going for the 2nd round of surgery ...)
So in order to come to better terms with my bad conscience and trying to get the whole thing more clear, eventually roused myself to start this blog.
Not to mention I seem having a flair for such dubious kinda projects 'at the border of the pathological' (as a State's Attorney once put it). Not to mention sharing my thoughts and experiences -- if not straightaway preaching to the ignorant rest of the world how to see the f**king light. Not to mention getting used as a human zoo, being talked about behind my back but not to my face etc.
Or at least that's my admittedly not specially high opinion of most people, based on experience. But hey, you can always prove me wrong ... or can't you?
(to be continued ...)
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Ouch, that must('ve) hurt?!! (Bodyfascist Pt. 4)
Recently on my way to the surgeon. Catch the train, get me a seat on the upper floor, unpack the 2nd half of my breakfast. On the other side some girls chatting. Had to hurry getting the train from the bus stop, and it's pretty heated, so I take off the woolcap before I sweat too much.
They all go silent for a breath or two.
Or as a mate put it: 'The bigger the lumps, the bigger people's eyes.'
Indeed. Mouths too ...
Ok, maybe I'm biased, but frankly still seem to fail just getting it.
I mean, c'mon, never seen anything like it?!
And hey, even if so, what the f**ck is your problem?!!
Ok, won't say I never stared myself, especially as a kid -- but still doubt ever doing so like most I get on an average day (in case I don't submit to mandatory wearing camo or just ignoring people, that is).
Next to staring, would also plead guilty for having frowned sometimes, too, e.g. when seeing people with, uh, things on their heads or faces. Probably even looking a bit scared.
But you don't see it on the streets too much anyway, do you?
One thing that struck me in my life, was realising why.
Was this guy in Munich. It was winter, guess when I was 18, way before the lumps started growing. Met him the park, scoring smoke. Had refused military service, so was doing cummunity service. Working in a home.
A guy living there joined us in the kitchen. He had no real face no more. Just a really, really nasty, thick burning scar with nostrils, mouth and eyes. (Much worse than the guy at Monument.)
Ouch, that must've hurt!!!
Never seen anything like it then, not even in a movie.
No way to look at him neutrally, like at other people, at least for the first moment.
Till I realised that at least the flesh had healed as well as it could, and that the actual pain must have stopped a long time ago, and that indulging probably wouldn't help either. Besides, smoked and talked just like everybody else at the table.
That was when I realised why you don't see such things on the street:
Cause they stay inside these homes.
Remained the other question: WHY DO THEY STAY IN THERE AND DON'T GO OUT? Cause wasn't like there were any bars, locks, official Verbote or something.
So why did he prefer to stay in there like it was a prison???
Frankly didn't get it for many, many years. Still having trouble fully accepting it today.
Ok, also remember sometimes having seen other things every couple of years, marks 'n' stuff, where it's not so really clear, if it must('ve) hurt a lot or perhaps not (like also e.g. mine), but still the question in my mind alone made me frown, before I could help myself eventually.
In the meantime, of course I'm much more hardboiled and virtually unshakable. (Haw, haw.)
Actually, whenever I saw kids looking at the lumps questioningly, quickly told them, 'No, doesn't hurt, just looks strange'.
Which, I admit, it does, too.
(Still, if you got any other problems with this matter, probably better start asking yourself about the however little or giant bodyfascist inside your own self. And, as Dennis Hopper used to say in Davis Lynch's 'Blue Velvet': Don't you f**king look at me!)
PS: Which just reminded me, sometimes actually used telling people at parties, 'Don't look!' Though far from 'Blue Velvet'-style, but rather the party-volume equivalent of 'Erm, you're standing on my toes, would you please mind ...'
Still perfectly did the trick, people suddenly turning away, looking guilty like kids getting catched with their hands inside the candy box ...)
continue 'Body Fascist' ... ........ continue 'Quit staring will ya?' ...
They all go silent for a breath or two.
Or as a mate put it: 'The bigger the lumps, the bigger people's eyes.'
Indeed. Mouths too ...
Ok, maybe I'm biased, but frankly still seem to fail just getting it.
I mean, c'mon, never seen anything like it?!
And hey, even if so, what the f**ck is your problem?!!
Ok, won't say I never stared myself, especially as a kid -- but still doubt ever doing so like most I get on an average day (in case I don't submit to mandatory wearing camo or just ignoring people, that is).
Next to staring, would also plead guilty for having frowned sometimes, too, e.g. when seeing people with, uh, things on their heads or faces. Probably even looking a bit scared.
But you don't see it on the streets too much anyway, do you?
One thing that struck me in my life, was realising why.
Was this guy in Munich. It was winter, guess when I was 18, way before the lumps started growing. Met him the park, scoring smoke. Had refused military service, so was doing cummunity service. Working in a home.
A guy living there joined us in the kitchen. He had no real face no more. Just a really, really nasty, thick burning scar with nostrils, mouth and eyes. (Much worse than the guy at Monument.)
Ouch, that must've hurt!!!
Never seen anything like it then, not even in a movie.
No way to look at him neutrally, like at other people, at least for the first moment.
Till I realised that at least the flesh had healed as well as it could, and that the actual pain must have stopped a long time ago, and that indulging probably wouldn't help either. Besides, smoked and talked just like everybody else at the table.
That was when I realised why you don't see such things on the street:
Cause they stay inside these homes.
Remained the other question: WHY DO THEY STAY IN THERE AND DON'T GO OUT? Cause wasn't like there were any bars, locks, official Verbote or something.
So why did he prefer to stay in there like it was a prison???
Frankly didn't get it for many, many years. Still having trouble fully accepting it today.
Ok, also remember sometimes having seen other things every couple of years, marks 'n' stuff, where it's not so really clear, if it must('ve) hurt a lot or perhaps not (like also e.g. mine), but still the question in my mind alone made me frown, before I could help myself eventually.
In the meantime, of course I'm much more hardboiled and virtually unshakable. (Haw, haw.)
Actually, whenever I saw kids looking at the lumps questioningly, quickly told them, 'No, doesn't hurt, just looks strange'.
Which, I admit, it does, too.
(Still, if you got any other problems with this matter, probably better start asking yourself about the however little or giant bodyfascist inside your own self. And, as Dennis Hopper used to say in Davis Lynch's 'Blue Velvet': Don't you f**king look at me!)
PS: Which just reminded me, sometimes actually used telling people at parties, 'Don't look!' Though far from 'Blue Velvet'-style, but rather the party-volume equivalent of 'Erm, you're standing on my toes, would you please mind ...'
Still perfectly did the trick, people suddenly turning away, looking guilty like kids getting catched with their hands inside the candy box ...)
continue 'Body Fascist' ... ........ continue 'Quit staring will ya?' ...
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Keeping girls awake at night ... plus even more bodyparts (also by mail)
Awrite, the good news is, no more necrosis at the lips of the wounds, just some part of the dried stuff oozing from one cut had to be clipped Tuesday (also had stitched it together again Sat). Even better, most of the other affected skin recovering well.
However, some part the size between a 2 p and a 2 £ coin definitely didn't make it. Had to be cut off yesterday. (Plus another tissue sample, getting delivered by courier for analysis.) Plus he stiched the remaining hole a bit smaller, so there'll be as little skin as possible to be grafted next week.
Gee, that means I was two entire weeks without surgery -- how did I just survive for so long? When last Friday the GP's assitand tapped my vein for some more blood tests, actually felt like something being kinda wrong: Prick, the needle going in, but nothing feeling cold creeping up the vein, no merry-go-round starting slowly.
On my way over to the beauty farm having it done, sitting in the bus, this guy I know talking to me while going along the lake. Also was this drunk young girl he knew, going one or two stops further than him. Me having just the hood on my head, cause it's too warm for a wool cap; and, though I got myself an XXL one, camo is no fun at the moment with the dressing and what's under.
So, she's kinda peeping under the hood, asking what it was and to take it off. So I lifted it a little, and she goes like, 'Eeeeek, now I can't sleep tonight'. Complaining on, that she just had lunch and could have puked, too.
Tcha, guess I'm just one lucky guy.
(Mean ok, blokes're gawping, too. But the rest -- definitely must be kinda a woman's thing.)
Surgery went smooth. Again don't remember everything, though, 'cept never having seen my pulse more that 10 to 13 above my average rate for a change. But he assured me having taken all the photos this time. Sarted stinging a bit when the local anaestetic wore off, so so the anaestesist's assistant gave me a small shot by the drip. Plus the rest of the ampoule, since it still stinged.
Was like merry-go-round again. But then, after coming home, was ok. Even after the good stuff having worn off. Perfectly bearable, also today. Still took one of the other painkillers before going to bed, just to make sure, cause usually, though I sleep with the upper part of the bed pulled up, it's getting worse when laying down. But almost went too well, even managed reading no problem, cause wasn't really sleepy. In the end finished the whole book (and am afraid did't go to sleep exactly early).
When changing the dressing this morning, surgeon said it looked good, also the other wounds, finally closing. And hey, won't need the bandages changed and the wounds cleaned etc. daily anymore. Nice one.
continued ...
However, some part the size between a 2 p and a 2 £ coin definitely didn't make it. Had to be cut off yesterday. (Plus another tissue sample, getting delivered by courier for analysis.) Plus he stiched the remaining hole a bit smaller, so there'll be as little skin as possible to be grafted next week.
Gee, that means I was two entire weeks without surgery -- how did I just survive for so long? When last Friday the GP's assitand tapped my vein for some more blood tests, actually felt like something being kinda wrong: Prick, the needle going in, but nothing feeling cold creeping up the vein, no merry-go-round starting slowly.On my way over to the beauty farm having it done, sitting in the bus, this guy I know talking to me while going along the lake. Also was this drunk young girl he knew, going one or two stops further than him. Me having just the hood on my head, cause it's too warm for a wool cap; and, though I got myself an XXL one, camo is no fun at the moment with the dressing and what's under.
So, she's kinda peeping under the hood, asking what it was and to take it off. So I lifted it a little, and she goes like, 'Eeeeek, now I can't sleep tonight'. Complaining on, that she just had lunch and could have puked, too.
Tcha, guess I'm just one lucky guy.
(Mean ok, blokes're gawping, too. But the rest -- definitely must be kinda a woman's thing.)
Surgery went smooth. Again don't remember everything, though, 'cept never having seen my pulse more that 10 to 13 above my average rate for a change. But he assured me having taken all the photos this time. Sarted stinging a bit when the local anaestetic wore off, so so the anaestesist's assistant gave me a small shot by the drip. Plus the rest of the ampoule, since it still stinged.
Was like merry-go-round again. But then, after coming home, was ok. Even after the good stuff having worn off. Perfectly bearable, also today. Still took one of the other painkillers before going to bed, just to make sure, cause usually, though I sleep with the upper part of the bed pulled up, it's getting worse when laying down. But almost went too well, even managed reading no problem, cause wasn't really sleepy. In the end finished the whole book (and am afraid did't go to sleep exactly early).
When changing the dressing this morning, surgeon said it looked good, also the other wounds, finally closing. And hey, won't need the bandages changed and the wounds cleaned etc. daily anymore. Nice one.
continued ...
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
A word about graphic images
In case you didn't guess yet: Yes, I do feel very strongly about freedom of expression.
Though I know, words are cheap, and for many people telling the same (at least as long as they think it'll benefit their public image), actually it's just lip service.
Well, not for me. And in contrary to some other bigmouth cowards, I did time in an increased security jail to prove it.
"Bloodbath"-Performance ...
... in front of Urdorf privatised jail, as a protest
against unconstitutional prison regime, 2000
© Klaus Rozsa / photoscene.ch / Metro (Switzerland)
Just for having played a copper in a small self-produced video-film that the local cops did't find as funny as others, plus after being arrested still refusing to back down and play lickspittle.
(Ok, about 45% of the jokes in it were on them, and obviously no way to expect authorities to show any sense of humour. By the way, of the local squatters (like myself at the time), on which were another 45%, many didn't really prove to be more open minded either.)
Still was a bit surprised to hear the judge ordering all existing copies "to be burned" etc. etc. -- though yes, actually that's another story already told somewhere else. And just by the way, by far not the only case I rather suffered the consequences than obliging to some wannabe-nazis trying to tell me what to say or write.)
On the other hand, in general I also want everybody to have his or her own choice concerning whether to watch gross 'n' gory details or not.
(Notably with the exception of e.g. police violence and the likes, imo -- again with a few exceptions -- everybody should have to witness that with their own eyes in order to get a proper perspective on that matter.)
In the case of bodyfascist.com, I'd like people who don't feel having the stomach to look at surgery pix to be still able to read the blog without e.g. losing their breakfast.
Though I also feel those wanting to see it all should have their choice, too.
So what I'm gonna do here is this:
Every time I feel I should show consideration for readers with a more sensible stomach, I'll just put in a link saying "Graphic Image(s) -- click to view", or give you a fair "WARNING!" bevor you click an otherwise possibly sensible link. So everybody feeling like it can do so at their discretion, while the others might just move on.
And with photo-udates in already published entries (like the one I just completed now, hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint), of course will do the same.
(And yeah, just by the way No 2: Though this blog might be a bit more low profile concerning the risk of people in power getting a wee bit overexcited than some other stuff -- well, you never know. E.g. google.com, that recently bought blogger.com, isn't precisely known for being too tough when it comes to refusing to titillate censors anywhere. So just in case, if you'd like to bookmark this blog, do bookmark bodyfascist.com and NOT the blogspot-URL, since if necessary or else convenient I'll just redirect the former.)
Though I know, words are cheap, and for many people telling the same (at least as long as they think it'll benefit their public image), actually it's just lip service.
Well, not for me. And in contrary to some other bigmouth cowards, I did time in an increased security jail to prove it.
"Bloodbath"-Performance ...... in front of Urdorf privatised jail, as a protest
against unconstitutional prison regime, 2000
© Klaus Rozsa / photoscene.ch / Metro (Switzerland)
Just for having played a copper in a small self-produced video-film that the local cops did't find as funny as others, plus after being arrested still refusing to back down and play lickspittle.
(Ok, about 45% of the jokes in it were on them, and obviously no way to expect authorities to show any sense of humour. By the way, of the local squatters (like myself at the time), on which were another 45%, many didn't really prove to be more open minded either.)
Still was a bit surprised to hear the judge ordering all existing copies "to be burned" etc. etc. -- though yes, actually that's another story already told somewhere else. And just by the way, by far not the only case I rather suffered the consequences than obliging to some wannabe-nazis trying to tell me what to say or write.)
On the other hand, in general I also want everybody to have his or her own choice concerning whether to watch gross 'n' gory details or not.
(Notably with the exception of e.g. police violence and the likes, imo -- again with a few exceptions -- everybody should have to witness that with their own eyes in order to get a proper perspective on that matter.)
In the case of bodyfascist.com, I'd like people who don't feel having the stomach to look at surgery pix to be still able to read the blog without e.g. losing their breakfast.
Though I also feel those wanting to see it all should have their choice, too.
So what I'm gonna do here is this:
Every time I feel I should show consideration for readers with a more sensible stomach, I'll just put in a link saying "Graphic Image(s) -- click to view", or give you a fair "WARNING!" bevor you click an otherwise possibly sensible link. So everybody feeling like it can do so at their discretion, while the others might just move on.
And with photo-udates in already published entries (like the one I just completed now, hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint / hint), of course will do the same.
(And yeah, just by the way No 2: Though this blog might be a bit more low profile concerning the risk of people in power getting a wee bit overexcited than some other stuff -- well, you never know. E.g. google.com, that recently bought blogger.com, isn't precisely known for being too tough when it comes to refusing to titillate censors anywhere. So just in case, if you'd like to bookmark this blog, do bookmark bodyfascist.com and NOT the blogspot-URL, since if necessary or else convenient I'll just redirect the former.)
Saturday, June 03, 2006
'auto immune aggression'
Surgeon told me at some point, how sometimes it's not easy for him seeing people suffering. And though he's seen worse mishaps and accidents, which he had to cut and stitch back together again as well as still possible, than my small 'miracles', am afraid I'm giving him a bit a rough time. Sorry.
At least, despite the missing / dying / decaying parts of my scalp that not only don't look, but also don't FEEL too nice either, manage without pain killers for more than 48 ours now.
In the meantime am even getting used to the lovely look of them. Yes, he finally burned me all the pics, even took some new ones before doing so. Still have them open behind while typing this, and when looking through them before seeing my GP earlier, was in a hurry and had to do so while eating. So friggin' what.
(Yeah, I know, some might be curious too. So yup, those of you not afraid to klick 'graphic images' links can brace for gory updates.)
By the way, they are saying the whole thing probably being acts (though guess medically more correct: cases) of 'auto immune aggression'. I.e. the immune system considering parts of the own body as an enemy, killing them off.
Ok, I'll admit, ever since hearing the expression the first time some years ago, always'd thought, now, THAT'S a poetic name for a disease, why do the ones I have always sound so boring?
But believe it or not, THAT'S not how I'd meant it.
At least, despite the missing / dying / decaying parts of my scalp that not only don't look, but also don't FEEL too nice either, manage without pain killers for more than 48 ours now.
In the meantime am even getting used to the lovely look of them. Yes, he finally burned me all the pics, even took some new ones before doing so. Still have them open behind while typing this, and when looking through them before seeing my GP earlier, was in a hurry and had to do so while eating. So friggin' what.
(Yeah, I know, some might be curious too. So yup, those of you not afraid to klick 'graphic images' links can brace for gory updates.)
By the way, they are saying the whole thing probably being acts (though guess medically more correct: cases) of 'auto immune aggression'. I.e. the immune system considering parts of the own body as an enemy, killing them off.
Ok, I'll admit, ever since hearing the expression the first time some years ago, always'd thought, now, THAT'S a poetic name for a disease, why do the ones I have always sound so boring?
But believe it or not, THAT'S not how I'd meant it.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Getting me handed some more body parts
Oops, seems I just successfully performed another miracle unparallelled in the history of medicine. At least that's how the poor surgeon went like: 'Can't be, never seen before.' Starting to feel like some kinda medical prodigy -- only predominantly in the wrong way, of course.
Good news is, the oozing & hurting part at the back of my head seems to recover to a certain extent, though plenty of it still being 'critical', so probably next Weds it's gonna be surgery-time, just once again. (Hopefully without further 'miracles' following, erm.)
Bummer is, how the other wound's behaving that was still left open in order to clean the cavity where the top right implant had been. When he was at it two or three days ago, pulling out the gluey stuff with a forceps, suddenly had this strange sensation, like the tissue ripping or beeing squeezed, even after he'd removed the tool, as he assured me when I asked. Well, that was probably the last thing I ever felt there.
Yesterday he suddenly started looking a bit troubled after having removed the dressing, expressing his disbelief as noted above, followed by the buzzword 'necrosis' (i.e. dead tissue). And at some point the question 'Do you feel anything now?' No, didn't.
So he just went on with the scissors, therafter showing me the small strips of brownish-greyish dead scalp he'd just cut off.
Oops no 2, felt a bit like being in the wrong movie just once again.
To make it clear, despite my moaning definitely much preferred having seen what and how much he cut off compared to just having strange painful sensations up there (since around the numb part didn't feel to well lately), asking myself desperately just HOW BAD it actually might be -- now at least I know.
Still, some part of me just kept asking myself, what was that film where this guy get's handed part of his brain, but not feeling anything? Yeah, Hannibal, right. That's what it reminded me a bit of, watching this glorious scene and not exacty feeling like 'let's have some more lunch right now'. Though no cooking and eating involved in my case, of course, just threw it away afterwards. Still, just don't remind me about what not only the german press called 'The cannibal of Rotenburg', ok? (And bloody well yeah, I know, didn't eat the brain together, but his pr**k, and contrary to Hannibal seems actually having been mutual consent. Still not precisely my cup of tea, though ...)
Good news is, the oozing & hurting part at the back of my head seems to recover to a certain extent, though plenty of it still being 'critical', so probably next Weds it's gonna be surgery-time, just once again. (Hopefully without further 'miracles' following, erm.)
Bummer is, how the other wound's behaving that was still left open in order to clean the cavity where the top right implant had been. When he was at it two or three days ago, pulling out the gluey stuff with a forceps, suddenly had this strange sensation, like the tissue ripping or beeing squeezed, even after he'd removed the tool, as he assured me when I asked. Well, that was probably the last thing I ever felt there.Yesterday he suddenly started looking a bit troubled after having removed the dressing, expressing his disbelief as noted above, followed by the buzzword 'necrosis' (i.e. dead tissue). And at some point the question 'Do you feel anything now?' No, didn't.
So he just went on with the scissors, therafter showing me the small strips of brownish-greyish dead scalp he'd just cut off.
Oops no 2, felt a bit like being in the wrong movie just once again.
To make it clear, despite my moaning definitely much preferred having seen what and how much he cut off compared to just having strange painful sensations up there (since around the numb part didn't feel to well lately), asking myself desperately just HOW BAD it actually might be -- now at least I know.Still, some part of me just kept asking myself, what was that film where this guy get's handed part of his brain, but not feeling anything? Yeah, Hannibal, right. That's what it reminded me a bit of, watching this glorious scene and not exacty feeling like 'let's have some more lunch right now'. Though no cooking and eating involved in my case, of course, just threw it away afterwards. Still, just don't remind me about what not only the german press called 'The cannibal of Rotenburg', ok? (And bloody well yeah, I know, didn't eat the brain together, but his pr**k, and contrary to Hannibal seems actually having been mutual consent. Still not precisely my cup of tea, though ...)
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