Dublin Death in Custody

On the bus to Derry now. No waiting for some more hours before eventually going off for a change. Ok, last time in Edinburgh at least could update some stuff of the show I definitely couldn't manage doing earlier. (As if this would't sound only too familiar more or less always.) Also am still bloody knackered though better yet, actually almost human again but still not exactly as productive as I feel I should be, shame, shame, shame.

Still was pretty cool, nice people and no trouble sleeping'n'getting help regarding daily desinfection of the lumpies etc, thx guys! Shows fine except for the 2nd one stoopid, stoopid me left the adapter 'at home' like a real pro, and of course my posh 2nd hand powerbook's battery didn't really make it through all of it cause the HUGE screen and the lotsa legwork on the drive for all the clips'n'stuff just drained it like gulp-gulp-gulllllllp'n'gone. Think people still got the gist, though missed the fun parts I always save for last (and of which only a small fraction is online, sorry). However, exchanged some clips and info both times. Even got some dosh even without insisting. Far from covering my actual travel costs but still nice n better'n nothing at all, you bet.

Btw this brit company my swiss mobile ultimately is operated by doesn't seem willing or able negociating any contracts with a local irish one. So much about globalised capitalism knowing no borders, ha. Meaning my prepaid credit's worth sugar, all that works is receiving texts. Which isn't actually grave but kinda took some time till it sunk cause never experienced nor expected anything like that before. Not in the whole 9 or so months I got a mobile to be precise (now that's been a man of principles, now wasn't he?). So at first thought the problem being me doing something wrong, but as usual in the end just never underestimate 'bugs as usual' indeed (unless I'm doing the pro like above, that is).

Definitely less fun learning 'bout how the local coppers do treat not only the people regularly ending up dead after having had a close encounter of the abusive kind in e.g. one of Store St Garda Station's 'suicide proof cells', but also how they deal with the bereaved in case these're too stubborn to comply with a fairly unambiguous brush-off without further ado -- but actually dare asking the same annoying questions again instead! Imagine, the cheek of them! Cheeky, cheeky sc*mbag b*stards!

No wonder the guards have to make a point and make it very clear indeed. Though far from reaching the cutting edge death toll of their UK-mateys, in the aftermath probly acting out even bolder. Still reckon learning to pretend more convincingly soon enough.

'Oh, fattish legs' (Body Fascist Pt. 10)

Sometimes I think women can be much harder on what they might consider as others' physical flaws, especially other women's, than any man could ever be. Like e.g. when hearing my then girlfriend's above comment on the below pic. Also the 2nd part she didn't say but which was written all over her face: 'And no tits!' (And you bet it wasn't about me.)

© Pszychisz Teror

Now I'm aware that, for some reasons not too hard to figure out either, concerning the woman in the picture I might be just a wee bit biased myself, though obviously rather the other way round. (Cause even after eventually falling out of love a little bit always remains, at least in my heart — unless I'm not on another stint in numb limbo, that is.)

Not to mention generally my idea of the ideal female body not exactly being the one e.g. propagated in most ads.

Plus, and not 'just for the record' (but merrily humming along to the tune of 'some of you niggas is bitches too'), didn't mean my statement of women as compared to men in an absolute way, i.e. hinting rather at issues of gender and not talking of a person's sex.

But having said all that, and in addition also considering between women there's usually more competition for looking good than e.g. being rich, still found it pretty hard to swallow or even dig.

Actually till today sure beats me flat and I just remain puzzled.

I mean, imagining myself in her shoes, what would've been my benefit of getting a kick out've something I might regard as a flaw of one of her ex-boyfriends but one of my own strong points? Rsp. why getting a kick out've that at all?

Anybody able to fill me in?

[Well, actually bloody obvious, innit? 'Apparently a body fascist is someone who is insecure about their own body and so projects their own insecurities onto other people with less-than-perfect bodies in order to feel better about themselves.' The irony rsp. inherent logic being, 'twas the same person doing so accusing me of being a 'body fascist' in the first place. However, am afraid I'm still not able having that much a crack at that like the guy on whose blog I found the above def, though of course he's just got it: 'comedy gold'.]

(To be continued ...)

Security No. 23

On my way to Dublin now. Was lucky the other night. Already considering what to borrow from the free shop to have it a little warmer sleeping outside this time (and also keeping my own clothers a bit tidy for immigration etc.), when eventually some slowakian guy and his flatlasses I asked said could crash at their place. Not to mention getting a proper shower'n'all! Woa! Even fetched me a mattress, blankets, the works! Thanx a lot, mate!

Screening went ok, though mostly surprise show like and not really overpacked. Am bloody knackered by now. Guess no wonder having slept maybe 8-10 hours in the last four days TOGETHER (before last nite, that is).

Lumpies done allright no prob. Actually the very first guy I asked said ok and that was it. Phew! Cause else can get quite annoying. Especially cause the later it gets, the more nervous I get myself. So thanx again, nice one!

Funny, how he, like the other last evening, after agreeing immediately wanted to know, 'How come you asked ME?' As I told them, gut feeling, plus considering if the potential victim on the one hand doesn't seem too squeamish while at the same time sober, disciplined and cleanly enough.

Also everybody asking why I'd prefer not going to a hospital but instead having it done by strangers in dubious places, but up to now they all had heard about resiliant strains, you bet.

Thanx for nothing to the people of the cafe one more time, though. (Ok, except for letting me bunker my stuff there in a stash room, especially over night came in handy.)

Best part was, when after getting up and walking a bit, buying some apples, yoghurt etc., coming back when the guys of the day shift already being there preparing some stuff, though the cafe wasn't open yet. Not having had one for more than 24 hours now, was just dying for a proper muesli. Only when getting the gear out in order to mix and soak the cereals, the one guy starting, that they'd want so sell food in here, so I wasn't allowed to prepare some of my own.

Feck, no, wouldn't drag all the various bags outside for doing that, no way. Still insisted, or else he'd have me removed from the cafe etc. Plus accusing me of threatening him when I said I wouldn't comply. In the end just looked him in the eye saying, 'Look, you can call the cops or do whatever you want, but I'm just gonna soak these cerals here now,' turned around and went at it, ignoring him completely.

Suddenly him coming over, introducing himself politely, allowing me to soak the cereals as long as the cafe wasn't open yet, but I'd have to go eat it outside. Which was what I'd intended anyway, incl. grating the apples in etc.

By the way, bums on the bench outside were a lot friendlier, making some room, offering me booze'n'drinks. (Though not digging me hardly going at it. Ok, can't say didn't feel some inclination kissing sobriety goodbye but good, but still had a bit too much on my back incl. the lumpies.)

Still wasn't too sad securing me my usual favourite window seat the next day. Even check-in absolutely painless for a change, wow! Not to mention the security no. being the same like me birthday.

(Though despite what beloved William Burroughs said, sometimes kinda doubt the latter really being a lucky number. Don't know why, usually just hate birthdays. Specially me owns. Probly some traumatizing childhood memories I successfully supressed long time ago. Still rather optimistic 'bout the future, though. Beyond rationality, cure or hope, I'm afraid.)

Who's that in the mirror looking back at me?

Btw, after having the first lump removed, and before the various infection festivals kicking in, when for some luckier days being able going with no bandage at all, remember two times saw either my silhouette mirrored in a window or cast as a shadow on the street, and just couldn't help myself going like, 'Uh, what's wrong? Who's that?'

But in the meantime got used to not having this one anymore no prob, I'd say. And, despite admittedly having been a tiny bit preoccupied before having them cut off, actually up to now never regretted it -- and besides these two mentioned exceptions also never missed them ever, no sir, not at all, no way.

continue ...

A view to 'a walk in the park'

About time to put up some more tasty pics, I guess. Namely the ones of the last session at the beautyfarm. So here we go.

Since this one, unlike others, had been less painful and also without complications in the aftermath (well, at least concerning the lump that'd been cut off), had dubbed it 'a walk in the park' just after.

Though that's not exactly what it looks like, I'm afraid.

Opening shot of course still harmless enough. After the earlier surgeries the lump in question for mysterious reasons had shrunk to some extent, so can't actually say on the pic below it was bigger than ever. But still, at least bigger than for the rest of my life, you bet!

© Soulless 2006

As you can see below, at first the surgeon only made a small cut of about an inch, then started squeezing out what would come. When first looking at these pics after the operation, little did I know that the look of all the lovely stuff oozing out with all its even lovelier bits'n'pieces pretty soon would be something I'd be more than familiar with, not to mention on a day-to-day basis.

Like two and a half weeks later having to squeeze all that tasty stuff out of the rest of the (partly even bigger) infected lumps myself or with the help of my mate, that is. (Ok, minus almost all of the blood of course, but with that REALLY lovely rencid smell in addition due to the infection.)

Still remember these afternoons in Dresden, bent over a waste bag, seeing all this stuff pouring into it without end ... Lovely indeed.

And as always, just because it was so nice and very much fun, just go on and squeeze some more ... a bit harder now, yes ... incoming, incoming ...

Whoa, did you see the size of that mother?! (Guess else nobody would believe me that ever, or would you?)

Albeit, just to increase the fun part, on the infected ones the (puncture-)holes where a lot smaller. Though not the size of the chunks whitin, definitey not I'm afraid. So now you can perhaps imagine, how very much fun (not to mention labour) it was, getting the bigger (not to mention the bloody huge) ones through an opening of only a few millimeters. And also why it took so long, till they were at least hafway more or less empty.

Cause, you can squeeze as much as you want, sure, but still you can't get it all out, no way. (Actually, even now after some WEEKS of daily squeeze, there's still more chunks every once in a while, not to mention blocking the opening again etc.)

Now, which amounts were talking here exactly can be further explored quite well below ... (Yuck!)

Ok, though I'm used to such and other tasty stuff for long enough now to be able to eat and enjoy my meal while reformatting such nicely coloured pictures no sweat (by the way, seen these yet? WARNING!), admittedly can understand if others say finding them, erm, a wee bit grossish.

But back to the task at hand (drip, drip, spurt). As shown above, after the surgeon had squeezed all out which could possibly be, at least he was lucky enough to just cut the whole thing open to get the rest out by more brutish methods, instead of just cooming back for another squeeze for the next six and a half weeks.

And yup, there you can see which hideous amounts are still hidden within the bastard. Looks like there'd been nothing coming out yet, doesn't it?

Also on the above pic it's clearly recognisable how the thing inside actually is built like loads a different bubbles within a bubble. Which is also why by squeezing alone there's no chance getting the thing empty, cause at least some of the bubbles attached to the sides and at the bottom over the skull you just can't get like that. Also note the layer of cyst-skin of the big bubble encapsulating the smaller ones below the actual (normal) skin.

And that's how it looks after he'd scraped out the rest as well, plus already cut away some of the excess skin. As you may notice, blood donation still going on, drip,drip, splosh, despite the anaesthesist hardly been too tight on mixing adrenaline to the venal drip, plus the bigger vessels already been closed by zapping them with special electric tweezers for good.

Here's the part he'd eventually removed from the bottom, seen upside down, i.e. the part above the skull now on top.

© Soulless 2006

And finally, the perfectly tailored skin skillfully stitched to the rest. Note the drainage made of some piece of sterile surgical glove on bottom. Though these ones give ugly scars when needed to be left there for more than just a very few days, always cherished them. Cause if the wound is still bleeding inside under the closed skin and then the blood is stuck below, this can give the expression 'bloody f**king headache' a whole new meaning, at least in my case.

Fortunately this time could do without drainage pretty soon. Which I consider nice also cause else the drainage usually has to be changed daily. Like the old one pulled out, then a new one cut out of the thumb of a glove and this then shoved inside by tweezers, all better done a 100% sterile of course -- a procedure about which my mate could tell you a story or two as well, cause he'd been the victim having to do this more than once.

Sleeping rough in Edinburgh

Looks like this cafe whe're I'm supposed to screen INJUSTICE next day gone bit down since I've last been there 8 months ago. Still the calendar of events of Aug on their homepage, wrong film title on the chalkboard, no flyers, you name it.

Also two days before I departed the guy suddenly saying 'can't guarantee' he could get me a place to crash (though shouldn't be a prob, he said). Turns out, actually more like 'absolutely no way, and don't think I'd give a flying f**k about it either'.

Still was lucky finding someone to do the dressing. First the guy behind the bar had said he'd do it. Till it was about to be done, that is. The other guy did a good job, though the cafe was already closing down and he had to run to find the people he was staying with.

The guy from the cafe I had set up the whole thing with of course didn't show (for the whole time I was there actually), and all the other cafe folk saying they'd no place for somebody to stay. Just like everybody else I asked.

Now I can see they're a bit overrun by the increasingly homeless local population, so I can understand they have to draw a line somewhere, but actually I'd still say my case being a wee bit different.

Already amusing were the excuses they started coming up with in reply. Going to a hostel for 15 quid a night for starters (though they wouldn't give me the dosh either, in the end also not for the busticket). Really a good one was, 'Go to the hospital, say you're sick and sleep there. I really think you need to see a doctor.' Almost as brilliant as 'Call 999 and ask for help. They'll know which institution you can go.'

Aw, gimme a break. Just collected some cardboard and posters and crashed right in front of the door of the cafe, where I'd stay dry in case of rain, safe behind the locked bars of the entrance, so nobody could give me a free kickin while I'm dozing.

Already paid off I also some thicker trousers in my oversized luggage, and also a same hoodie. Of course in still could've donned some more layers, cause despite the cardboard, in the end needed the short jacket only to sit on. Still remember having slept in the woods, when suddenly it started raining all nite long, me peeing blood for almost a week and always a bit struggling since, so better safe than sorry. So whenever I got else a bit cold, chewed on some more soy, heating myself up digestion.

All f**king day and now also the night and still no decent muesli yet, now that's hard. Plus actually not having slept too much for almost a week now, traffic being quite loud and me always coming to when someone not walking straight past. And probably the next night same again.

Ok, still beats no soy at all or walking all night long. (Not to mention whichever, but far away from the gulf stream.)

Why can I cry for others and for myself not? (Tears are a gift from heaven, Pt. 2)

Pain fading. Numbness taking over. Can't remember. No more feelings. No more tears.

Watching my soul die. Again.

Funny, sometimes knew exactly when'n'where it was. Hitch-hiking down this road into the setting sun. Losing my faith, too. Never finding it again. Seven Kings, waiting for the train. Drizzle setting in. Eyes burning. Tears wouldn't come.

But most of the time only noticing much, much later. Not really able putting the finger on when they had failed me. Not even for how many years now.

Though this time, guess got lucky for a change.

Gone, beyond pain, coughing blood n all, sure. But kinda coming back right after. Almost in one piece as well.

Actually doubted even that for quite a while. Cause, like some times before, ok, wasn't really that I couldn't cry at all. Still, couldn't cry for real either. After a few tears, they'd just dry up. No way of making them flow again.

Stuck in my chest, uncried. Again.

But after a while, found still could let them out. As long as I can cry for somebody else, that is. Though for myself, just doesn't work.

Always used to laugh about the self-help group impostor routine in 'Fight Club'. In the meantime learned a bit better. Also about why.

One wee exception, though.

Coming from the surgeon that sh*tty morning, after he'd eventually stopped the 'impossible, can't be, can't bleed/hurt no more now' etc. stuff. But suddenly insisted on getting the implants out the very same day instead.

Not that I'd refused. Not after having had a glimpse of how it'd be when the pain would be gone. (Little did I know ...)

Still, sitting in the bus, eventually realising, for the rest of my life, instead of the lumps will just be sporting scars. No matter how much I wanted to look just like everybody else.

Just unfair.

So, for some stops, till having to get out, just let them flow. Almost like they'd never stopped.

Then for a sec had to concentrate on crossing the street without getting hit by a car.

Of course didn't come back again after. Not even almost. Not again.

However, still closest since don't-actually-remember-when-I'd-forgotten.

(continued ...)

21st century as we all love it

Woke up with a bang, i.e. realising my mobile which I used as alarm clock was still set to swiss time. Means got up one hour late, having ten minutes to pack everything and run for the bus. Silly me. There goes my breakfast plus the other muesli I intended taking with me on the bus up north.

Ok, just glad had most of the repacking already done before going for a quick sleep (incl. marking the handluggage box where to recut it so it'd fit also to the even more profitable, erm, strict UK handluggage restrictions).

Still, finally reaching Victoria Bus Station exactly 9 o'clock, was at the verge of a heart attack. Not to mention puffing, drenched in sweat and the like. Only to find out that the bus would have plenty delay. Actually 90 minutes in the end. Which means, could've prepared n eaten all and even more no prob. Well, better than the bus being off early and me still having to pay again, I guess.

At least had all my batteries loaded over night, so when finally en route could listen to music all day long. Even getting some more work done till the laptop eventually gave up the ghost and went into hibernation mid sentence. Hey, better'n the bus, like last time, remember?

Unfortunately decent food (if available at all) at the stops would've been very expensive, so just opted for an apple and a bottle of water, eating the soy beans unsoaked and just like that, jailhouse style. Well, better'n nothing at all, innit? Though still filled with awe thinking of all the nice stuff I'd bought yesterday evening, which I had to leave in order to make it to the bus station on time.

By the way, when going over to the supermarket, some black girls yelling after me. Turns out were flabbergasted by the bandages. At first thinking can't be, must be my hair. But after being reassured, one saying she was wondering cause she started growing a small lump at the forehead herself, though hardly visible yet. When realising the size of mine under the bandage and hearing about the daily routine, said 'God bless you.'

God bless you, too. Know I'm moaning all the time, so just this once and for the record: Despite all my troubles, healthcare going down the drain etc., from all I know from UK mates and lasses, just consider myself lucky not having to depend on british NHS.

Too much luggage is my middle name (not to mention bandage)

Right, got all I'll need from the farmacy. F**king huge pile! Means due to the recent handluggage restrictions doesn't look good at all. Also there's no way getting any reliable info about how much I could get on board at a swiss airport. I.e. on the airline's homepage there are at least three different versions online, each claiming to be the relevant one.

Concerning questions related to medical equipment there's an online contact page, saying in case of questions not covered by the FAQ, please give us a ring. You do so, and there's an automated menue message saying, get in touch via the contact page. Well, f**k you very much indeed. Welcome to the big prison outside.

Eventually decided just having a go, bracing myself probably having ro reconfigure the luggage at the check-in. My mate Anger doing me the favour of persuading my GP to print out and sign a new and more extensive list of prescriptions in case I should get in trouble at the border or elsewhere with the lovely hypos, needles, liquids etc. So for once despite even more last sec hassle went off to the airport incl. like an acceptable safety margin in case of, erm, any unexpected slight trouble while checking in.

Well, surprise, surprise, trouble there was, and plenty too. Not concerning the medical gear, though. Thanks to the GPs prescription could check it in for free. But turned out, despite what's written on the homepage I'm not allowed to take the laptop as an additional piece of handluggage. Ok, sigh, so I'll have to pack it into the one box I'd tailored to what's seems to be the max size allowed, plus as much of the rest as would fit, and then that's it.

But the woman behind the counter really into acting the c*nt. The moment I arrived with the box plus the laptop in addition to the regular check-in luggage, her eyes lit up. As if she was a major share holder something. And of course just kept insisting I'll have to check in the box, '50 quid, please.' Obviously, at the end of the day, that's what these new 'anti terrorist' baggage restrictions really seem to be about.

Even the better, when I told her no way, that I'll just pack all into one box and what won't fit my mate would take back, her telling me my box being 'way too big' to be allowed as handluggage. Though wouldn't tell me what the allowed max size then would be either. Just kept on insisting that my box definitely'd be too big, and that I'd have to pay the 50 quid.

After some minutes arguing, actually could feel my eyes lightening up as well, though wee bit in a different manner. Even kinda seemed to work. Eventually she gave in, admitting that every handluggage'd be fine as long as it'd fit into the basket. Which my tailored box of course did no prob.

Right, at least that one solved. Still couldn't resist adding, 'Ok, happy now, so I can go repacking my stuff?' Well, rhetorical question, of course she wasn't exactly happy, though there wasn't anything she could do except telling me I'd have to step aside and queue again after.

Frankly hurt more having to leave most of my beloved organic cereals, and even more the 2nd ruck. At least managed jamming in the complete crushed soy beans for my kinky metabolism, plus the chocolat for people who'd let me sleep at their place or (hopefully) help me out with the lumpies.

When Anger borrowed a tape from her to seal the also repacked medical box, used up quite a lot, just to show her.

Of course she went on some more that she wasn't really sure if I could check in the medical liquids, I'd have to bring the box over to outsize baggage to have them screened if they're really ok (which -- surprise, surprise -- they were).

Though still am not too sure why in the end she'd written me boarding group A on the card, despite my security no being 108 which rather'd've been C at least. Blame it on the bandage. Still a nice one, thanks.

So got my usual favourite window seat 100% bone lazy, enjoying the flight incl. a special sightseeing turn over the Smoke, looking out for my favourite cycling bridges, borroughs I've been staying and will walk again. Plus even getting some more work done, woa.

Smells like trouble (one more time)

While rinsing the lumpies with hydrogenperoxide only (which decays to ordinary water quickly when losing the excess oxygen atom while bubbling) seems working fine for the big one, the small b*stard (rsp. what's coming out when emptying it before injecting the 1st rinse) just smells, erm, smelly, again. So when done with 2x peroxide and before putting on a new bandage, no way but filling it up with something more agressive that'll continue killing the germs off as soon as they start crawling out from hidden wrinkles inside where even the bubbling didn't reach them. Which was when the 500 ml bottle of iodyne once more came in handy.

GP not happy about returning to daily iodyne again, though agreed would be the lesser evil as compared to taking the risk of the germ affecting not only the lump cavities but also the scalp. Fortunalely I remembered some other desinfectant the surgeon had used in between, which would be considrably less nasty on my tissue and body than the iodyne. So wrote me another prescription, advising me to alternate between the new stuff and the iodyne.

Sh*te, if I'll have to carry enough of all of this with me for three weeks, that'll be a bloody huge load. Nevertheless, like the surgeon, having worked in clinics in the UK for some years, also the GP suggested it'd probably be less trouble and dodgy dragging all the stuff and equipment along and having the whole thing done by laymen, as compared to having to visit a hospital daily, though my health assurance would pay for going there. No point taking the risk of replacing the relatively harmless and perfectly vulnerable-to-penicilline germ by something way more nasty

Still, probably also mentally a heavy luggage, every day having to find somebody unsqueamish enough to help me out. Though probably all in all still considerably less heavy than dealing with resilient strains.

Anyway, got some dates and flights booked, and don't want to miss any again. Still will have getting used to being tied down locally for longer than 6-9 weeks at once due to uni soon enough. After coming back, that is.

Cleared to leave

After the hospital yesterday now to see my GP, first appointment I could get when calling from Berlin.

Of course he wasn't pleased to hear the big lump now also being infected. Also not about having to apply iodyne daily over longer periods. Was positive in the meantime just rinsing them with the hydrogenperoxide alone should do fine.

The best news was I'd still be able to start my trip next week. Though having to continue with the daily torture till 16th of October, when hopefully saying good riddance to both.

So time to get busy and try to catch up with some more work before leaving ...

Relaxing in the hospital

Back in Zurich, just having returned from the appointment cause of the hand. Actually nothing new, though. Just that on request were a bit more specific concerning how long till I might hopefully regain perception of the numb parts of the finger. Like up to two years.

Also said with a gash of that size was to be expected some nerves would've been cut. Then instructed me how to 'desensitize' the truncated nerve, hoping it won't develop the painful nodes. (Well, who wouldn't? Dear God, please make 2+2=5!)

Coolest thing though was realising in the hospital nobody giving me stupid looks cause of the head dressing at all. Either people would be members of the staff and used to all forms and sizes of bandages, or else patients mostly sporting one themselves and also more focused on their own one than going on about other people's.

So whenever stupid people would be getting too much on my nerves, now just know where to go relaxing some ...

Till I get too worried about stupid resiliant strains, probably.

continue ...

'Zit P*rn'

Stills from vid © Cecil B. Feeder / Seelenlos 2006

Blutgeil Case Show went nice @ SO36. Also enjoyed the rest of the program, especially Cecil B. Feeder's 'Meter Maid Me Massacre'. Also seeing some other people again.

Cecil had his handycam with him and would have time tomorrow afternoon. So we teased him about shooting something 'kinda nasty'. Next day at noon met up at Jason's, Anger n me already covering the lower bathroom first with sheets of plastic followed by white paper on top.

The script being, we'd do mainly the daily routine of desinfecting and redressing the lumpies, but without a waste bag, dropping and spilling everything just on the white floor ...

Actually spilling quite far! Not every time that much fun while going at it, too. Cecil zooming in nicely, even the bits'n'bobs on the floor after, soaking in delicious iodyne. As I had a chance to glimpse at the tape in the camera while chatting a bit, before Cecil had to head out towards Hamburg. He also was the one to bring up the cool'n'funny 'Zit Lover' flick first, saying the guy who did it definitely would like seeing this.

Though having to go through the routine every day, never never was able to see it before. Didn't know it looked that gross.

Ok, of course everybody's been joking about the symbolic aspects all the time, including myself. Like, hydrogenperoxide solution bubbling out of the hole of the big one. Spilling it out. Injecting some more. Kinky!

While when emptying it at the beginning the stuff coming out looking like blood, trickling down my forehead. Woa, yuck! Am dying to see the whole tape back in Zurich. Not to mention cutting it up to a decent beat later.

Also eventually got some more gigs confirmed, booking more planes'n'busses before prices going up, hoping I'd somehow be able catching them.

Zit P*rn Pt. 2: 'The nasty part'

Stills from vid © Cecil B. Feeder / Seelenlos 2006

When the pus hit the fan

Yesterday went for luxury, i.e. having a shower at Reiche and then doing the lump cleaning there in the bathroom.

For the first time in two days removed the bandage from the small one. Had it filled up one last time in Dresden and then just let it be as the doctor had suggested. Looked quite nice, wound closed, no signs of infection. Woa-whoopie!

© Anger 2006

However, when touching it accidentally while working on the big one, the nicely-healed-up-looking wound just burst open again, the stuff coming out smelling only too familiar ...

Aw, would've been so nice. Though obviously just wasn't ment to be.

Usually people are telling me that they find it amazing how I'd always be so merry and uplifting despite the various troubles and complications.

Well, not now.

Not happy. Not happy. Not happy.

Later went to meet the Oli, the guy who'll be putting up the film screening Sat. Working in a bar tonight and had invited us. Now, though -- as you might know -- I'm usually happy about pikeying free drinks and party life, and also about taking the p*ss outta people asking me bout the bandages n stuff. However, this evening just felt down, down, down.

Or, as Oli so fittingly put it, 'Maybe tomorow I'll laugh about it again. But not today.'

Poetic Injustice a.k.a. Why I like port wine birthmarks (Body Fascist Pt. 9)

Alright, quite an obvious one, I guess.

Cause one of my ex-girlfriends having a pretty huge on on her face, that is.

Couldn't but notice, seeing her the first time. Though the texture of the skin was hardly altered, just the colour, still was very unusual.

But after she'd reassured me it didn't hurt, soon became more normal her having one than everybody else not. Already liked the colours, the shape, and how she wore it.

Though she told me later of some boyfriends always urging her to apply make-up before going out and about.

For the life of me, absolutely never could dig that.

Till some years later, when my then girlfriend started going on about me putting on a cap whenever we'd go out or others would visit, that is.

... but doing fine

Eventually off to Berlin. The people of the Arcanoa, letting us have the room next to their workshop above the bar, had some hassle to bring the keys over to where we'd've been able to pick them up. Now all in vain since we arrived with some days delay anyway. Fortunately still weren't annoyed.

Was nice seeing the lads and lasses again, also going back to the Sama Cafe for free wifi, getting emails sorted and replied, shaping and sending out jpgs for the flyers and posters. Looks like in the very last instant still some sort of small tour eventually kicking off.

Plus got this meeting sorted for a dvd project, looking sound ...

Also was pleased to learn that Prof. Hoffmann, with whom we're on the Paul Leppin book project, liked my additions to the commentaries, which I had written and sent him the night before we went off to Dresden instead of sleeping.

Still too much on the varios to-do-lists (not to mention daily dressing sh*te), but still nice obviously at least some done right ...

Nasty as usual ...

Fortunately topping the dried up medical supplies in Dresden was less difficult than anticipated despite me not carrying any prescription with me. Also my brother able pointing us towards a competent pharmacy.

Of course also on day 3 still loads of the ugly stuff coming out, but eventually getting better and also the smell starting to fade. Still blocking the kitchen inbetween to do it. Once my brother's wife's father come in to look after the cooking, but since during his time in the Army he'd been sent to the vietnam for a radio mission, but in the end nonetheless ending up at the frontline, he'd definitely seen definitely uglier things already.

Fortunately the small lump developing nicely. Today should've be the last time to do it, as suggested by my regular doctor. If the large one also would react similarly, should be able taking a flight one week later than originally planned, after having returned to Zurich and got the cut nerve on my hand sorted. So I rebooked and started worrying considerably less.

Vanity (Body Fascist Pt. 8)

One of the deadly sins, I reckon, i.e. not only for Anti-Body-Fascists. Nonetheless am afraid I'm quite a vain person. Probably way too vain for someone of the size of my nose, truth be told.

(Though of course barely hindered by such 'friendly' dos and don'ts.)

Frankly, never got it what everybody was complaining about urgently having to lose weight. Made from merely skin and bones, all I ever wanted was TO GAIN.

Always people taking the piss, my parents would let me starve or, as I grew older, if I was still on hunger strike. In hindsight considering myself lucky having been a kid before 'anorexic' and 'bulimia' becoming the buzzwords they're today.

Always people around me trying not to eat too much. While I keep forcing myself swallowing meals for two so I don't feel (ok, and look) too weak for all sorts of fun.


No matter how much I ate, else never showed. First time in my life I was thinking bout shedding some was while and after the cortisone therapy. First time I ever put on fat. Doubling the layers every few months. Till reaching the point of definitely no more liking it. Though I have to admit, in winter actually comes in handy. Also dropped some quickly after finally getting off the nasty stuff. Still probably never again like on the above pic. Sigh.

Not to mention losing hair (but still not being rich -- though that's another story). And the nose. And just straight on and on.

As you can see, guilty as charged. Vain as vain can be and way more vain than an average male's supposed to be anyway. Not to mention still too thin.

(Though not hindered by that either.)

(continued ...)

... straight to the boll**ks, one more time

The ones on my head, that is. Before heading off, seeing my GP to have the infected lump rinsed and examined again, he was determined that it should be well again after 5 more days of rinsing, so the daily 'torture' would eventually stop and me still being able to go away before the next round of surgery and the subsequent start of the winter semester that'll tie me down locally to some extent. Ok, it's not actually painful having it rinsed and also not inbetween, but it's still a small wound permanently kept open and also generally not exactly a pleasure.

Also the germ causing all the trouble, being the same already having pestered the implant wounds earlier as the lab tests had shown, fortunately not being a nasty one, and, as the GP pointed out, not originating from my lung as the surgeon had suspected because of its latin name, but also being common in wrinkles of the normal skin. Actually being the one making you smelly behind the ears when not washing regularly, which explains why I had just thought I hadn't showered properly when the whole mess started.

So, could be worse, now couldn't it? Well, of course it can -- not just generally but also in my very case, as I was about to find out pretty soon. More precisely the 2nd day we were in Dresden,my brother out on a visit with his wife and her father who was also visiting at the moment, eventually went for a shower, the infected lump carefully protected by a specially designed dressing. So far, so well, till suddenly while drying myself with the towel -- oh, f**k, no! Not that smell again! Please!

Well, despite all pleading, obviously it was the big lump just going rancid too, though fortunately not really as smelly as the small one yet for a change. Still, no good news at all, especially me being anxious about going on later. And also us not having enough disinfectant and gear with us, so our trip on to Berlin going to be delayed just once again.

Not to mention this being the big one now. Me sitting on a chair, holding a waste bag open, my mate squeezing out all this endless amounts of the ugly stuff before being able to go for the now familiar desinfection routine. Now for two lumps. Every bloody f**ckin day.

Just when I thought I was getting better ...

Lump developing fine, stuff becoming less smelly, though still having to be rinsed daily. Should be well again after some more days of treatment, as both my doctor and the surgeon agreed. So far, so cool. Just wish could say the same of my hand.

First had looked and felt quite ok, so was already getting my hopes up it'd be like new again in a matter of just a few weeks.

Till after two days suddenly this special kind of pain kicked in. Each time when making a 'wrong' movement, will get this electric shock, starting from one part of the cut going all down my little finger. Like touching a cattle wire. 10, 15 times a day, especially while at work. And also the sensibility on the topside of the little finger degrading drastically, like after having hit the buzz-nerve at the ellbow.

Aw, f**ck. Though always being accused of a way too pessimistic general attitude by some, once again turns out probably I've been way too optimistic actually.

The surgeon confirmed my fears when seeing him to remove the stitches, saying this being the obvious symptoms of a cut nerve running amok, trying to reconnect but failing, urging me to go back to the emergency immediately to check whether it could be fixed micro-surgically, before the cut off part of the nerve would die and the rest probably developing a really painful knot while building lots of branches, trying to reconnect in vain.

F**ck, there goes my already booked flight for some more UK-shows, same as going to Germany before. Still remember me jumping up and down joyfully in our flat when getting the show in Berlin confirmed, still having this undying grin all over my face when straightly booking the onward flights. Just what did I do to deserve all of this?

So straight back to the emergency. Finally seeing a hand surgeon, she confirms that there must be a cut nerve, though fortunately just a minor one of the skin, responsible 'only' for sensibility and not to move the fingers etc. and also fortunately at the topside of the finger only.

So she rejects having surgery on it now, since the sensation might recover at least partially by itself after some time, only if the nerve should build the painful knot in a while, I could've that treated.

Looks like I'm just lacking the expensive additional private health assurance I couldn't even get if I had the money cause every company would refuse me cause of my lung. Th**k you very much, too.

However, I'll have to be back for another appointment within a good week, though no more appointments available this week. So, at least, after topping our medical supplies, looks like being off to Dresden and Berlin only with a few days delay. Though in the end I'll have to return to Zurich for the hand and the lumps instead of going straight on.