Am I a body fascist?

A Young HERM Unchained

2010-12-26T18:00:00.005Z

A bit of nostagia with a small twist ...

When Other People Say
You're Someone To Misuse
Shut In Behind Your Young Girl's Face
And Helpless In Your Bed Of Thorns
I'll Remember Who You Are
Yes I'll Remember Who You Are
I'll Remember Who You Are:
A Young HERM, Unchained
Come Back Here Now
I Know You're Somewhere Still Alive
Strong Behind Your Young Girl's Tears
I Know You're Somewhere, Unchanged
Oh I Remember Who You Are
Yes I Remember Who You Are
I Remember Who You Are:
A Young HERM, Unchained
(The complete original lyrics can be found here)

All it needed was changing one word here and there ... Almost uncanny, but in the end pretty fitting for "the band that would produce the most stark vignettes of institutional and familial abuse of power ever committed to vinyl".

(Btw, there's another recording of this song with Michael Gira singing instead of Jarboe, the male voice and his intonation adding yet another twist to the last verse.)

Campaign against forced prenatal steroid "therapy" for "suspected hermaphrodites"

2010-02-09T22:05:00.019Z

In the USA, an actual campaign is starting against this usually neglected form of forced "normalizations" by prenatally administering dexamethasone on any fetus suspected of being "disordered in it's sex development" (9 out of 10 times, a "normal" unborn is submitted to the various "side effects" of this off label use of steroids.

As all cosmetic "treatments" forced on the intersexed, there is neither evidence nor follow up. In countrary, the ones responsible for these inhumane "treatments" try to avoid such things at all cost. Other than former "intersex campaigns", this one is less about medical reform than about actually stopping known perps, namely Maria I. New, which makes it so much more exciting.

So far, a formal complaint demanding an official inquiry on these decade long, inhumane "human experiments" was logged by 35 bio-ethicists. This complaint was made public by a website with additional info.

Advocates for Informed Choice (AIC) published an official statement.

More is in the making ...

If this is getting played out nicely, this could be the very first time criminal surgeons and/or endocrinologists could at least be actually coerced or even stopped by the power of nonviolent action. Can't wait!

>>> Fetaldex.org
>>> Advocates for Informed Choice (AIC)
PS: >>> Hilde Lindemann, Ellen K. Feder, and Alice Dreger @ Bioethics Forum / Hastings Center

Boy, do I look old this early in the morning ...

2009-11-27T22:50:00.026Z

"Justice for Santhi Soundarajan and Caster Semenya!"

(Photo: Reuters)

Ok, so it was a wee bit early when we went after the IOC, even for one of our infamous mini-rallies.

(Btw., here's what it was about in a nutshell, and here's a some essential background.)

Reckon I should work out more often. Not to mention getting a bit of regular sleep every now and then. This is just too much, or even plain unhealthy, and it just never ends like.

(Photo: FABRICE CAFFRINI/AFP/Getty)

However, still like the above one especially, this AFP-snapper Fabrice Coffrini seemed to dig some humour as well (also I can blame everything on the wide angle like that).

(Photo: Ärger)

And since there were ahem more photojournos than demonstrators, this statue below in front of the entrance of the IOC came quite handy, as we had to leave the placards somewhere in order to deliver our Open Letter.

(Photo: FABRICE CAFFRINI/AFP/Getty)

Not to mention the statue looking obviously more glamourous than the two of us ...

Anyways, all things considered, actually went down quite well.

Except maybe for the New York Times reducing my beautiful hermaphrodite girlfriend to a mere 'woman' in their blurb – shame on youse:

(Photo: FABRICE COFFRINI/AFP/Getty/NYT)

Ah well, guess you just can't win 'em all, I'm afraid ...

(Speaking of, it's a week later now, but I'm still wrapping up. At least yesterday slept more than 5 hours in a row since I don't remember when – actually 13 hours more or less straight, but today coming from work still just passed out again. Not to mention all of the rest I should really, really have finished yesterday. Also the explanation why I didn't manage posting anything here erm lately.)

And, just in case I didn't mention yet:

Background article: The Hounding of Caster Semenya and the Extermination of Hermaphrodites in the "Developed World"

The rally: "Justice for Santhi Soundarajan and Caster Semenya!"

The Open Letter: Unfair Treatment of (suspected) Intersex Athletes

Another nice article in english, about this year's children's hospital rally: Campaign against corrective surgery

Even more english language stuff @ Zwischengeschlecht.org

See you around ...

The Shooting of Oscar Grant: Some Thoughts on Real Life Big Brother

2009-01-07T20:50:00.002Z

Of course Anger saw this one first. This is what we were hoping for and talking about at the peak of being busy with http://PigBrother.info: Big Brother for the cops eventually made true by the rise of cellphone vidcams. No way without this video the copper would've gotten that much flak (erm, actually still next to nothing). I mean, they're shooting and maiming people all he time anyways, but the fact this now getting out into public will at least change their easy going attitude about it, or so says my 2 cents.

Sweet irony: The video is from youtube and I'm publishing this on blogspot, both owned by Real Life BIG Big Brother Google. So reckon I'm off now cleaning the cookies I had to accept for logging in here, plus refusing them again ... (Done.)

Below an even more close-up vid of the shooting, for a change coming from a much smaller company:
http://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2009/01/06/18559091.php

Your browser is not able to display this multimedia content.

However, the posters' blog again is ... http://oaklandcopwatch.blogspot.com

Still, lots of infos 'n' updates ... Respect! This isn't over yet ...

(Also a nice one: the ever indispensable http://4wardevernewsvine.wordpress.com. Not yet a subscriber to their newsletter? Your loss ...)

Wish I was so alone till it hurts and I can feel again

2008-12-29T20:07:00.005Z

Hate seeing pity in other people's eyes.

It's dark outside, the earth is frozen, and I'm off to the woods.

Getting closer ... any day now ...

Hermaphrodites as cannon fodder, erm, 'important empirical support' for 'transgender or queer identities or politics'

2008-12-17T02:23:00.001Z

My comment on a review over at Feministe of the new book about Intersex, "Fixing Sex" by Katrina A. Karkazis:

as a partner and ally of an intersex activist i have to admit i'm having very mixed feelings about this post.

on the one hand i'm very grateful for any highlighting of the 'invisible' existence of intersexed people (1 in every 2000 by the way) and how our 'western civilised' society tries to literally extinct them as a species by probably the worst atrocities and crimes against the humanity under the guise of 'science' and 'medicine' since 1945. and i'm also especially grateful for even the slightest mention of hermaphrodites' decadelong fight against the inhumane practice of forced genital surgery and castration in early childhood, followed by lifelong forced hormone and other non-consented (mostly not even informed informed) "treatments", since i think it should receive a lot more solidarity and active support. so, for one, i'm very happy about this post.

unfortunately, on the other hand, in this review, once more the ongoing struggle of the intersexed and their key demand of ending the forced surgeries immediately (which as far as i know is amply described in the book) is hardly mentioned at all.

once more the focus is not on the intersexed, but solely on gender issues.

once more, the very person who coined the terms 'gender' (as opposed to sex), 'gender identity' and 'gender role' etc. in the fifties, and who used it as the "scientific" grounds for bringing in effect the still ongoing "genocide of hermaphrodites", and who explicitly defined himself as a feminist ally (and who dismissed critique against his inhumane practice as part of the 'backlash' to drive 'women back to the spheres of domesticity', is also omitted -- despite that he's mentioned 7 times just in the intro of karkazis' book (from wich by the way all the quotes in the review were taken):
http://74.220.219.62/%7Ekatrinak/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/Karkazis_Intro.pdf

thus once more the struggle of the intersexed against the atrocities commited against them gets no coverage, but instead hermaphrodites are reduced to a mere 'important empirical support' for 'transgender or queer identities or politics'.

same in most comments.

no offence, but every time i'm confronted with this frequent "re-use" of the intersexed, i'm suddendly feeling like i should puke for the rest of my life.

how can you protest e.g. against female genital cutting in other cultures -- and tolerate (and even "re-use") intersex genital cutting in your very own?

don't you have a heart?!

by all that is human: how about a little practical help, support, solidarity, political action etc. specifically for the intersexed -- instead of just gender-talk and advancing your own agenda?!!

please!!!!!

and whithin the parameters of feminism, gender studies and queer theory: how about perhaps some due critical review of the (not always so bright) sources of the concept of gender and all their implications?

(again, no offence, but i can really hardly stand it)

Call me Mr Guest-List

2008-10-23T01:58:00.004+01:00

Firewater played Zurich for the 1st time ever. Didn't catch them live for quite some time. However, a mate, when offered to put some more on the local guest-list was nice enough to give Anger a call, so baby and yours truly went on the list just as well. And she even came along.

Abart is a nice club, though could hardly afford their regular fees, so it's an easy guess when I might last've been there. Still like their sound system, though being compliant with the drastic swiss decibel laws, at least they're squeezing it all the way, and unlike other clubs whithout pushing the most painful and damaging frequencies (which ironically are exactly the ones that are still legal to turn up the most, and coincidentally also what even real cheap PAs are really good at).

Frankly was more into Cop Shoot Cop (pre-Firewater), especially the first two albums (though "Everybody loves you when you're dead" from the 3rd is a lyric I'm still quoting every once in a while), but still like Tod's no bullshit attitude, and the music was pretty uplifting, so we all had a great ole time dancing and shouting in front of the stage (your's truly just next of the subwoofers, in case anybody harbored any doubts).

Love's not dead, it just deserves to die ...

2008-10-12T01:02:00.004+01:00

It's been a while now since I last experienced something like this, but tonight in this club, when recognising my shadow on the wall, for a quick moment instinctively went like, who the fuck is this, that's not me there, no way, that's not my silhouette, who's this bloke with this evenly round, round skull, if this'd be me, well, there's something missing, doesn't feel comfy, doesn't feel right, where are my lumpies, wanna have them all back, wanna be myself again, wanna be back whole, lumpies, warts, edge 'n' all.

Little while later, staring into the sunrise, earth still dark below, 11 hours of sleep in 4 days, too many beers too fast, eventually having hit the gate just 2 or 3 minutes before boarding (though still got a seat with the right view, you bet), and it's beautiful, sun still coming up, while I'm trying to figure out the words of my personal version of this Dead Kennedys song, and fittingly funny, for the life of me couldn't come up with the parts bout the money, cause that's what's different, give you that.

Love's not dead, it just deserves to die
when it becomes another stale cartoon
Who needs a friend scared to love and to feel
judging everything by money rules appeal

Harder core than thou for a year or two
Then it’s time to get a real job
Who needs friends when the money’s good
‘cept to take, take, take and never give

The more things change, the more they stay the same
We can’t grow, when we won’t criticise ourselves
Ripping people off, when they share their heart
When someone falls, are there any friends?

http://intersex.shadowreport.org

2008-07-23T04:33:00.021+01:00

In an extraordinary move, two lasses and a husband of Intersexuelle Menschen e.V. Germany flew to New York to present their awesome Shadow Report to the CEDAW Committee – and had them gasping ...

(Btw. Baby's story's the first one af themse plenty addendums.)

So let's hope the heat will be on (not only) for the German Federal Government ... especially after the 43th CEDAW Session in Geneva in January 2009!

And yes, now awailable in english, too ...

... on (who might have guessed?) http://intersex.shadowreport.org

My Beautiful Hermaphrodite Girlfriend

2008-07-09T06:57:00.036+01:00

Sunday 06.07.2008, main entrance Children's Hospital Zurich ...

For the non german speaking of yez, here's what it's all about in a nutshell (from the flyer):

About every 2000th baby is born with ambiguous genitalia ('intersexed' / hermaphrodites). At Children's Hospital Zurich, like in other places, small babies are regularly 'prophylactically' castrated and forcefully submitted to surgery on their ambiguous genitals without their consent. With an open letter by the self-help group Zwischengeschlecht.org to the Children's Hospital Zurich we'd like to protest against this inhuman code of practice and help to abolish the public taboo about these systematical human rights violations.

(Stills © Anger / pigbrother.tv)

Shirt: Stop Forced Genital Surgery!
Banner: Human Rights For Herms Too!

Ok, admit not having followed the news on the telly for quite a while now. Colour me baffled nonetheless. I mean, did you hear him, saying 'castrating' on air, prime time sunday evening? Tagesschau 12 points!

Big thanks to everybody who contributed to make it all happen, and a special one to everybody involved at Tagesschau!

>>> more rally-pics at Zwischengeschlecht.info

Menschenrechte auch für Zwitter!

2008-07-08T11:25:00.015+01:00

Tagesschau vom 06.07.2008, 19:30

Intersexuellen-Demonstration

Menschen, die keinem der beiden Geschlechter zugeordnet werden können, nennt man Intersexuelle. Bislang wurden diese Menschen als Baby operativ korrigiert, um ein geschlechtstypisches Aussehen herzustellen. Dagegen demonstrierten Betroffene in Zürich.

Tagesschausprecher: Sie sind weder Mann noch Frau, sie sind sowohl Mann als Frau. Die sogenannten Intersexuellen. Schätzungsweise 2 bis 3 % der Weltbevölkerung ist keinem der beiden Geschlechter zuzuordnen. Oft werden diese Menschen bereits als Baby, also ohne ihre Einwilligung, operativ korrigiert, um ein geschlechtstypisches Aussehen herzustellen. Viele werden dabei gleichzeitig auch kastriert. Gegen dieses Vorgehen demonstrierten heute Betroffene vor dem Zürcher Kinderspital.

Kommentar: Daniela Truffer ist intersexuell geboren. Genetisch ein Mann, aufgrund der äusseren Geschlechtsorgane nicht eindeutig einem Geschlecht zuzuordnen. Noch bevor sie zweijährig war, wurde sie kastriert und zu einem Mädchen operiert.

Daniela Truffer: Dann hat man die Eltern angewiesen, mit niemanden darüber zu reden und auch mich, mit niemandem darüber zu reden und niemandem zu sagen, dass ich nicht wirklich eine Frau bin und so, weil das sei dann das soziale Aus.

Kommentar: Rund und ein Dutzend Betroffene und Angehörige treten mit ihr an die Öffentlichkeit. Sie wollen das gesellschaftliche Tabu brechen. Mit einem offenen Brief an das Spital machen sie auf ihre anliegen aufmerksam.

Daniela Truffer: Wir haben Forderungen an die Ärzte und zwar, ähm, dass sie unsere Selbstbestimmungsrecht achten, dass sie nicht an uns rum- herumoperieren ohne unsere Einwilligung. Und wir haben Forderungen an die Politik, dass sie ähm auch Gesetze schafft, die uns schützt vor solchen Eingriffen und auch ähm gesetzlich ein Zwischengeschlecht quasi etabliert.

Kommentar: Intersexualität ist vor allem auch ein gesellschaftliches und für die Betroffenen ein psychisches Problem. Dem will das Kinderspital auch Rechnung tragen.

Daniel Weber: Wir möchten mit Betroffenen, mit Eltern, mit Patientenorganisationen Kontakt pflegen, weil wir von ihnen lernen können. Sie haben als Betroffene das Leid einer Fehlbildung durchlebt und sie haben oft auch ein grosses Fachwissen in diesem Bereich. Wenn wir in dem Gespräch mit diesen Leuten lernen können, so können wir dieses Wissen an unsere Patienten, die wir heute behandeln, weiter geben.

Kommentar: Denn auch heute ist eines von 2000 Neugeborenen geschlechtlich nicht zuzuordnen. Eine Tatsache, die sie ihr Leben lang begleitet.

6 Stills von Ärger / Pigbrother.tv

nella: ich habe eine fantasie von mir als intaktem zwitter: eher weiblich aussehend, aber irgendwie kerlig, grösser, mehr muskeln, vielleicht eine aussenseiterin, vielleicht gehänselt als kind, eine biographie, die mich abseits der gesellschaft positioniert, vielleicht würde ich eher auf frauen stehen oder mich aufgrund meiner körperlichen besonderheit (keine vagina) eher in die richtung orientieren (man ist ja anpassungsfähig). vielleicht wäre ich einsam, vielleicht auch nicht. aber ich wäre nicht mein leben lang von hormonen abhängig, ich hätte keine immer wieder kehrenden 'komischen empfindungen' (phantomschmerzen) zwischen den beinen, die ich schon als kind immer empfand, wo ich mich jeweils irgendwo weinend verkriechen musste, einmal rannte ich aus der schule nach hause deswegen, die heute oft im zusammenhang mit einer 'blasenentzündung' auftreten. meine freundinnen beschreiben ihre blasenentzündungen ganz anders. bei mir ist irgendwie noch die 'klitoris' beteiligt. eine "körpererinnerung".
auf diese sch... hätte ich liebend gerne verzichtet! und wenn schon hätte ich lieber selber gewählt, auch wenn es vielleicht eine wahl zwischen zwei übeln gewesen wäre.
und: einsam, eine aussenseiterin, abseits der gesellschaft: so fühle ich mich auch obwohl ich oder eben weil ich kastriert und genitaloperiert wurde (und deshalb unauffällig bin auf der strasse).

ich kenne zwitter, die als frau leben und sich in der rolle wohl fühlen, ihren mikropenis (obwohl durch testosteronmangel geschrumpft) aber noch haben und wohl mehr lust empfinden als genitaloperierte zwitter.

es geht nicht um die frage, ob ich mich in der rolle als frau wohl fühle. ich habe nicht das bedürfnis, mich nachträglich in richtung mann operieren zu lassen. ich fühle mich schlicht und einfach nicht wohl in der rolle des angelogenen, verarschten, erniedrigten, gegen seinen willen kastrierten und genitaloperierten menschen, der hormone fressen muss und zwischen den beinen nicht nur gute gefühle hat. --> mehr

12 Photos von Dominik Huber / dominikphoto.com

OFFENER BRIEF: Geschlechtszuweisende chirurgische Genitalkorrekturen ohne medizinische Indikation, wie sie offensichtlich auch im Kinderspital immer noch regelmässig an Kleinkindern durchgeführt werden, sind auch in der medizinischen Lehre alles andere als unumstritten. Nach wie vor gibt es keine gesicherten Erkenntnisse, dass sie auf lange Sicht wirksam und sicher sind. Hingegen gibt es viele Indizien, welche ihre Wirksamkeit in Frage stellen.

Weder ist gesichert, dass Genitalkorrekturen langfristig zu besseren psychosozialen Resultaten führen, als wenn sie unterlassen werden. Noch kann garantiert werden, dass ein Kind sich entsprechend der ihm zugewiesene Geschlechtsidentität entwickelt. Im Gegenteil:

"Die Behandlungsunzufriedenheit von Intersexuellen ist [...] eklatant hoch. [...] Ein Drittel [der Patienten] bewertet geschlechtsangleichende Operationen als zufriedenstellend bzw. sehr zufriedenstellend, ein weiteres Drittel ist unzufrieden bzw. sehr unzufrieden und das letzte Drittel ist z.T. zufrieden, z.T. unzufrieden." (5)

„Auch aus der Literatur ist bekannt, dass sich ein überdurchschnittlich hoher Prozentsatz von Menschen mit DSD im Lauf der Pubertät oder im Erwachsenenalter entschließt, das ihnen zugewiesene soziale Geschlecht zu wechseln.“ (6)

Auch aus ethischen und juristischen Gründen sind prophylaktische Gonadektomien und geschlechtszuweisende chirurgische Genitalkorrekturen an Kindern ohne deren informierte Zustimmung strikt abzulehnen. --> mehr

Bild: Ärger / PigBrother.tv

--> regelmässige Updates zur Aktion

http://Zwischengeschlecht.info

'No Justice - No peace!!'

2008-06-16T01:47:00.006+01:00

9th Annual Protest Against UK Custody Deaths

http://remember-pauline.blogspot.com
http://www.youtube.com/user/Jondelsur

Video: Effects of Tear Gas on Human Skin

2008-06-15T19:15:00.008+01:00

WARNING!

http://PigBrother.tv

http://remember-pauline.blogspot.com

2008-06-15T00:32:00.000+01:00

In Remembrance of Pauline Campbell : 1948-2008

http://remember-pauline.blogspot.com
http://indymedia.org.uk/en/2008/05/398962.html
http://www.youtube.com/user/4WardEver

'Death, old friend, I wait for you' (Tears 8)

2008-01-08T07:40:00.002Z

Missed Part 1?

Baby hates doctors for reasons of her own I can hardly compete with, not even by throwing in the odd lawyers, cops, politicians etc. However, still isn't exactly that I like doctors either, wrong number, no way.

Just supposing I might get into physical violence against others some day, the first person I'd like to seriously hurt physically (like breaking his nose at least) still is this one particu-liar!-ly fine doctor, teaching me never going to a hospital alone again by carving it into my body: guinea pig readily strapped on table, doctor harvesting my lungs for samples, going on and on and on, knocking me out intravenously the very moment I started complaining ...

At which point in my life I hadn't even met the other nice fella from airport prison yet. Not to mention another old or new friend here or there. No, I don't like doctors.

But why I personally really hate them all as a caste stems probly from eventually learning how my grandfather had died. Read it and weep, cause no matter how dead I'm inside these other days, this one always makes me cry.

His body and stature had always been pretty similar to mine, though I'd grown a bit taller in the end, and I reckon he also shared this particular experience, that what worked perfectly fine on thousands and thousands of other patients, almost always would f**k up terribly wrong on this one particular body. All of his life, with regards to health related issues, he (like my father almost till today) strictly observed one rule and one rule only: Never ever go seeing no doctor at all never ever. Not as long as you can walk or crawl in the opposite direction. Never unless some one else rolls you in unconscious or else unable to resist. Never. Literally. Ever.

So, after my grandfather's second stroke, rolled him in once more. Eventually still makes it. But then, apparently there's something's wrong with his feet ... turning black ... cut up a toe, blood all curdled inside ...

Tough decision: If they'd not amputate both feet quickly, he'll die for sure. However, weak as he was after the stroke, if they cut off his feet now, he'd most definitely die on the spot.

So they let him die slowly with his feet on. Obviously as per usual without even hooking him up on morphines properly, them bloody f***ing b*stards.

Looking backwards, still can't get over how having been such a hopeless letdown that I didn't go to see him in the hospital just because I was told not to. It's such a lie, pretending preventing me from doing so'd prevent any harm to anyone, in contrary. Just the same old 'grown-up' fuss of shying away from death, making it just all the worse, and plenty of it, praise be.

My grandfather was probly the hardest man I ever knew. Thogh 'hard' mostly not in the sense of being so to others, but in terms of being able to go on relentlessly despite any pain. Would hardly notice it in the corners of his mouth, but then onwards, always onwards. Like the song in school, about the heart that always has to run like the river, day and night, but in death may rest, eventually. Things that would have others cringe and/or going up the walls, he wouldn't even mention, let alone complain about.

And there he was, lying in this hospital bed. Dying slowly, day after day, night after night. Praying to die faster, screaming out loud from this room to the lord, to hurry on, to take away his left leg, then the right one, then hands, arms, and all of the rest, please, please, now! Hours and hours, day and night, night and day.

Which is why I eventually still learned about it in the end , cause everybody in this part of the hospital couldn't help but to bear witness, including somebody I got to know much closer couple of years later down the road.

Still, how sad and hard it ever might've been to learn about this firsthand, it's better to know. And it's a bloody lie that he'd suffered more if I'd been allowed to see him or just had gone doing so anyway.

He always was fond of me like probly nobody else except a grandfather carefully making up for the mistakes when his own son was of the same age. Seeing me would've meant less pain, not more. For both of us.

Truth hurts, sometimes plenty, yes, but seldom as much as lies. While on the other hand, lies hurt always more.

Silently I wore my pain from not having seen him again for years to come, muffled inside this nameless dark grown-up cloud of don't mention it, not to the young ones, it's better they don't know at all, for their own sake. F**k you!

About his pain, reckon I only started actually realising what must've happened to him when the thing on my head went wrong and my skin started dying off on me. Which was one of the most painful experiences ever and a pretty nasty one for that too, cause it hurts so f***ing much and it takes so f***ing loooong til the dying parts finally turn dead and are done with. And that bit on my head was just skin and for that only the size of about one single toe, as compared to his two whole feet.

It's so unfair. Yes, my grandfather was a stubborn man, sometimes even irate, but whatever he demanded, he also backed it up on his part, and always more than just that, dying breed an all. No, it's so not fair.

How could I ever forgive God? Perhaps because he would want me to. My grandfather, that is.

Bloody f***ing b*stards, too. Could've turned off his pain no sweat. But no, obviously didn't care to. Just tight on the morphine, now that'd come as a surprise, wunnit? What worked for thousands and so on. Doctors. Yes, there's hardly a fouler word, and in case I didn't mention, no, don't like them b*stards either, no way.

However, at the end of the day, what really bugs me is something else.

Like, how to forgive myself?

I'm quite sure, he'd tried to pretend the pain wasn't there if he'd seen me, and I'd played along with it mostly, but I would've taken his hand and he would've known. That I wasn't there, I'll take it to my grave, and as long's there's a single tear left inside this body, just the thought of it will probly always make me cry.

Imagine a country ...

2007-10-26T15:58:00.000+01:00

... where someone gets killed by the police every week [1]. At the same time, at least 10 more people die an untimely death in state custody [2]. Week after week, month after month, decade after decade. And not a single copper, goaler or doctor gets sentenced. Not even for unlawful killing, negligence or anything. Not once [3].

On top, since most of the victims were poor, living in bad areas or just black, pretty nobody gave a flying fuck anyway. Year after year, the bereaved gathered for a silent procession followed by noisy protest in front of the prime minister's offices [4]. Since every year there were more bereaved than the year before, the protests kept on growing.

However, as usual no one else came ...

...

The UK has probably the grimmest death in custody toll of all Europe. According to official figures, every year about 600 people die in state custody. And everytime afterwards, the bereaved are just getting fucked over again.

Think about it.

[1] http://inquest.gn.apc.org/data_deaths_in_police_custody.html Official figures. However, the total count per year you have to add yourself ...
[2] http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7005556.stm Different official figures (see chart at bottom). Now that's more convenient, innit? And also I'd say that charts looks more impressive. Police Custody figures pretty lower, though.
[3] http://www.injusticefilm.co.uk
[4] http://www.4wardever.org/uffcannualrally

Last year's uk.indy feature 2006:
http://www.indymedia.org.uk/en/2006/12/357852.html

Think again.

This year's flyer. Click to enlarge.

The above is a piece I originally published on uk.indymedia (http://www.indymedia.org.uk/en/2007/10/384167.html?c=on). Since this year the anarchist bookfair changed its traditional date and now is on the same saturday as the march (oviously oblivious of the march taking place on the last sat in oct for 9 years now), there were some well, at least partly a bit dubious comments, which make me once again wonder if so little 'radical' people would attend the annual march (or even know about it) if it was organised and led by white middleclass activists instead of people of colour ...

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad

2007-10-26T00:18:00.000+01:00

All pics © Baby 2007 -- click 'em to enlarge!

Am afraid I'm constantly doing the wrong thing. Like e.g. going up the hills hiking with baby for 3 cloudy days, instead of working straight through my entire two weeks 'holiday', trying to catch up on some of them projects I'm still waaaay behind with. Not to mention adding another 2 days when learning that eventually there'd be some sun for a change (which was why I wanted to go there in the first place, now that the surgery-scars are healed up enough to allow me getting some for the first time in almost two years). Of course took the laptop with me, incl. plenty work and all the best intentions, but in the end did squat (well, except ongoing correspondence, processing book orders and other impossible-to-be-postponed-at-all everyday stuff).

Of course didn't help me catching up on anything I should've finished about the year before last year, and I've got some really hard deadlines coming up book-projects wise. And after the 'holiday' the new semester kicking in real hard, plus the callcenter-job, and of course my obligations to the dole office (though at the mo with regards to the ladder, let's just say hope the person responsible for my file there doesn't read this ...).

However, despite working on everything as hard as I can for the last 6 weeks, still don't get far. Actually already have a bad conscience when e.g. sleeping for twelve hours for a change like last night, though over the last week still doesn't add up to more than probly 7 hours per day. Not to mention the GP telling me my stomach problem though still being far from an actual ulcer, that's clearly the direction I'm headed, and even if I did a total U-turn immediately, still can take 6 months to lose my symptoms. Well, nutrition-wise deftly complied at least 98%, i.e. skipping everything that's preprocessed, plus generally supper. So stomach's better now, but I'm starting to loose weight fast, already shed more than 5 kilos, and not the fat of course. Though working out, fat chance of fitting that into the schedule somehow anyway ...

Still like a lot the pics baby made during these 5 days (somehow from above even ugly LA-type smog can look good), so couldn't resist uploading some in chronological order, hoping y'all are gonna like 'em too ...

All pics © Baby 2007 -- click 'em to enlarge!

'Pills Against Aircraft Noise'

2007-09-06T04:25:00.002+01:00

Finally two weeks off. Well, at least from dole and callcenter, that is. Meaning not necessarily from last semester's paper, the plenty remaining job hours, the layout of the leppin book, the next one etc., all of it due about yesterday.

Still, at least means don't need to read any of the papers or mags published by my new old employer.

Though, as Baby went through the daily paper yesterday, couldn't help myself noticing the caption 'Pills Against Aircraft Noise' screaming into my optical ears.

Of course wasn't about pills actually eliminating the actual noise, but rather doctors paid and sent by the authorithy prescribing sleeping pills to residents living next to the new Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok. 35 year old Thanatos (!) Preebem, on sleeping pills for a month now, to AFP: 'Without the pill I couldn't sleep at all.'

Hey, actually just like @ e.g. Zurich Airport Prison for I don't know how many years or even decades ...

Ah, Switzerland! Proudly bearing the torch of humanity to where no civilised man has gone before!

Though, as a kid in school, was told only evil communist russians would do such things, like keeping their inmates drugged. So perhaps rather a backlash. Which idiot came up with the idea of tearing this darned wall down etc., anyways. (Shame on you, Mr. Waters, all your fault. Should've listened closer to 'Holidays in the Sun'.)

But never mind. At airport prison, almost only alien inmates, too, who cares.

Hilariously enough, another caption invading my privacy, about contemporary russia: 'Even recalcitrant seniors getting labeled "extremist" [a.k.a. 'terrorist'].' After the russian parliament adopted a tightened extremism legislation, a new wave of trials sweeps the nation. Though the law being officialy aimed at neonazi thugs, the police mostly targetting simple citicens and moderate political opponents, many of them facing jailtime, as the correspondent reports from Moscow.

Hey, erm, actually just like everywhere in the rest of the world, too, innit?!

Though Russia in the West probly still being the more popular punching bag, you can bet.

The more things change, some don't.

Welcome to the brave new future!

(a.k.a. straight back to the middle ages ...)

Stomach ulcer, anyone?

2007-09-04T01:10:00.000+01:00

Ugh, reckon shouldn't've eaten these continental style chips. Visiting my sis, celebrating the kids' birthedays, had left from Zurich in a hurry and without breakfast, so just needed something in my stomach quickly before eventually having supper. Or so I'd thought anyways.

Well, afterwards you're always smarter, and mostly we all do learn by painful experiences, right? Still thought could trick my stomach by eating a deacent muesli after having returned, and for a while even seemed to eventually work out. Until I laid down, that is. Suddenly all of the apparently rather indigestible, fatty sauce welling up again, dishing out serious pain.

Even worse, while all the upper part of my stimach felt in flames, there was one spot that felt more like caused by a welding torch instead of the overall coal heating.

Ouch, guess we all know what that's hinting at.

And ok, things are really bit over the top of my head lately. Deftly more than unsual and way more than within the limits of healthy living anyway.

However, just dropping three quarters of all the stuff on my neck isn't exactly an option either.

At least not as long as I'm still able somehow getting up the next morning, that is ...

Shock and awe

2007-08-30T23:13:00.000+01:00

DU Baby # 20 © Dr. Jenan Hassan

Of all the photos of ye olde collections of Depleted Uranium Babies from Afghanistan and Iraq ('unredacted' -- YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMARILY WARNED!), for obvious reasons the above one always 'appealed' to me most.

With even the places of the lumps vaguely corresponding with how I saw them in the mirror, in my mind always could almost feel the tactile sensation of reaching up with my right hand grabbing the huge motherf***ker.

Though any further, my imagination fails me.

I mean, like do they hurt? Do they hurt bad? Is this child still alive today? If yes, how does it spend its time? Does it go out often? Can it go out at all? Does it still hurt physically? Worse than being the laughing stock? Can anyone else imagine how it would be living in its skin and skull at all?

Even worse, compared with other DU Babies, it seems rather 'underdone'. And, as the below chart suggests, in countries where DU had been deployed by tons and tons, today, when a child is born, parents don't ask 'Is it a boy or a girl?', but 'Is it normal?'

© Thomas M. Fasy (download whole presentation as pdf)

Sweet irony, loadsa grunts, incl. their families are getting a gruesome taste themselves as well. Cause of course, just like the local civilians, they weren't told about DU and its 'side' effects either. Though the top brass knew very well, they refused to tell (my suggestion would be you'd start with 'sequence 2', though not the .mov version). Hell yeah, still pays being a full fledged member of Se Master's Race® in more than just one way.

This is such a sick, sick world we're livin' in (though don't guess too many crawlin round here would need a reminder of that), but are we not all just f***king bloody lucky, now aren't we?!

DAMN EVERYONE INVOLVED IN THE DEVELOPMENT AND RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEPLOYMENT OF THIS UGLY FRIGGIN SH*TE.

AND ALL OF THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA THAT REFUSE TO COVER SUCH 'TOUCHY SUBJECTS' APPROPRIATELY , like on the frontpage, with pictures'n'all.

Same as everyone else who just stood by and didn't care to be bothered ...

Random General Update

2007-08-23T04:53:00.000+01:00

Got a new job, but dole bureaucrazy still on my back. Scheduled for presenting my forms next Tue. Lovely!

Recorded stuff for a TV-Show about gore, gore and even more related thangs. Probly Anger n yours truly will do a regular show-within-the show starting Sept. Will even see some cash (or else), but still wont be enough to kiss the dole goodbye.

Got a new book out! And only today managed to upload some advertisement on our own page. SHAME!

Am busy cycling and mostly regularly working out also in the woods, so my lung is slightly better again, but won't hold my breath, not on other poor puns either.

Got a letter from our restless neighbour , again complaining about 'very unpleasant noises' from my bedroom keeping her up 'all night', even though baby and myself stopped doing anything there but literally sleeping since well before midnight. However, her being 'very sensitive' concerning stuff like that'n'all.

Yes, obviously seems so. Of course didn't tell her where to stick it, but that we're actually very considerate because of her, plus mostly only sleep at my place on the weekends just for the same reason, so in case from now on she should still hear anything despite all our again improved efforts, I'd hope for a little tolerance from her side as well, cause going into the woods for it every time after 10 o'clock frankly wouldn't be an option either.

Up to now did the trick. Even strated being less noisy in the early mornings for an amazing timespan now.

Went to some parties. Mostly on the guest list, though my favourite one being where the wannabe copper security nazi did a body search for allegued weapons but failing to detect my two cans. Even did physically reasonably well, though only with PP3 particle filters in front of my face (them afterwards kinda resembling old cig butts, same colour, same smell).

And hey, second but last new moon, was able making out the milky way from our balcony! Only vaguely, but it was definitely there, at least in the direction away from the city. Awesome.

Still haven't done my last semester's paper. Not to mention finished the huge Leppin book. Nor all the hours of the uni job, nor the other book I've got to do there, too, nor zillion other stuff either.

And yes, am afraid I'm still very lazy on the blog ...

Lookey who's back ...

2007-07-29T17:28:00.000+01:00

Yes, the backwards, erm, FIT Team, again again, in front o thee rampART.

© indy uk (click for more pics & vid)

Boy, do they look well trained, don't they?

Now they're even allowed in other places, too! Travellin around the country wherever duty calls! To boldly go where no other copper has gone before!

© Tash / indy uk (click for more pics)

And yessir, I do like my officers friendly ... or not at all.

http://fitwatch.blogspot.com

Forward Intelligence spelled out (Pt. 2)

2007-07-23T23:30:00.000+01:00

Say Cheese! From uk.indy

Last year I wrote bout how I witnessed the Met's glorious 'Backwards Intelligence Team' (as a.o. the clowns call it) photographing everyone entering or leaving thee rampART in Whitechapel in order to put them on file for terrorist activities (i.e. attending a meeting of a political campaign -- btw. whether they actually attended or not).

Well, guess what? Yesterday, the FIT guys were just back for the umpteenth time, at the very same corner -- just for having their own picture taken, too.

An me bucko, if you'd hide your face and play hard to get like demse brave ones, they'd even take you for a free ride probly ... or something ...

more pics n report

even more FITters'n'maties

and two more verry intelligently looking uns
(found here --> scroll down)

edit: just when you thought it was over ...
(hat tip to johnny void)

... but were wrong ...

... again again (and these are very funny lookin fellers indeed!)

+ new feature on uk.indy

... and even LOTS more!

Corporate Sloppiness Censorship

2007-07-05T05:39:00.000+01:00

Ah, the irony. Not sooo long ago, cause of a complaint about 'subversive smere campaigns, especially against the police' and other 'illegal content', no less than The Bavarian County Criminal Department, Interpol Wiesbaden, The Swiss Federal Police Department, The Zurich County Police (Special Division 2), The Zurich District Attorney's Office, they all wanted virtually all of our homepages taken down (plus yours truly held responsible for even more pages he didn't even know about).

However, after a two year legal battle, failed.

Ok, they've been giving us an interesting time, but not once they managed scrapping a single word, link or pic on any of the (rapidly growing) pages, no siree.

Whereas now the 'anti-censorship' dutch Provider xs4all.nl just succeeded no sweat, deleting pages at will and locking us out of our own paid site by changing passwords without notice, not to mention thereafter having the cheek of refusing to give us the new ones. I mean, the company we paid, on our own pages!

Ok, eventually some of our security measures kicked in, and eventually, after announcing them the first entries on the net calling them censors, suddenly was no problem doing what all emails and phonecalls earlier didn't achieve: telling us the passwords straight on the phone at once ('though that's not usual').

Too late, boys. Revenge is petty but sweet. Hope makes at least some small dentures into your hip 'anti censorship' rep from better days.

Ok, I'm well aware, though they might've put a smile on some coppers faces, actually the responsibles-but-not-answerables at xs4all (sold to privatised Dutch telecom KPN rsp. kpnqwest 1998, 2006 buying or original provider demon.nl) probly couldn't care less about the content of the pages they took down.

And yes, they didn't do so on purpose, but by merely being sloppy and arrogant as usual.

But frankly, whatever the intent, effects like the ones in question here still aren't exactly improving my freedom of expression (nor anybody else's, I guess).

And yes, just in case you harbored any doubts, there's still plenty actually intended censorship stuff going on, e.g this incident about a flash-game the vatican didn't find funny. However, at least for the moment, even if God's Local Stromtroopers had succeeded, bet you'd still be able enjoying yourself by playing OPERATION: PEDOPRIEST just in spite? (WARNING: 'Extreme Adult Themes')

Obviously still shows ...

2007-06-19T00:29:00.000+01:00

Found this quiz via The Anti-Essentialist Conundrum:

You Are 53% Feminine, 47% Masculine

You are in touch with both your feminine and masculine sides.
You're sensitive at the right times, but you don't let your emotions overwhelm you.
You're not a eunuch, just the best of both genders.

Are You Masculine or Feminine?

And you know what?

Damn, was I pissed at not being predominantly male!

Despite last post n all.

Really liked the proportion though.

Thankfully, e.g. black boots 'n' trousers (plus cap) seems to fool virtually everybody. Only yesterday, learned a female knowing me only from seeing me selling newspapers in this gayish local pub describing me as 'masculine', colouring me slightly surprised for a sec.

Ok, a long way from probly 90% female for most of my life. Also it's just this quiz which I'm not taking too seriously.

Damn, still just would like having them percentages changed.

Neither pro-feminist nor MRA (Pt. 1)

2007-06-10T02:54:00.000+01:00

I identified as a (pro-)feminist for a good part of my life. In Switzerland, where I grew up, in most parts women got the right to vote only in 1971, shortly before my 8th birthday. The last region actually had to be forced to implement it by federal law no earlier than late 1990, almost a decade after non-discrimination on grounds of race, sex, religion (to name but a few) had been written into the constitution in 1981.

So guess the notion women not being treated equally and this not being ok kinda came naturally.

On the other hand, frankly was pretty ill-suited for virtually all of the obligatory he-man-men type stuff anyway, both physically and mentally. My size was at no point above average, and don't get me started on build. Till I began working out at 30, was actually merely skin and bones, to the extent that I'm still glad having grown up before 'anorexic' and 'bulimia' became such buzzwords. (Well, at least no fat either -- before cortisone, that was.)

Also simply failed getting the point. I mean, what's the use, feeling good from making others feel bad? Since I've been a kid, most people always said I've got 'way too misantropic views'. However, always got plenty ideas of activities making me at least much happier than the average 'social' person always in need of putting someone else down first. A concept just beyond me.

Guess I was the perfect victim. Not actually offering the other cheek, but never hitting back. Which kinda results in the same. And of course in getting beaten up or worse every once in a while.

Took me literally decades to realise, plenty people are just cowards, going for people like me for some freebie kicks and punches, and the only way of getting rid of such is looking them straight into the eye, thinking, 'Ok, that's it, go on and I'll hit you as hard as I can.' That's the one funny part about it: Don't even have to say it. And the other: Of course suddenly there isn't any need of actually doing so anymore, but that's another story.

Rather had a knack at skills usually attributed to girls anyway, like languages and other 'soft' disciplines, while definitely not being a star at math and the likes. At seven even learned knitting, out of curiousity, but soon learned better than to talk about it to other boys. (Same as for plenty other things to most people in general, that is, especially 'grown ups'.)

Actually, when it came down to relationships, and there to e.g. adressing emotional issues on both sides, or commitment, mutual responsibilities, and plenty other behaviours usually attributed to women, turned out me being more female than most of my girlfriends.

Of course there were other traits where I'm no exception, on the downside I'm e.g. much, much better at nagging others into sex than keeping up with household chores. (While most of my girlfriends weren't so bad at some also exactly glorious 'female' routines either.)

So, during my twenties digged easily into feminist critique of male behaviour and gender roles in general, and plenty too. Feeling that in a social environment based on equality and without the typical patriarch games, life would definitely be more fun, despite the male priviledges I'd lose.

As said, self-identified as a (pro-)feminist for a good part of my life. Funny enough, took some 'feminists' to eventually change that. And though I still uphold the idea and the notion of making it true, had to realise that what's going down in its name in the real world being quite something else, with which I'd rather not associate myself, nor would want to be associated with either.

(to be continued)

Sevice to be resumed shortly

2007-05-31T23:26:00.000+01:00

Oh noes, been down and out blogwise for a while now. Just too much other stuff wanting to be done. Also only went exercising in the woods every forthnight for over a month now. Bad bad bad.

(Though you can be sure baby's keeping me up for certain other 'sportive activities' plenty, and while that might be a reason for not losing more flesh yet, still, as my sore muscles tell me, doesn't really help gaining either I'm afraid.)

However, looks like I got some substantial portions off my neck now. Like having delivered all the monthly dole formularies with my usual grace, having worked up plenty hours on this semester's uni job, kicked off another presentation there, prepared some german webpages for forthcoming updates, and, best of all, yesterday sent the file of our first Paul Leppin book to the printing office, woooo-haaa!!!

Make no mistake, of course that's just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Like I'm still on the dole and hating it, there's two expositions I've to deliver for the uni in the next 3 months, there's the second Paul Leppin book (a much bigger bastard) I should've finished for years and latest this month (and today's the 31st), there's two more books I'll have to design and execute for the Institute of Popular Cultures (for these I'll even get paid, imagine), got loadsa folks breathing down my neck when we'll be putting out the next volume SUN KOH (those not yet talking about 'if', that is), and so on.

Still, though sometimes inbetween seems necessary, working too many hours while neglecting too much other stuff won't do it in the long run, no sir.

Spot the difference?

2007-05-18T04:58:00.001+01:00

..........................Tages Anzeiger, 25 August '05 © Beat Marti

.....................Murnauer Tagblatt, 8 May '07, © Roland Lory

No, it's not the presence of Helmut K. Schmidt on the 2nd pic.
Nor the different locations. And no, not the wardrobe either.

Not at all.

Negative is positive

2007-05-11T01:17:00.000+01:00

Teeheehee -- well, at least everytime it comes down to an HIV-test, that is. And am I not happy in the last years technology advanced as much as that now you can get the results in less than 24 hrs without extra charge?

Funny, still the same guy on the phone delivering the results. Though I'd bet this time he had way less hard news to break. You can tell by the way he does this little break when saying, 'The result is ... negative.' Last time the intermission was just a wee bit longer, and you could clearly hear that he was kinda happy too, not having to tell me else. So I remember thinking like uh-huh, sounds like lotsa bad news today.

Baby was even faster getting the results than me. Less than two minutes after the hotline opened and she'd already sent me the good news by txt. While silly me had to get the number from the net again first, since by accident I put the paper together with the trousers into the washing machine today.

At least no problem remembering the code word, haha. Sometimes folks at the hospital indeed do show some sense of humour. Like they'd seen us arriving there together, and when we went each with somebody for the preliminary quiz, gave me the codeword 'eel', while she got 'zone'. Hawhawhaw.

However, you can bet we'll be doing plenty of eel'n'zone jokes for quite a while ...

(to be continued ...)

Bad karma & just plain stoopid

2007-05-09T13:15:00.000+01:00

Guess we all heard bout safer sex for quite a while now, don't we? All agreed?

Or at least that's what I'd like to think myself. Which is why I'm sometimes a wee bit confused when again having to remove some girl's head from my private parts in bed, explaining why. Not to mention then hearing things along the lines of, 'Oh, really?' (Which in my experience usually includes even the ones used to taking a bit more responability in bed that the average lot, but that's another story.)

Something I'm in all modesty slowly getting kinda familiar with. Until very recently, that is. Not that the situation had been different for a start, I'm afraid. Only insofar that I just didn't.

Man of principles, hawhaw. Not even a special excuse or anything. Actually I'd be in trouble only explaining why instead of merely processing the fact.

Bad karma in my book, both. Even worse, didn't take too may days and I also engaged unsafely in other stuff just so as well. Something I've never done before in my whole life! And despite this time at least there's something like a minor cheap excuse, in the end still boils down to lack of wits and patience, but again, still no real reason. And there I was, thinking people becoming more calm and mature when getting older. Colour me double-perplexed and very ashamed of myself. Not to mention havin been just plain stoopid, again.

Okokok, we both had more or less valid reasons to assume we're probly both still negative. (Not to mention then we didn't do what's considered the classical high risk sexual practice yet.) However, imho there's some things in life when even 99% just isn't enough, and guess what's being the prime example, hm?

So high time coughing up the dosh and going for another test plus negotiating the usual minimal guidelines (a.k.a. if you'd ever do something unsafe with somebody else at least tell me before doing so again with me, which I promise you too).

If we actually find the time going to the test at the required hours, not to mention the results being still in favour of any such things, that is ...

Not that I'm really nervous, but ... still would be better being 100% sure already, now wouldn't it?

(continued ...)

Murnau

2007-05-08T01:52:00.000+01:00

Just after hearing local parliament having given the green light for doing this exhibition about author Paul Alfred Müller (german bio) at Schlossmuseum in Murnau, the Bavarian town where he'd lived from 1948 till he died, driving back exactly there for another book presentation @ Antiquariat Hannak, again together with Müllers fellow local scribe Helmut K. Schmid. (Like the famous german expressionist filmmaker of the 20ies, PAM also once adopted Murnau as nom de plume.)

Nearly no actual audience (i.e. people not involved in any of the projects) turning up, and absolutely no turnout financial wise. And for that alla the preparations, not to mention getting up before 8 after almost no sleep ...

However, taped the conversation with H. K. Schmidt, and -- tadaaa -- also got this nice review in Murnauer Tagblatt, which eventually made it all quite worthwile.

Cause besides the pulp scifi stuff we're doing already, both he and P. A. Müller also wrote yet-unpublished nice regular novels with a local touch, but until now we never got an angle getting through to that kinda audience. So the first article in a local newspaper and the exhib coming up in a place were also plenty tourists show up is something to be celebrated.

Which later at night I indeed did. Well, erm, kind of. Together with with a certain kinky babe, to be a wee bit more precise. Though not that I'd let you in on the details here ...

But instead urge all local lurkers to check out this lovely early sixties pulp novel by Schmidt called Hellbreed.

H. K. Schmidt and fan with signed portrait in our PAM-Bio
@ Antiquariat Sammelpunkt Zurich, 25.11.06
© Ingrid Tomkowiak

Keeping the neighbours awake

2007-05-02T21:06:00.000+01:00

Ah, reckon this was just bound to happen sooner or later. Neighbours complaining bout this baby and me having too much fun, that is. Not to mention too long and way too often, too!

Surprisingly enough not the neighbours I had suspected most, but the single mom from the apt. below ours. Nonetheless strictly by the book. I.e. first banging at the wall from below in the still of night, probly waking up everybody a few floors in both directions. Then the next day ringing while my mate still sleeping, complaining 'I didn't get a wink of sleep for two days now.'

Actually the night before Baby and me had been practicing the explicitly romantic variety, contrary to like three nights ago, probly having been he loudest while staying in my apt., but nevermind. And just for the record, even then, though we weren't gagged nor stifling ourselves, weren't actually loud either.

Definitely quieter than them regularly banging up the roller blinds plus stampeding through the apt. and slamming doors when they're late and in a hurry getting off in the mornings. Both things I'd stopped counting how many times they woke me up a long time ago (not to mention even the old lady from above asking them to be a bit more considerate about in vain since way we moved in anyways).

And though this baby and me definitely not being into the 3-minutes way of things clocked from foreplay to falling asleep, during the relevant timeframe 'all night' was still be a wee bit exaggerated too, 'mafraid.

Tellingly she also didn't mention us waking her up, but just her being unable to sleep.

Now despite the house itself, contrary to the doors inside the apts., being built quite solid, I'm aware, if you listen closely, you'll be able hearing it no doubt. Just like loads of other noises, incl. stereos, tvs, kitchens, bathrooms, and also planes and cars outside.

Which is why my educated guess would be the problem being probly more the nature of the sounds than the actual volume.

Or, after I had apologised politely, declaring it hadn't been our intent to cause her discomfort (even true), as Baby put it with an innocent smile, 'Perhaps she'd need 3 earplugs: 2 for up and one for below.'

(continued ...)

Farewell to the beauty farm

2007-04-30T18:05:00.000+01:00

Last appointment. Mop up shots. Surgeon was pleased with the scar development. Me too. Meant it, when I thanked him and the assistant.

Though it's still pretty funny touching the scars and especially grafts myself, somebody else touching them does feel nice. Also with regards to the synaestesia thingie with the one on top, feels like being thouched at other parts, too.

Anyways, am glad having them tumors off. Especially cause they just would've kept growing, I reckon.

As to the looks, yeah, well ...

Guess if I really strictly want going unnoticed, would be even more difficult covereing everything with a cap now. But what the f**k.

Funny, how actually it's still a bit like with the lumpies, though fairly more moderate. Especially from my point of view, i.e mankinds immediate reactions mostly beyond my ken. Filtered out automatically, no effort needed. Sweet denial.

Sweet irony as well, since I always got the impressions everybody more troubled about them than yours truly, actually mostly giving in to social pressure.

Peace-offering to all humankind, blablabla. Sorry didn't work out as nicely as it should've.

However, ahem, not exactly my fault really. Neither if you're still offended. Official license, now. Not guilty. Sorry.

Hehehe.

And yeah, though I could go for more surgery to make the freaky parts smaller, will just leave 'em as they are, thanks.

Surgeon was nice, also asked about the scar on the hand. The b*stard one, still handing out electric jolts, that is.

Himself he'd fared even less lucky. Fallen from from a horse, back broken. Though definitly lucky enough so the spinal chord remained unharmed. Still has to go wear a corset for half a year, since he's got no assurance for sickness daily allowance, as he said.

Copied me the whole folder with all my pix, also some I hadn't had before, so brace for an update at some point.

So, after 11 months in 'n' out, looks like I just left the beauty farm for good. Walking towards the bus stop, hit the air with both fists and turned the phones a bit louder than usual.

'No, I can't!' a.k.a. Help! Pt. 3

2007-04-29T18:05:00.000+01:00

This is really cool:

'The Peak Load of Masculine Pride', from the Dave Allen Show. G'wan, click 'play'.

B.t.w. saw it first over at Pook's Mill. And though I appreciate plenty of his writings, reckon this time for whatever reasons he about just absolutely totally missed the point ...

(continued ...)

Ha! (Pt. 2)

2007-04-26T19:06:00.000+01:00

Missed Part 1? You'll miss the context!

As it went, had second thoughts on the gratification issue soon enough. Cause, while winning any 'competition' might be kinda gratifying, obviously there's where I'd actually prefer being on the losing end. Like for, erm, obvious reasons this one, for example.

Since as mentioned, in average I'm rather used finding myself winning and definitetly not liking it at all, oh no. So didn't take too long me remembering that part painfully well, pondering if this'd be the beginning of 'back to normal'. Which, surprise, surprise, would've regretted big time.

But some things just seem to be too good to be true. And then soon enough there's this thought creeping up from the back of my mind, like, 'Sh*t, am I going to wake up pretty soon now, or yes?'

Which is just the kinda creepy stuff dedicated to turn any feeling of gratification from sweet to very sour in no time.

Cause any time I'm with a girl uninhibited enough of shamelessly making advantage of the gift of the female body and mind, it's just so cool. Like tapping into a delicious sweet well, feeling safe in the knowledge of no matter how much you can swallow, you'll never be able drying it up, no way. (And I also mean that quite literally.)

Ah, paradise and cockaigne all rolled into one, guys, I can tell.

Until she tires faster than me just once, obviously.

Dark clouds and thoughts threatening at the horizon, uh-oh.

Though didn't take her too long to teach me a lesson, not to mention restoring my faith in the seemingly unlimited female sexual supremacy.

I yield! I yield! MERCY!!!

PS: However, only last night, way into the wee hours, guess what?

Eventually heard her gasp 'no more', pulling my hand away again again ...

Ha!

(continued ...)

Mit Dir bin ich auch allein

2007-04-25T23:55:00.000+01:00

Funny, how entering a new relationship tends bringing back memories of old ones. And how songs and especially lyrics can trigger memories, too.

Recently been listening to a lot of Rammstein, actually just got all their studio albums 2nd hand only yesterday. And while being into them mostly for the 'kick-ass factor' and the assorted sheer kinkiness, thus deploring how almost every record gets a wee bit to way wimpier than the one before, have to admit there's this uberwimpy song called 'Ohne Dich' (Without You) that touched me more than any other during the last few months.

While all Rammstein songs have this certain ambiguity (which they so shamelessly lifted from the truly underrated Slowenian band Laibach, amongst plenty other things), applying this technique so intelligently to a seemingly simple heartbreak-lovesong still is something else.

Especially four lines of the chorus really hit it home for me:

Ohne Dich kann ich nicht sein
Mit Dir bin ich auch allein

Ohne Dich zähl ich die Stunden, ohne Dich
Mit Dir stehen die Sekunden, lohnen nicht

(Without you I cannot be
With you I am alone too

Without you I count the hours, without you
With you the seconds stand still, aren't worth it)

Damn, that's a good part of my last relationship summed up in just a few brilliant words. (Which reminds me, some other parts on the downside having been lies, lies, lies, plus cheap 'n' weak excuses, but that's another story.)

While I'm usually listening to whole albums looped (ok, skipping some songs), have to admit 'Ohne Dich' is the one exception lately of me listening to the same song allover again for a while.

But yesterday was a crazy day anyway. Had this presentation to do early at the uni, and yup, as usually leaving everything just for the very last second, enjoying the adrenaline rush to the max. Only that while I was just about getting started preparing everything the evening before, my mate and some other folks more or less gently reminded me we'd also have to do the overdue press kit for our upcoming book presentation in Murnau Sat next week. And while I kinda had hoped I would be more or less spared of that, absolutely no way, not with this deadline. Just had to drop the preparation and cough up some of the other stuff beforehand, so that my mate could get the mailings out.

Took me till 3 am that I finally could get started preparing the handout, which I eventually finished about 6. Still hadn't read all of the stuff I was supposed to, but what the f**k, just would have to cheat myself along the essential parts. At least would be able catching up almost 3 hours of sleep before rushing out, in order to not looking too wasted. If not the shitty air lately had roughed up my nose, that is, feeling even more uncomfy as soon as I laid down. But who needs sleep anyway.

Not to mention emotional stability. Was in the tram uphill to the uni when the mentioned above lines really hit home. Tears running down my cheeks, sunglasses fogging up, the whole shebang. 15 plus minutes to go till my presentation.

However, was the first time in a while I was able crying not just for others, but really for myself, which made me just happy. Though while washing my head in the toilet before hurrying upstairs to the classroom, was a bit worried still might be just a little too obvious. But you know what? Everything went down just really cool, and nobody noticed either.

And though I was really knackered, especially after the 2nd course in the afternoon, don't get me started on what I was up to later in the evening plus half of the night ...

(To be continued ...)

Ladies, I feel for you

2007-04-24T18:11:00.000+01:00

Actually just wanted to go to sleep. Which was why I turned off the lights before hitting the sack. But did I have any chance of just doing so? Hell, no.

Well, erm, depending on how you'd define it, perhaps sort of. But in the meaning as I had intended? No way. Not with this baby lurking under the blanket. Not the slightest chance in the world.

Despite the fact that I was still pretty worn from not so long ago. But did she care? Well, again depends on how you'd actually define that. Lets just say, by a certain definition I've to admit she actually managed succeeded doing so, erm, exhaustively.

And by far wasn't the first time that happened, too. Oh no. Nor will it probly be the last. Kinda the perfect gender role reversal.

Though, with regards to probly not the last time, I'll hasten to add, well, hopefully not!

Which is where the gender reversal analogy abruptly ends, 'mafraid.

(continued ...)

Just can't put my finger on what exactly

2007-04-23T00:23:00.000+01:00

After showering, looking at my face in the mirror, examining how badly my hair needed cutting yet, suddenly got caught by something ... something I'd have to consider too ... but I just couldn't put my finger on.

Something that'd been perhaps, but what exactly again?

And despite the clue being perfectly visible on my forehead all the time, i.e. the scars and the graft there, took me an incredible while to finally get it.

The lumpies! Just like I already had kinda totally forgotten I ever had them!

Only remembering vaguely that there'd always been an additional effort cutting the rest of my hair around them, something I usually had to ask my mate to do.

Well, not anymore. Also not putting my finger on any of them literally, haha!

And you know what? Body fascist or not, no remorse. Not at all.

Pigs Galore UPDATE

2007-04-21T23:53:00.000+01:00

Missed the original entry?

Halif just got his sentence in the mail, obviously posted on the glorious occasion of the fuehrers birthday:

6 months and 20 days, on parole for 2 years (out of the 9 months the DA wanted).

Despite the judge having acquitted him of 6 of the 12 original charges.

So far so predictable.

The only exception being that obviously it finally sunk in there's no money to get from him, so there was no additional fine, and even the two thirds of the 3000.-- costs for the trial he got nominally portioned got written off at once.

Whoa, must've been her generous day. Or something.

Ha!

2007-04-18T16:18:00.000+01:00

I did it.

Incredible, but true: Eventually I made her say 'Stop'. Even pulling my hand away. And despite her playfully adding 'just for an hour or so', we both knew better.

Oh, make no mistake, not that I'd been capable of bringing it up again myself at that point, not even remotedly like. (More precisely, already last time that had needed more than just a wee bit of persuasion. But, no way stopping her then ...)

Not to mention we both had had a busy day behind us, plus another one just a few hours ahead.

However, I still would've been ready making this kitty purr and twitch and gasp once more no sweat, not to mention loving it. Actually going for it already, which was why she said 'Stop' in the first place.

And call me whatever names in the book you like, truth is, while both of us falling asleep fast, part of me felt some kind of silly gratification, putting an even slightly wider smile on my face.

Ha!

(continued ...)

Pigs galore

2007-04-15T19:38:00.000+01:00

Friday went to the local court having a peek at Alex 'Halif' Moshe's latest twelve charges rolled into one trial. Kinda funny showing up there without being the accused myself, hawhaw.

Like plenty others, Halif got harassed and f**ked over by the Zurich Police on grounds that didn't even exist legally, and when insisting on them having no rights to do so, of course just got f**ked over again again. So far, so regular. But Halif being Halif, he just refused to 'get it' and shut up (as any 'reasonable' person would've).

Unfortunately did so in ways making it for the cops and their friends at the district attorney's offices pretty easy now f**king him over on kinda actual legal grounds for a change. Like by e.g. sending them lotsa less and less friendly emails, plus ringing them up regularly, also at their private homes. So in addition to the few days on probation plus 20'000.-- Swiss Francs he already got sentenced for last year, now the DA wants him to have another 9 months plus probly some 100'000s (good one, since Halif's already broke anyway).

Plainclothes Officer A.S. acting as 'agent provocateur' ...
© Anger 2002

To really justify the charges, the filth went for the whole show. I.e. gates 'n' coppers à discretion, people getting searched 'n' metal detectored, free mandatory cloakroom and so on. Plus contrary to what the judge told Halif's lawyer, were also asking for IDs plus putting names on file. Just another thing there's no legal grounds for, which is why I left mine at home just to begin with (incl. the mobile just in case).

However, didn't even bother not telling them my real name, and BINGO, 15 minutes later got plenty additional hits from the county coppers ISP on every homepage they got me on file for. Like the one you're reading, or this one, that one, and this one here etc, never mind all perfectly legal, even court-approved since of course they've already tried that one fer sure, but hey, who cares (links to english section usually top right by the way). Thanx, boys!

In total were 6 visitors in the court room (two more refused to give their names and weren't admitted, which, as even the judge had to admit later, was just plain illegal, but guess what, not that she really cared). 3 of the visitors btw being the copper who filed most of of the charges against Halif plus two of his mates, since he's sooo terrified and really feels threatened, literally 'fearing for his very life', as he'd told the DA.

[Yup, actually the very copper A.S. shown on the pics here, filmed Mayday 2002 on active duty 'infiltrating' demonstrators, trying to start a riot pretty hard but still in vain, not to mention intimidating innocent passers-by. And yes, just in case you might ask, my mate who did them pics of course got violently arrested for doing so hardly 10 minutes later, his glasses broken, camera confiscated etc. And despite the charges being 'creative' as usual, eventually our 'tough' union-lawyer just dropping the case as 'hopeless' due to all involved coppers lying unisono. After I picked up the case as 'layman defence counsel' since no pro would do so without seeing loads of money upfront, insisting on doing everything and especially the confiscations very strictly by the book, thank God the DA got so pissed off by such impertinence that she made some serious mistakes, plus then the coppers lying a bit too fancifully as well, so eventually the judge refused to accept the charges which thereafter were finally dropped. Needless to say A.S. and his copper mates were never charged ...]

So for the well-searched 3 civilian visitors plus the evenly well-searched 'extremely dangerous' defendant (as usual tried searching his lawyer's bag as well), there were no less than 19 heavily armed coppers at guard inside and in front of the courtroom. And yeah, surprise, surprise, as I had a good chance to witness, of the 6 admitted visitors only two had their names taken on file. I.e. just those civilians they already knew and/or suspected of being acquaintances of the defendant, that is.

When Halif's lawyer later complained about that and the judge seemingly surprised asked if this was really true, the boss-copper suddenly hastened to add, the remaining names would be added to the list afterwards. Couldn't help myself barely hiding a good laugh. These arrogant b*stards are just so ignorant! Like the copper guarding the notepad with the filed names, when the lawyer later asked if now all the names had been taken, brushing her off, 'I don't know'.

... and frightening passers-by, Zurich, Mayday 2002.
© Anger 2002

Unfortunately had to hurry on, so don't know the outcome of the case yet. Though probly pretty predictable anyway, innit?

Frankly, though I have myself well enough under control as not doing themselves the favour of getting provoked by these kinda games, deep down that's obviously still a bit different. Cause, when again doing our PigBrother Live Show in Freiburg i. Br. the next day, despite usually making a point of only calling them 'officers' or at worst 'cops' and as per usual arguing my case of not lumping all of them together, am afraid have to plead guilty of having thrown in two or three 'pigs' for a change.

Help! Pt. 2

2007-04-13T12:05:00.000+01:00

Missed Part 1? You'll miss the pun!

Nah, seriously now. Don't know what kinda girls you might pull (or be), but in my life in 7 out of 10 relationships me always wanting too much sex too many times too often and for too long was an issue, not to mention one of the main reasons for them to eventually come to an end. While on the other hand I only once ever heard complaints of the contrary. (Well, I've to admit she was probly right about me being a pretty inhibited victim of the protestant working ethics at that point.)

The remaining other few, if truth be told, well, felt I was only just barely able putting up with their sex drive myself (and just for the record, that's not a complaint, especially not from a wannabe stud like me ;-). Means, yes, I do recall some brief moments of temporary exhaustion also from their part (hey, sometimes even for the rest of the night). And they also never complained bout me not being enough at it, but generally we're always very gentle and, ahem, supportive. But ...

But actually I never harbored too much doubt whether or not they'd consider me (or any other man) as a real competition regarding sexual appetite (not to mention living it).

I mean, hey guys, like it or not, obviously that's just the way nature-or-who-or-whatever arranged it, and I for one have no problem neither with the fact nor with admitting it, nor do I feel humiliated by it too much.

Contrary to playing the 'traditional' male role, that is. You know, the dumb guy who always wants and never gets, and especially not until he coughs up this or that in advance anyway.

Cause broken hearted or not, rather than playing stoopid like this, actually I'm better off alone (hehe).

(continued ...)

How could I ever forgive God? Pt. 1 (Tears are a gift from heaven Pt. 6)

2007-04-12T05:00:00.000+01:00

The really hard death in my family was my grandfather's. Actually I wasn't supposed to even know about how hard exactly. Parents had told me not to visit him in hospital. Should've known better, but the truth is I'd been stupid, stupid, stupid and f**ked up enough to oblige. Same old, same old, same effin old. Though perhaps this is the one I regret the most.

It was early summer when he eventually died. And though that's another story, just a few more months to go till I lost my faith and unlearned crying for plenty summers to come.

Despite my parents still being very reluctant, at least went to see him in the local cemetery before he got cremated. The mortuary was such a nightmare by itself. Not like other places keeping the dead in coffins in a room so you could sit beside them or so, oh no.

The whole thing being more like a kind of a corridor in the cellar of the building, equipped with a row of little oval green porthole type of windows in one of the walls, directed downwards if I remember correctly. And there they were, behind behind those peek holes, obviously into a cold room. All you could was having a last distant look through the green window. Cold, fading light on cold faces.

What a place to bid farewell. So ugly and heartless, shut off and deader than dead already. Just like especially designed to pale my childhood fears of such places. Kinda even worse than the visiting room at airport prison, where you're only allowed seeing people through an armoured glass, at least there it's a huge transparent window (smeared with heartbreaking marks of lips and tiny little hands and fingers on the outside).

All I could see was his face kinda upside down, looking strange through this thick green glass. But even so it was plain to see it must've been really hard and very painful. Like he didn't smile at all. Still clenching his teeth, lips thin and tense.

Only found out about the details almost 10 years later, cause my then girlfriend by chance happened to be in the same hospital getting surgery when he'd died. Only after she told me what she witnessed there, I went back to my grandmother and parents, nagging them for the real story.

Some people have said I'm one in a million, but usually myself I'm not so sure about that. Cause he no doubt was, farmer's boy to CEO and all, and though I have some ideas where not only my bad temper and trademark stubborness but also my sense of integrity stem from, actually m'afraid I'm no match at all.

And while everybody admired and envied him for the more glorious and glamourous aspects of his life, personally I know pretty no one who'd been able standing in his shoes only for a year or two, let alone some decades.

Cause, though he could look so gentle and peaceful, especially with us grandchildren around, it's still from his face that I learned recognising this typical look of people who already were and / or still are going trough a terrible lot of also physical pain only by sheer willpower, and he went really far in about every sense of the word no doubt. And that was only the good times yet.

Cause God had saved His worst for the end ...

Part 2

Tears continued ...

Help!

2007-04-09T01:57:00.000+01:00

I'm with this girl, and she's even more obsessed with sex than yours truly.

Never wants to stop, but always wants again!

Help!!!

(continued ...)

'Brain tumours' a.k.a. another thing I'll never get

2007-04-06T15:12:00.000+01:00

Namely how many people obviously thought the lumpies would involve anything on the inside of my skull, like really physically, and why on earth they always came up with that. (Nor, supposed I had had them e.g. on my knees, if they'd also suspect them growing from of the joint itself?)

Just seemed to have this kind of effect on people.

Strange world, innit?

In Prague had met a girl who perchance had had a real one, one on the inside, I mean. On a gland being responsible for controlling the cycle. So, as she'd been on the pill, took a while for the tumor getting noticed. Luckily, could have it surgically removed in the end, the excision been done through the nose, and fortunately the tumour didn't grow back. Though, cause the gland didn't recover, she's to swallow hormones regularly anyways, ouch.

But you know what? There's nothing to see about it, geddit? Absolutely no visible scar. Even if she'd wear as little hair as me.

Not on the outside. Not in the flesh. So nothing you'd ever notice and even less gape at on the street, capiche?

Or only in a very different kind of another strange world, I guess.

All sexed up

2007-04-04T23:43:00.000+01:00

There's one thing me and probly men in general just envy women for. And don't understand why most of 'em don't take more advantage of.

Yeah, reckon you just guessed it.

Unfortunately don't remember the name of the guy in the greek myth whom the gods turned into a woman and later back again, and who thereafter claimed women would be able to experience seven times more lust than men. [edit: it was Tiresias, check comments]

Considering how many times uninhibited girls can come one after another as compared to boys (rsp. the latter even within 24 hrs) I'd say sounds more like the understatement of the century to me.

Which for what it's worth is the reason why in bed (or wherever) generally don't mind giving her a headstart. For one, cause it turns me on and is a lot of fun, and two, the higher she's outta her mind already, the better it'll be for me too in my experience.

Plus the less likely she'll be inclined to call it a day rsp. night after just a few meager minutes or quarts of hours more.

Which of course translates into even more fun twice again.

Despite 'mafraid my stamina still being a wee bit behind that legendary couple an ex-girlfriend told me about usually being at it an almost incredible seven times a day.

(WARNING: Won't work with your average inhibited girl! Reckon you'll guess why just as well ...)

(continued ...)

Kinda incognito a.k.a. Almost human

2007-04-02T00:17:00.000+01:00

(30th Oct. 2006)

It's really amazing how passers by just stopped staring at me for a change once I got the last bastards cut off and also don't have to wear dressings anymore, even despite there's still some coagulated blood on the top of them new scars.

Erm, as I just found out this evening on the bus from Whitechapel to Aldwych, at least people passing me from the front, that is.

Seated upfront in the upper floor, looking out at a bus stop, trying to figure which one it was, when I noticed some girls on the sidewalk, going on in the same direction as the bus, all of them suddenly turning their heads and staring at me!

Huh?

Only then realising, they'd just exited the bus, and yes, they'd been sitting some rows behind me, passing me as they went for the stairs.

Uh, so guess I know why I was getting them kinda eyes. However, as compared to non-cap situations earlier, reckon I can just live with that.

(to be continued ...)

Here today, gone tomorrow

2007-03-28T01:15:00.000+01:00

Ok, actually the 3rd day in Prague now, though the last nonetheless. Sh*t, already rushing to Erfurt on the highway once more after all this time, reading again all the familiar roadsigns, combined with the familiar adenaline rush (bloody late but still might just gonna make it if we only set up the very second we'll arrive), what a flashback of wild days gone (ahem, sort of ;-)!

Same as for passing Dresden then heading into Czech Rep, passing the chemical works at Usti n. L. (unhealthy as ever, still can smell it from miles), finally diving down into Praha -- all those crazy memories coming back. Though the main objective of course being quite different this time, and also no way of hitting the road beyond, no matter how tempting all the names on the signs might read, boo-hoo. Not even for the exhib about Czech Decadence Culture we just missed here but which is now shown in Brno, no sir. Which would've been such a good excuse for cause actually it's firmly tied to our current mission, which of course can be outlined by the by now perhaps vaguely familiar two words 'Paul Leppin'.

(And yes, all on the same road to Olomouc, Ostrava, Cesky Tesin -- see pic here [Warning: GERMAN SOUNDBITES NOT SAFE FOR WORK] --, plus hey, since that's already at the border to Poland, why not all the way to Suwalki!)

Talkin bout Leppin, yeah, the two books overdue since quite a while (not to mention the forthcoming additional 4 volumes of the collected works edition) still didn't finish by themselves, and unfortunately Prof. Hoffmann didn't kill us right on the spot as he should have when visiting him two weeks earlier at the beginning of his summer semester stint in Freiburg i. Br., so now we'll have to complete them ourselves while he's still in Europe m'afraid.

To be more precisely he's right here in Prague at the mo, same as a lots of other people originally from the US, UK and Austria also involved with him directly or else in various Leppin-related projects. So when we got these two gigs not too far from Prague which paid for most of the trip anyway, became clear rather quickly we'll just miss half of the start of the semester as usual.

So now we linked up with Hoffmann again (plus also with swiss ex-pat artist Mark Divo who offered us to stay at his appt) and also got to know a load of other nice folks into the bargain. Bet we'll be back here sooner than we thought.

And hey, btw, tomorrow at least we'll pass Plzen ... ah, sweet memories ...

(Which reminds me, last time I was there, also didn't see more of it than driving in and out, plus the main station while picking somebody up on the way in, plus the inside of the club we played, and that was that. Already pissed me off then, but still loved it anyway.)

DKHF live in Cesky Tesin

'The horror, the horror'

2007-03-26T22:38:00.000+01:00

(5th February 2006)

Got these stickers of the blog's logo, and when spreading them, regularly find it amazing how many people assuming the pic MUST be photoshopped despite me sporting those obvious scars.

Just as today at the uni, this student doing a lecture bout blogs, asking who in the class'd be doing one. To my amazement was the only one (actually the guy too didn't seem more familiar than me bit more than a year ago), so he kept focussing on me, what it'd be about? Bandage still on my head, just made my usual joke, 'Well, about plastic surgery.'

After the bell handed him a sticker. Everybody around looking at the pic goggle-eyed, just like they'd probly gawped at me just a while ago, asking, huh, is this really real?!

So nah, this post will not deal with 'Apocalypse Now' (though that's one film that certainly had a great effect on me). Actually the title's just what the assistant lecturer said after I reassured her the photo wasn't doctored but that I really had these things growing on my head just like that.

continue ...

On the road again ...

2007-03-24T01:16:00.000Z

Actually should attend my courses at the uni, but just like last semester, the very first week, after some days I'm off for some more PigBrother Live Shows.

Am afraid also had a bad relapse regarding the pre-departure chaos. After finishing almost everything, only had to print out the pages of the Leppin book from the individual files. So generated all the printer jobs, queued them up, started the printer and went catching up like 90 minutes of sleep. Only to return finding the printer having gone loco, displaying error-messages regarding 'apple-talk disabled' in mid-job and other assorted b**locks. So I had to start all over again, just with the same messages coming up. Usually the remedy is un- and then replugging the ethernet cable at the printer, but then it starts the job again from the beginning. Well, f**k you very much.

So finally drove off not exactly early, only to find heavy snowing setting in before mid-journey. Minor miracle we still made it just in time (ok, having taken account of some slack from the beginning, too).

Göttingen was nice, T Keller pretty crowded, people laughing in the right places, cool discussions afterwards. And talking bout miracles, hey, the forked us over a bloody gernerous muneration too, in addition to travel expenses, and one for me and my mate each! Woa!

Erfurt also nice today, though they didn't seem appreciating too much my intro where I explain why I think generalisations like A.C.A.B. aren't too clever but actually rather counterproductive. However, all in all was cool, also being back there again, and a nice new squat too (well, new only to us, they're celebrating 6 years pretty soon). Check out their account of the location's history during nazi germany in english.

Actually there's still a party going on downstairs, so I'll better go move some ...

Another by now familiar remark

2007-03-22T02:18:00.000Z

Usually the follow-up to 'Will the hair grow back?', coming sooner or later after I explained that no, they won't.

In case you didn't guess yet, it goes:

'If you let your hair grow long enough, it'd cover the spot.'

Funny enough, again only noticed I heard that quite a few times by now when the same girl asked me this one, too. (No, were past 'going for a beer' by then, even past 'seeing my etchings' actually.)

Now, well, with regards to the grafted spot at the back of my head, letting my hair grow some inches indeed might work just fine. Though unfortunately there's still the remains of the top lumpies, amongst other things. Not to mention a good part of my hair generally going faster than the amazon rain forest anyway.

So reckon I'll just keep it short by cutting it every week or so -- and live with this remark, too.

(Which reminds me, haircut!, just another small item on my list before leaving for some more shows in about seven hours, so guess I'll better get started ...)

continue ...

Back on track

2007-03-19T13:15:00.000Z

On the sawdust track, that is. Or back to the laughing stock of it, considering everybody no matter how old or outta shape still beating me squat. Ah, the times I ran double the mileage in less time ...

See my eyes are older now, broken dreams behind ...

However, I'm not there to compete with anybody except myself in my current shape anyway. (Wouldn't be a wise thing to attempt either.) Also still remember just too well less than 2 years ago, game over after less than 2-300 yards.

So as it goes, still am happy running however little, gearing myself up by running every 2nd or 3rd day for 2 1/2 weeks now.

With all the surgery and complications finally done with, reckon it's about time I try harder getting back in shape. Et voilà, this week was back on the track 3 times as should be always, and YES, never failing to complete my meager 'regular number of rounds'.

Actually, end of last July was the last time I was able doing so (just before having cut off the lateral lump on 2nd of August), and before that early April (after recovering from the the first one on the forehead). And these were the ONLY two weeks last year AT ALL.

I know forgiveness is the key, not pride
I want to heal this pain I hide inside

So at least running wise I'm back at were I left, while regarding the weights, pull-ups etc. am still only at 70% of what I was able pulling off last year, which again was considerably less than before airport prison.

So, still quite a way to go, m'afraid. Not to mention late in 2005, before changing my mind regarding postponing the surgery for another while, was just about having a serious stab at increasing the rounds to 150% for good pretty soon. Well, hopefully this year.

Fill my heart with precious love, I know it's there to find ...

(And while most of the rest of the song is a wee bit way over the top religious for my tastes, every time I'm running more than a mile a piece even with some slopes in-between, hell, I'm still just f**king grateful to whom-or-what-ever and never fail to say thanks. Same as for every day I still got some tears or feelings left. Sometimes endorphines is a human's best friend ...)

15 minutes of sun

2007-03-17T23:27:00.000Z

While it got cooler again, northern wind setting in, frost in the mornings, on the other hand finally the sun came out for a few days. Though I still have to go through a thorough sun-blocker session before being able to enjoy. Sun mixed with scars less than 6 months old tends being no fun for the bearer. But hey, unlike last year, glad am able getting some sun at all! Even despite my tendency of initially forgetting about the real bastard scar one on my left hand, though.

So, for a few days was busy even catching up some. Actually whole decades of my life virtually never went sunbathing. Only started past 30 when my ageing body and my then girlfriend (the one with the allegedly 'fattish legs') persuaded me considering a slightly healthier lifestyle incl. keeping in shape. And after a while started enjoying both working out and getting some sun, since it gives this nice feeling inside, almost like love (but without the trouble usually attached to the latter, though that'd be another story).

Especially sunbathing is nice, just lying there, feeling the warmth on the skin and inside, maybe reading a bit in a good one or just closing the eyes, enjoying the bliss. Best of course is getting it daily, starting as soon as possible in winter and going on as long as it lasts, even with a sweater wrapped around the kidneys and thick socks on to prevent freezing.

Ok, got this skin that gets sunburned quite fast, and never deeply tanned unless it'd probly be considerably less fun living inside. So my preferred daily dosage would be about 15 minutes, respectively 4x4 minutes turning around.

Usually was doing it on the roof or in the garden. Once a dentist from across the street demanded I'd put on some shorts as his customer had complained, only laying off when I stood up on the roof so he could clearly see that, as a law-abiding citizen I indeed did wear some already (though not exactly boxers).

No more amusing episodes like that in the flat we're living in now, I'm afraid. Cause one of it's pros is the 4th floor balcony almost perfectly towards south and equipped with a massive concrete/frosted glass railing. Will say no more.

Except that it's been a nice row of days me lying there, first time since quite a while, probly 16 months. Already started dozing off less after meals or else in-between. But hey, didn't miss out on a single day.

Until now, that is. Bad relapse sleep pattern wise. 2nd day in a row I got up way too late. Bad bad bad bad bad.

As for tomorrow, forecast's sh*te.

Back in realtime (well, sort of)

2007-03-16T06:02:00.000Z

Hey, I'm still alive, no sweat! Just a wee bit way behind with almost everything. Regarding this blog, according to the original concept of posting everything strictly in faked chronological order, meanwhile actually to the point of it kinda defeating the purpose (not to mention cutting substantionally into the fun part).

So I'll start posting in non-chronological order, older stuff filed first under the pub date for a while, with the actual date mentioned in the first line, then after a while faking the pub date, i.e. older posts will be in reverse chronological order as before (though with gaps eventually to be filled later). Trying to maintain the chronologigal structure design, yassuhmam.

Oh yeah, and how about starting labeling and interlinking each post, enabling different ways of coherent access and navigation? Who needs sleep or food anyway. Cool new features, and all "for free"!

Yup, google forced my sorry ass too to ubdate to blogger beta anyway, reckon cashing in on my private personal data sniffed out by the obligatory cookies.

Welcome to the 21st century, again. And puleeeeeze, no more kidding about the middle ages, or else ...

'Will the hair grow back?'

2007-03-15T04:07:00.000Z

Earlier went 'for a beer' with this girl, when I realised that's a question I'm kinda familiar with by now (and probly will have to brace myself for this just staying that way).

Funny how without further ado, it's usually perfectly clear it's not about the growing bald spot at the top of the back of my head, but ...

Of course the answer is 'no', at least not significantly, cause it's grafted skin from the throat.

Actually I'm quite happy at least the hair around the graft returned, which was all gone for almost an inch (WARNING!).

continue ...

File under typical (a.k.a. Back to the middle ages Pt. 2)

2006-10-18T19:33:00.000+01:00

As I wrote, smelled like the whole small department of my day- respectively nighttime job at the newspaper getting sacked pretty soon for some weeks now. Recently my mates learned some more details at the workplace, making it rather a definitive, though our employers still busy denying everything. With the same details plus a report in a paper, also became clear another department going to fold in just as well. Surprise, surprise, the employers didn't bother telling them either.

Business as usual, a.k.a. straight back to the middle ages. And while I'm at it, don't ask me how many months till I'll have my sick benefits transferred to my account, again, and by the way I mean all of it and not just a fraction. Not to mention the many times they tried pulling a fast one by having us sign new contracts, claiming the pay'd be just the same while actually being a quarter or third less. Oh lovely, in future will have to pay only 2/3 of rent, health insurance etc, hawhawhaw. Whereas all the time, the company's profits going up, not down.

Well, actually turned out to be a 'misunderstanding', the discrepancies with the new contracts. At least that's what they said every time as soon as we were able getting us some back-up to expose the whole deal. Suddenly getting them back at the table, adding the 'overseen' wage elements pronto.

Looks like now we're getting it for not letting them f**k us over earlier. Ok, I'm aware that actually I'm still off comparatively well. Nonetheless reckon some greedy bastards will never learn until one morning waking up to why again the lovely ways of peers and serfs never lasted forever yet. Business as usual just as well, though I wouldn't hold my breath.

Anyways, when eventually all of the mates got an invitation to a surprise meeting at short notice, no big guessing bout the agenda item. And surprise, surprise, turns out we were just about right. Looks like next year I might be on the dole for the first time in my life.

Still a bit shaky on my legs, back to slow motion zombie style, not exactly fun running round. Still was happy having dragged myself there. Cause else they'd calculated my monthly pay for the cancellation period from a timeframe when I was hardly working and therefore had earned pretty much nothing in the first place. Nice try.

Just like the boss, after he eventually agreed using a month I was wasn't sick or off for the calculation, telling me how now I got off real well and with a freebie. File under guess what.

Nice one for a change

2006-10-17T20:56:00.000+01:00

Still a bit dizzy from the painkillers, though hope being off soon. Actually gave it a try this morning, but after a while decided sticking with them for another day and then try again.

On my way back to the beauty farm, Oct 17th.

Changing the dressings, surgeon said he's still happy so far. And with me still on antibiotics there'd be no need of changing the drains daily, so I can just keep them in as long as seems fit before removing the stitches next week. Plus despite the original dressing almost dripped, over night the bleeding had almost stopped. So as long as it keeps developping nicely, my mate'll be able changing the dressings and taking care of the wounds no prob, so I won't have to travel almost 2 hours every day just for that. Knock on wood some more.

Have to admit, after having a look at the results in the hand mirror before putting the new bandage on, I'm quite pleased with the outcome too, especially with the lines of the wounds. Though am happy we took the time to rediscuss this in detail right before the surgery. Still think I wouldn't have liked the way he'd proposed doing it originally. I.e. like he'd done the lateral lump, leaving a cut around one half of the base, flapping the remaining skin of the other half round, tailoring it to fit.

8th August. Lateral lump removed, ones on top punctured.

Now I can see why he preferred doing so there, mainly because now the scar's more to the back and can't be seen from front. But on the downside this implied using more of the skin on top of the lump, which's even more stretched and strange looking than the parts at the base. Which means now there's another more or less bald spot that won't recover.

Ok, on the top of my head probly won't have no more hair soon enough anyway. However, cause of the general condition of the skin on the lumpies, still think makes more sense leaving the cut in the middle, using the base skin from both sides while removing the one on top.

Fortunately wasn't a big discussion. And though I had visualised having it done more symmetrically, still won't complain for a change. In contrary, definitely like how the new cut kinda connects the already existing scars, with just 2 smaller vertical cuts on top to tailor the rest. Which I've to admit looks even better than what I imagined myself. Also think he did a good job by deflating and tailoring the tricky bastard a.k.a. the smaller dexterior lumpie.

Just after surgery, Oct 16th.
© Seelenlos 2006

Well, maybe I'd also just lowered my expectations after some of the previous sh*it, but this is the very first time it actually looks better than what I had hoped for in the first place.

Skin beats scissors

2006-10-16T22:08:00.000+01:00

Whoa, I did it! Actually had thought might been a bit an exageration the surgeon telling me earlier my strange skin would ruin his precious surgical scissors, but well, here's the proof:

Besides, surgery went smooth again, despite this time removing two lumpies at once, plus me bleeding too much as per usual. Also the anaesthesist did a nice job too, keeping me conscious all the time. As for the carousel when she started pouring in the good mix via the drip, guess I'm getting used to it by now, since I perceived it as less intense every time. Pulserate as low as it gets during the whole show. And since they reckoned as during all the previous sessions local anaestesia plus the drowsy mixture would do no sweat, even was allowed eating some before turning up for a change. Which came in even handier since this time had the appointment at 4 pm.

Like always my scalp offered plenty resistance right from the start when he began injecting the local anaesthetic, producing this kinda ripping sound each time the needle eventually went through. Not to mention the even more explicit sound effects as he went gnawing through the skin with the other tools, wrenching, tearing, shredding, snapping. Pity can't have a go actually seeing what he's doing.

So was just enjoying the soundtrack, when suddenly there was a most unusual cracking sound, followed by metal pieces clanging on the floor. Next thing he's causually informing me I finally really wrecked his scissors on the spot, then going on with a replacement, scraping all the nasty stuff out, tailoring the remaining skin and sewing the different layers up.

Still can't wait having all them photos on my screen. Also am curious how the resulting scars and stuff will look like. Though reckon will be able having a first peek tomorrow when going for a check plus to change the bandages.

Again put in two small drains made of surgical gloves, so hopefully no more headaches. Seem to work swell, cause despite the huge load of gauze he put on top before fixing it with surgical tape, blood and juices already seeping out. Am glad still having some of the plastic coated paper sheet left for my pillow, same stuff they use for covering the surgical table and of which the assistant cut me some off the roll earlier. Still, new dressings tomorrow won't harm, and washing wy wool cap either.

Till then, guess I'll just be glad not having to endure the daily disinfection routine anymore. Plus of course hoping there won't be no more friggin complications, knock on wood. Don't want to miss another flight, and am scheduled to attend the annual UFFC rally to Downing St. No. 10 end of next week, plus doing another show @ LARC, both I'm quite looking forward to.

Again the surgeon stressed he was very pleased with how the lumpies had been taken care of, reassuring me there shouldn't be any more trouble with the infection that kept bugging me for about 1 1/2 months now, though I'm to stay on antibiotics for about one more week.

Knock on wood some more ...

F**ked up royally

2006-10-14T01:32:00.000+01:00

Got feedback from Prof. Hoffmann on my corrections of the layouts for our book by Paul Leppin I did in London last week. Sheesh, can't believe it.

Ok, was a bit complicated there not just with the lumpies n all, sometimes not too quiet and even less relaxed anyway, plus most of the original layouts for me tied to not really heart warming memories in the first place, and many of the actual texts I had to fix dealing with similar matters on top.

Still remember feeling like sitting on needles while doing it, quite exhausted afterwards and sooo glad finally having it off my screen. Talking bout wishful thinking ...

But still, how I f**ked it up is way less than tolerable at all. I mean, the amounts of typos I failed to correct would be one thing, but the new ones I managed to add, aaarrgh!

And the worst, of course now just have to get back on it, trying to do a better job this time. Am feeling uncomfy already.

Sometimes when some things go bad it's like just about everything seems to suck.

Not happy, not happy, not happy.

... two days to go ...

This one's for you

2006-10-13T15:58:00.000+01:00

Just back from the surgeon. He was very pleased with the development of the lumpies, also said they'd be taken care of really well. So guess it's high time to send out a big THANK YOU to everybody who was helping me out with them during the last weeks (first in order of how many times you were doing so, then chronologically):

Anger
Mark
Martin
Beti
Shane
Gaz
Darren
Rob
Marki
Ben
Loukas

Couldn't have done it without you, and resilient strains n all aside, frankly doubt if any med pros would've done such a marvellous job in the long run either, cause I bet they wouldn't been game for disinfecting each one of them twice every time, argueing one rinse with peroxide would've killed anything inside no doubt, though personally and from my own experience I do know for sure with these bloody lumpies o' mine and the nasty stuff n bubbles inside unfortunately that's just not the case.

So thanks a lot mates, and since probly won't meet some of you again and therefore wouldn't be able returning the favour in case you'd be similarly in need once yourself, may a gentle and kind stranger help you out just like you did to me.

This one's for you.

Sorry I didn't make it (Tears are a gift from heaven Pt. 5)

2006-10-12T16:16:00.000+01:00

The only good death I remember was my grandmother's about 5 years ago.

She'd reached the grand old age of 95 when she died, so there's not too much complaining about eventually giving in, at least not in my book. However, still feel she could've gone past 100 no sweat if she only had wanted to. On the other hand, I can understand why not.

She'd always been very reluctant about having to move into this home for the elderly. Her own parents had died in her and grandfathers house, where they had a little appt, both also over 90. Frankly think it wouldn't have harmed if my parents could've waited some more before selling their house and taking over grandma's appt, but that's the way it just happened anyway.

I mean the home where she was living after wasn't actually a bad one, no way, but still could feel for her. Especially after my time in airport prison, I remember stepping out of the elevator, going down the corridor with all the doors and suddenly looking at it quite differently than ever before.

During her last years one could clearly see how the joy of life left her, and she also used to regularly mention she'd pray and hope she wouldn't have to reach 100. She was never bitter, but every time I'd visit her and hug her some, she'd cry a bit. Since my grandfather'd died 20 years earlier and all of her old friends going one by one as well, guess she felt pretty lonely.

The day she died, my parents called early in the evening, but I was just bloody stupid as not to hit the train immediately, cause I had to go to work at 11pm, and when I rushed as soon as I could the next day, she was already gone.

She looked a bit strange, cause they had fixed her a bandage vertically around her head to prevent her jaw from dropping down, but she still didn't look like she'd suffered or put up a fight. Her skin was already cold and a bit pale, and at the root of her fingernails you could see blood starting to coagulate below.

I remember holding her hand before leaving, people already waiting outside the door to wheel her away to the morgue, thinking 'Sorry I didn't make it in time', and I felt like I would have to cry, but I couldn't. Same old, same old.

Almost every time I'm on a plane n above the clouds, seeing the horizon far, far away and the big, big blue arching over it, becoming darker and darker, I see her and grandfather rising miles high through the clouds and into the sky, thinking 'Sorry I didn't make it', and then I cry rivers and don't give a flying f**k what any of the other passengers might think.

(continued ...)

Jet set by foot

2006-10-11T01:08:00.000+01:00

Still knackered as can be. At least got some showers for a change, the one thing they didn't get running @ Rampart was hot water, so I was really dying for one when arriving back in Kennington. Show in Oxford ok, despite in the end had no beamer, so just had the 17" display on my posh laptop. Guy helping me out with the lumpies before A-ok. Though no dosh just once more, so I'm pretty in debt by now.

Other downer was, had to walk almost an hour there getting the really f**cking early bus back to London for getting the other one for the airport, so in the end slept little less than an hour. Was this posh bus line I only could get cause off-peak they're renting out excess seats to megabus (the reason why it had to be the really early one). Nice part though, in the front row in the upper deck there was a power plug, so I could unse my laptop and listen to music whithout draining the batteries yet.

But was I glad I left most of the luggage in Kennington to collect just before going to the airport, dragging it tho and fro in Oxford would've been too bad even for tough sh*t. Of course then missed one bus at Victoria, while the next got cancelled, so in the end had bit a run towards the check in, but still made it just fine.

Surprise, surprise, lady behind the counter even pulled a new one. When I presented my GP's letter about the prescripted stuff box, which is a standard form coming in englich, german and spanish, she hardly glanced at it and said, 'Won't work, can't read this.' So I pointed with my finger to the english section, replying, 'But it's in english', and hussah, suddenly she could read it no prob. Well, never blame a girl for trying.

Eventually rushed some more over to fragile goods and then through security, though surprise, surprise no 2, of course the plane was just late again. Got security no 108, but still secured my usual window seat anyway.

So back in Zurich now, just returned from work. Got a preliminary appointment at the beauty farm tomorrow rsp. later today, while surgery is scheduled for next Monday, so better make sure I'm catching up with sleep in order to be as fit as possible.

Dissent or rot (Always felt like a Pariah Pt. 2)

2006-10-10T21:40:00.000+01:00

Having grown up in a conservative household during the cold war, you can bet I was told about the brave dissidents within the then actually existing socialist countries. Being a good boy, of course admired them too. Actually a bit too much perhaps. Not for my tastes, but obviously for almost everybody else's.

Though barely a teenager, didn't take too long till I realised, while my parents did have two volumes of GULag Archipelago displayed in their bookshelves, hardly bothered reading any of them (ok, didn't do so myself till pretty much later). And when after Prague '68 many Czechs got offered asylum in Switzerland, surprisingly most of them being well trained lab workers or other studied professionals, not to mention usually not too adamant to criticise injustice here or elsewhere. And while my parents and other grown ups continued idolising foreign dissidents and their brave struggle, the longer the more I realised they'd be the last having the balls to stand up and risk anything for an unpopular conviction themselves.

Not exactly my kind of heroes, I'm afraid. And very unlike e.g. Adam Michnik almost a decade later, defiantly proclaiming stuff along the line of 'you can lock me up, but but you won't make me comply'. And while I might not agree with everything he was about lately, still respect him for having the guts of sticking with his creeds (though perhaps it's no coincidence that after Abu Ghraib western newspapers started qouting him considerably less -- if at all). Cause that's what it's about, not blindly doing as you've been told, but making up your own mind also if the consequences are a bit less favourable.

And while I despise violence and lynchmobs, when walking the street with the ordinary looking house where the torture cellars were and then visiting the nearby park, seeing the trees still standing where the people after liberating the prisoners had dragged the screws and strung them up in Budapest '56, couldn't condemn them either nor help myself thinking 'yes!'

But even then, even in my remotest dreams never dared thinking I'd ever be doing time myself. Even less in an increased security jail in the 'model country of democracy'. Not to mention that it'd be for the "thought crime" of having made a film the local authorities obviously didn't like -- just like in one of these dreaded oppressed communist countries they'd always been cautioning against at home and in school ...

Zurich Airport Prison, 2000

Which is where I finally started reading Solzhenitsyn's GULag Archipelago, beginning with the 3rd volume, embracing it like few books before. Cause, despite considering myself lucky, like after my short stint 'only' having to swallow cortisone for some 5 years insted of having been plain snuffed like in the 'real thing', it was all there: the humiliation, lies and deceits by the screws and administration, the 'games' amongst the inmates, but also the gallows humour, and the biggest paradox of it all: 'I'm grateful for the prison having been a part of my life. It was therein that I nurtured my soul ...'

Not to mention realising, the prison outside being only a slightly watered down version of basically just the same. But you know what? 'You can lock me up, you can abuse me and kill me, but you won't make me comply ...'

Breaking and entering

2006-10-08T18:18:00.000+01:00

Phew, that was a near thing! Had to go out do some stuff yesterday afternoon which took a bit longer, so only returned after 8pm looking for the victim of the day helping me with the bandages n stuff. Now as said before, the later the evening gets, the more difficult the task, not to mention on a saturday when most folks have other things in mind and/or are not exactly capable anymore anyway. For some bloody HOURS kept harassing EVERYBODY, but turned out nobody being willing or able.

Already started considering doing it myself in front of a mirror (as well as possible that'd be), when finally met this guy living up the street coming home who agreed helping me out once more and really, really made my day. Actually rather early morning when we finished, but still not too late for donning one of my trusty magic caps, walking over to Aldgate and and burn some money by hitting a cheaply priced club, going moderately apesh*t. Subwoofers definitely a bit small for my taste, but as for the tweeters, boy was I glad having some earplugs with me!

Of course on return to thee rampART finding the door locked and nowhere nobody available with keys or at least some crashspace till noon. Tried hard for a while waking somebody up, also up the street and round the corner, but didn't succeed. So in the end opted for breaking and entering, which was't particularly easy cause the people running the squat are used to these sort of customers, so their countermeasures were tried and proven. For obvious reasons won't go into the details, let's just say didn't actually break anything but nonetheless hit the sack with some pretty deep scratches on my right hand and up the arm, ouch.

Punishment follows swiftly ... Going to the toilet after waking up, through the window spotted a minor invasion of dark blue bullet proof vests plus the occasional hi viz accessory crowding the alley in front of the building. Uh-oh. Nah, didn't expect them being here for me, even less for breaking and entering a squat. Despite had zero inclination of becoming a collateral damage of whichever operation either. Turns out, there's a Sack Parliament meeting going on below and as usual the Forward Intelligence Team plus reinforcements eager taking the picture of everybody entering or leaving the building, or else ... They were quite persistent, but fortunately went before I had to leave the house.

'Forward intelligence' spelled out: FIT @ Gleneagles G8, 2005
(Photo © Guy Smallman)

'If looks can kill, they probably will and they did ...' (Body Fascist Pt. 11)

2006-10-07T14:00:00.000+01:00

'... kill you because they hate the way you look.' Nabil Shaban: Body Fascism and Genetic Cleansing

First learned about Dr. Nabil Shaban some months ago while researching on the obvious keyword of Body-you-know-what. To beeb buffs he's probly best known for his role as the alien Evil Sil in the Dr. Who Series (btw 10 years before the Sil of Species), while others might know him from various other plays and/or films, as author of the book Dreams my father sold me or as co-founder of Graeae Theatre Company of Disabled People. Nabil Shaban also generated some ripples when, after the UK joining the war in Iraq, he went to Downing St. 10 and handed back a grant of 25'000 quid cause he felt he couldn't accept the 'blood money'.

Nabil Shaban in Born of Fire (1989). Inside # 57 Interview

What really struck me of course was some of his thoughts on the topic at hand, of which without further ado I'd like to share some excerpts:

"Body Fascism", a term I created in 1983, which places a value on a person’s worth on the basis of physical appearance or attributes....thus someone with an able body that appears perfect, fit, hansome or beautiful, has a superior status...whereas a person who deviates from a socially or culturally physically acceptable norm...i.e too fat, too thin, too short, physically deformity e.g hunchback, wasted hand, clubbed foot, impaired in mobility or senses (blind, deaf etc)..."ugly" in some shape or form....are deemed to have an inferior status. Consequently, the heroic, the romantic, the good, the desirable are portrayed/represented by performers whose physical or bodily attributes evoke the greatest sympathy / identity from the largest possible audience. [...] The problems of Sexism, Ageism and Racism in the performing arts are particular aspects of Body Fascism. "Body Fascist" Market Forces are not just a problem for disabled people. There is no Fair Play: Disability and the Performing Arts

The first people that were gassed in Nazi Germany were disabled people. Not Jews, not gypsies, not communists, but disabled people. The first people that were being castrated, sterilised were disabled people. And the first babies that had been murdered in hospitals by Nazi doctors were disabled people. So the general public should look at what happens to disabled people and realise that that is a warning of about what's going to happen to them next. So it's actually in the interest of non-disabled people to fight with us, to be our allies. Dail Interview

And who said women are more interested in personality! What a load of bollocks! As a disabled man, I have learned that women are just as Body Fascist as men. Inside # 57 Interview

The other thing I noticed was that I started to become sexually interesting to women once I became an actor, started to appear on stage, television and film and become a minor celebrity. Suddenly, I found women who wanted to be my girlfriend, even though I was still disabled. As Henry Kissinger said, "Power is the biggest aphrodisiac". My fame and success was giving me apparent power, and that was what was turning women on. It wasn't me, myself, Nabil that had metamorphosed into a gorgeous looking bloke. I was still the same. I still hated seeing myself in the mirror. It's not surprising billions of people want to be Hollywood movie stars or rock stars, because they instinctively know that even if they are conventionally "ugly" or just plain-looking, the result will still be sexual pulling power. Inside # 57 Interview

Tuppy: If you hate seeing yourself in the mirror (although most people do) could this mean you share body fascism yourself?

Nabil: Indeed. In fact, that was why I originally came up with the term. I was meditating on my own aesthetic prejudices, particularly as an artist, I made myself be aware of my preconditioned preferences and questioned them, analysed them, tried to work out why and how and from whence, and were they culturally determined or are they instinctual products stemming from biological imperatives? In the end, I concluded that the Human condition has the ability to transcend all physical, material, social, genetic dictates and that if we are to move on to a higher, more enlightened plane of existence which is the only refuge that can save us and the planet, we must recognise those demons within, however sourced, which commands us to make value judgements on the basis of ultimately superficial criteria....and having put on the spotlight, we can hopefully exorcise them. That's the theory, anyway. Inside # 57 Interview

Tina Leslie and her and Nabil's baby son Zenyel. The 5th Gospel

And the transport situation, this business of locking people out of cities. It certainly started with disabled people and it's getting to point where I'm not allowed to get into London because every time I do, there is a good chance I'll end up with a parking ticket. In fact the London boroughs have decided since the 1980s to ignore the disabled badge and they claim they've got their own badge. But then you may end up having to have about five or ten different disabled badges. You have to use them in every borough you are going. They have become sort of passports. You cannot go to Kensington and Chelsea unless you show the Kensington and Chelsea disabled badge. You cannot to go to Westminster unless you have the disabled badge for Westminster. So now we have this system of restricting disabled people's mobility and movement in the metropolitan areas and it's obvious in London. Dail Interview

There is certainly legislation that is threatening to disabled people. The Mental Incapacity Bill for example is giving licence to kill disabled people unfortunate enough to end up in a hospital. [...] We have got this attitude in this country where disabled people are considered to be useless, so we have a prioritization system now in our health care. So if you are disabled and you go to a hospital, you are less likely to receive proper treatment because they would like to see you dead. And to try and get on to the waiting list, if you are disabled, it's ten times harder than if you are non-disabled. Because again they actually want to see you dead. [...] Dail Interview

Phew, guess with my reservations against clostridium difficile and similar niceties in NHS facilities in the end still can consider myself spoilt n lucky ...

(In case you'd like to check out more of Nabil Shaban's writings on the net, which is sometimes not too easy cause some pages for mysterious reasons can't be googled, best start on his resummee-page and follow every link from there plus the links on the pages they lead you to.)

(To be continued ...)

'Strange hat you're wearing'

2006-10-06T15:11:00.000+01:00

Two shows in the midlands cancelled, so still in the smoke. More precisely at the Rampart, just a stone's throw from Whitechapel Hospital, where the Elephant Man used to live. (Actually on the extras on the dvd you can see an ancient map including the very building where I'm writing this, but that's another story.)

Last Monday while bringing some leaflets to LARC, was really lucky meeting this other guy I know. He was actually busy going somewhere, but then still could help me out doing the bandages. At first also was a bit timid, but when I kept going on like, 'No, it's ok, just pull harder', he then just did so. Now the holes in the lumpies are are more comfortably sized again, though the smaller one itself keeps getting smaller n smaller as it's supposed to, but making it more difficult daily, definitely earning it's nickname 'tricky b*stard'.

Am glad I can stay here, also cause there's people showing up every once in a while, which comes in handy when looking for another day's victim, up to now always was lucky finding one. Also cool having fast internet here, trying to get some more stuff done.

Unfortunately the one guy living more or less next door, who'd said he could do it every once in a while, when finally at it suddenly visibly struggling with himself, so guess I'll better not insist.

Also a couple I know going through kinda the acrimoniuos type of divorce, though without having been married. Still just the kind of things affecting my own sore heart not really for the better, but that's how it is.

The other lesser nice thang being this other guy running amok two days ago, breaking the wiring of the electronic lock at the entrance, so I have to be careful not getting locked out.

Plus some news from the Zurich homefront also not sounding too cool. Though far from admitting anything like it, looks like we're all getting sacked pretty soon so the company'll be able to please the shareholders some more.

While on the funnier side, always striking how many people mistake my bandages for a cap.

continue ...

Numb as can be (Tears Pt. 4)

2006-10-05T02:25:00.000+01:00

Last May, one Thursday morning, before catching the bus for the show in Brighton, was at this UFFC press conference in St. Peter's church near Piccadilly regarding their ongoing fight to get justice for their loved ones killed by the cops.

As usual shame on how little people showed up. Which was why I went in the first place. Besides picking up loads of the leaflets they were launching, that is.

Been a while since I'd been in a church. Mostly funerals actually. Grandfather, Grandmother, my sister's stillborn, relatives of family friends. (Plus one baptism, for a change).

Only at my godmother's funeral I wasn't there, but en route to Bath screening our infamous film at a festival, actually on the train in from Luton whith a local friend when my mother called on my mate's mobile saying she'd died. (First time I'd set a foot on an airplane after more than 20 years. That much it had made me feel guilty ...)

Though in St. Peter's was the bereaved telling about missing their loved ones suddenly making my sight blur.

Actually at some point had to tell myself like, bottle it now, you can cry as much as you want on the bus, but don't make no racket here, ok? Which was about what I did. Plus starting to write this:

When my godmother died 3 years ago, took me more than 1 1/2 years to realise I'd never really mourned for her. Even worse, that I hadn't cried at all for much, much longer. Numb inside. Numb as can be.

I remember, I'd been visiting her and her husband just before leaving for the UK. Her already being in a real bad shape. Cancer in the liver, just returned home after what was supposed to be the first round of chemotherapy.

And as usual the suckers at the hospital obviously too f**king tight on the morphine. So she was in terrible pain, unable to digest anything any more. Just puked it all out again shortly after swallowing it. Screaming the pain away.

Of course, her husband didn't want me go to her. So I only saw her through the open bedroom door when I left. Sitting on her bed, holding a plastic bucket in her lap, probably trying hard not to puke wile I could see her.

So I just waved her good bye on my way to the appartment door. Last time I ever saw her.

As long as I'll live I'll curse myself for not going over to her. That I didn't shook her hand or put my hand on her shoulder.

Same old story again again ...

(continued ...)

The Nasty Part (Zit P*rn Pt. 2)

2006-10-04T01:05:00.000+01:00

'Superbug claims 49 lives in top hospitals' -- just the kind of headlines I'm eager to read, but nonetheless the front page of the Observer the day I got back to London. And that's not even it: The above figure's just the as of yet confirmed casualties in 3 Leicester hospital during the past 9 months alone. Plus some other 29 'suspicious cases' still being examined by the coroner, thanx.

Now it's kinda reassuring reading on that the risk of death by the 'superbug' of the tell-tale latin name Clostridium difficile is considerably higher when undergoing gut surgery (well, at least for me at the moment), plus that after infection first there's no trouble, only when you start taking antibiotics (in less than 2 weeks when going for the next round in my case). Also, that unlike other superbugs, C. difficile can still be treated with 'special antibiotics' (as long as you make it long enough till the test cultures are developped, I suppose).

However, concerning my daily disinfection trip, still reminds me of what several doctors and other professionals told me: Better having it done anywhere than in a hospital.

Which brings me to my problem: Since the holes in the lumpies are wounds in regular scalp, they're trying to heal up and close all the time. Which is more or less prevented by inserting the hypo tip several times every day, though sometimes not even that's an overeasy thing to do. But even if so, nonetheless the holes get smaller an smaller every day. Unless you strech (and not to mention rip) them bigger again every time, that is.

Also I got the impression the cyst-skin just below the scalp and around the holes also kinda dries up and in the process contracts, and this b*stard is even a lot tougher to rip open again than my 'normal' skin (which already made the surgeon complain it ruining his precious tools cause being too tough).

All things not exactly helping to keep them holes big enough for the daily treatment, though somebody has to do so.

Which of course is the 'nasty part' obviously not suitable for everybody, not even for the ones unsqueamish enough to do the actual rinsing.

Though I'm always instructing everybody to 'stay away at an arms length' and then while injecting the stuff to 'pull the hypo against you hard, harder, HARDER, doesn't hurt, and never mind the few small drops of blood, please', obviously isn't everybody's cuppa applying the necessary amount of force.

And even if the holes are rather big, you still need to stretch them a bit wider so the sparkling foam of the hydrogen peroxide plus also the excess iodyne can spill out nice n easy. Cause if you don't, pressure will build up inside the lump, and eventually spill out in a huge fountain.

(Which is why I tell people to stay away at an arms lenght and pull the hypo towards them, so that the stuff will spill out into the opposite direction.)

However, if you don't pull hard enough, the whole thing just seals tight after inserting the tip, i.e. you can't inject much, the lump just inflating a bit like some kind of thick balloon, and in the worst case the stuff incl. the nice bit n bobs just going back into the hypo.

Stills from 'Berlin Zit P*rn' © Cecil B. Feeder / Seelenlos 2006

Oops, here we go ...

Not to mention when eventually pulling the tip out, there's a big splash all over the place, covering everything with juice and the other stuff.

... though only a perfectly modest one ...

Which is exactly what happened later the same evening, when the girlfriend of the mate I'm staying with did it for the second time. How much I said 'pull harder', just wasn't possible for her, so the outcome was inevitable.

... hardly going anywhere.

Sh*te, all the nasty pieces glued to the drawer, dripping from the wall, yuck! Must've stuck the opening as well.

Just a fraction of what usually goes directly into the bag.

Ok, by now am used to the daily clean-up after the show, as I'm always sending out my victims enjoying the chocolate bribe as soon as their part's done.

And here they are ...

But that sure was something else, woa! Also loads of cyst-skin, definitely more and fatter than usual, which looks even uglier than the normal stuff, cause it's really white and also tends to form small rolls, looking like some alien sorts of cockchafer grubs.

... tasty little bits'n'bobs'n'pieces ...

Almost expected them pieces starting to wriggle while eventually wiping them away, just by the lovely look of some.

... soaking in delicious iodyne. Yummy!
(Though only the reglar ones, m'afraid.)

First time before I was off to Scotland she'd also done it which'd been no problem, but perhaps she'd been more determined then. Also the skin of the whole lumps shrunk quite some since (which is the original idea behind having them punctured in the first place), which also doesn't make the treatment easier. Plus before I got away from Zurich Anger'd made sure the holes were nice n big.

So in the end she made clear it was too much for her and despite her original intention she couldn't do it anymore for the next 8 days. Ok, can understand that. However, still just got myself a new small problem dangling from my neck.

Cause definitely don't agree with her suggestion this'd be something best handled by doctors in a hospital at all. Cause on the one hand, most medical pros haven't seen anything like that before either, so they'd have to learn how to more or less from scratch as well (though probly being less inclined of admitting so). While on the other, as said, anywhere better than in a hospital, which is exactly what I'm gonna do, you can bloody bet.

Boozing up for the weekend

2006-10-02T23:20:00.000+01:00

Still quite knackered, but nonetheless once more at the airport quite early. Boarding en-oh double-oh-six, haw. Despite some minor trouble while checking in (the very first time I had to weight my handluggage, oops -- plus a short discussion cause of my medical supplies, followed by a frantic phonecall that eventually set things straight), in the end passed security no sweat n fast.

Of course then the plane was late again. So plenty time getting some more stuff done till securing my usual favourite window seat. Only to find out the plane'd be stuck at the airport one more hour before getting allocated a new slot and eventually being allowed to take off. Not to mention the airline company in question jamming in the seats even narrower. So for a change left the powerbook in the box and instead dug some more into one of the books I got while stalking Dublin's 2nd hand shops (guess why my handluggage was overweight ), written by an ex-garda bout her stint on 'suicide proof' Store St Stn (not too much to the delight of some other guards obviously -- see comment).

Derry was cool. Nice people, some interesting stuff going on before the show and two concerts thereafter, not to mention got this nice hi rez vid bout the Dublin riots fuelled by some recent deaths in custody I was on about earlier. Even some more dosh.

Unfortunately as usual concerts over while me just geared up. Plus all over the town a pretty strict closing time in effect at midnight and no decent clubs nowhere at all. Or at least nobody I asked knew about some, though can't really imagine there wouldn't be any somewhere.

Of course when the pubs closed, most people just spilling onto the street, partying on. Everybody staying outside, getting even more pissed. Cops driving their rounds having an eye on them. Reminded me of where I grew up. Though people here drinking considerably harder while smoking way less. Not to mention the coppers looking a bloody lot nastier, boa-ey. No wonder most comments about my bandages involving them. Uh, guess I'm luck-y.

Cold B*stard a.k.a. Not even for others (Tears Pt. 3)

2006-10-01T22:01:00.000+01:00

First time I encountered death was when my youngest sister died. At least at home in bed in sleep and without pain. I was about 6, and for the life of me today have no idea where from I might've gotten that then, but already was well aware in this world none of the above could be taken for granted at all.

She'd been one year old. Most of her life out of one hospital into the next one. Though before it happened ironically had looked better and nobody'd thought her finally returning home just to die.

Right, wasn't exactly fair not getting older than one, but as I felt still beat going on and on like she'd had to all the time. At least now she could rest in peace. No more hospitals. No more trouble. No more pain.

I remember cradling her lifeless little body in my arms at the treshold of the little ones' room, feeling vaguely guilty for not feeling like crying at all.

But realising, with all the fuss the grown-ups usually kicking up about dying (despite sooner or later everybody would anyway), this very moment probly been the last time in my life I'd be allowed embracing a dead person to say my farewells.

Thinking about it now, find this combination of no tears but thoughts kinda appalling. Still am not too sure whether I wasn't just a bloody cold b*stard then. Probably somehow still am. At least still feel kinda proud for having realised all this crystal clear so d*mn quickly. (However, little did I suspect how very much my suspicion about me not being allowed to say farewell properly would be proved right some 12 years later. Neither there'd even be such things as mortuaries worse than visiting rooms in high security prisons ...)

Or perhaps just numb inside already. Also about that time had started wanting to die myself desperately. And this same threshold pretty soon thereafter being the very place where I'd lost my breath for the first time. Kinda breaking down, only able to breathe very shallowly but really fast. Bit like a dog panting. Taking some eternities till I was able to draw breath more or less properly again.

So much about being a cold b*stard ...

(continued ...)

Dublin Death in Custody

2006-09-29T22:28:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-09-28T15:27:00.000+01:00

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.)

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

2006-09-27T14:30:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-09-26T23:49:00.000+01:00

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'

2006-09-26T14:23:00.000+01:00

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!

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.

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

2006-09-25T15:12:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-09-22T15:05:00.000+01:00

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

2006-09-21T15:49:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-09-20T23:32:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-09-18T21:22:00.000+01:00

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

2006-09-14T02:01:00.000+01:00

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

2006-09-13T01:24:00.000+01:00

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'

2006-09-10T22:47:00.000+01:00

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'

When the pus hit the fan

2006-09-09T18:29:00.000+01:00

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!

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)

2006-09-08T02:40:00.000+01:00

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

2006-09-07T02:56:00.000+01:00

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 ...

2006-09-06T21:49:00.000+01:00

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)

2006-09-05T03:16:00.000+01:00

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

2006-09-03T17:31:00.000+01:00

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 ...

2006-09-01T02:27:00.000+01:00

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.

I have seen the milky way

2006-08-28T19:38:00.000+01:00

Almost forgot: After having having finished with the Tesco bags yesterday, relaxed some with Schmidts before hitting the road home again, when suddenly his wife, standing ouside of the house, remarked like, 'Nice sky tonight, many stars.'

Sure, in the small, stretched village in Oberammergau, the lovely part of Bavaria where they live, whith it's big natural natural preserve and rustical landscape, there's little light pollution, and also the moon was new and down. But still wasn't prepared to what I saw when also going out of the house, looking up.

Yup, there were lots and lots of stars, almost as many as I remember from being a kid one night at the base of the alps. Though my eyesight definitely lessened some since then, especially after the five years of bloody cortisone. Still could see a lot more than lately at home.

But there was also this other thing, lightly stretching across the sky from horizon to horizon. Couldn't actually believe it, had to ask the others first, 'Is this really the milky way I'm seeing?'

And it really was, as they reassured me. Just stepped out a bit more into the dark of the garden, standing there with the head put into my neck looking upward, awestruck by the sheer beauty of it, my eyes filling with tears.

Don't know how many years or decades since I've seen it the last time. Wasn't really sure I'd ever see it again in this life. While driving home, urged my mate to stop at a parking at the highwy, again borrowing his glasses. There were lots of clouds coming up now, but in the southern part of the sky, it was still there.

Rancid body parts, neatly packed in Tesco bags

2006-08-27T15:24:00.000+01:00

Sat drove to Bavaria with my mate to visit author Helmut K. Schmid a.k.a. Ive Steen. In the late forties he had written a pulp series loosely related to the other one we're doing this delusion of grandeur style book project about, and that'll also be at the core of this course we'll be lecturing at the university. Actually he'll be part of that too, coming to zurich with his wife to be interviewed during a lesson, and also for a book premiere of our reprints of his series, something we're all really looking forward to.

Was really nice, and as usual also had unearthed some treasures from his attic, this time besides books and pamphlets by or related to his fellow author Paul Alfred Müller of SUN KOH fame, even some unpublished manuscripts by himself of which we're about to publish one for the book premiere in November.

After having a delicious dinner, for my mate and me came the less tasty part, i.e. rinsing and desinfecting the infected lump. For the surgeon to be able having a weekend off and for us to do this little trip at all, he had instructed us to do the daily changing of dressing etc. ourselves and also handed and prescripted me the necessary gear like hypos, disinfecant, compresses and stuff.

So we washed our hands and sterilised them, laid out all the gear and went at it. Soon found out that we'll be doing a better job first squeezing the lump empty (well, as empty as possible) before incting the first round of hydrogen peroxide.

Stuff coming out still smelling awful. Since we were doing it for the first time, still practicing kind of, took quite a while, and we also wasted some gear till we finally succeeded in having all the rinses done, filling the lump one last time with betadine, cutting a drainage out of a part of the thumb of a sterile surgeon's glove and inserting it, plus bandaging everything, and then cleaning the bathroom up again.

In the end had a nice pile of ugly smelling waste (though admitteldy more from bodily fluids with only a small percentage of actual parts in it), which we definitely wanted to take with us to depose of in a waste bin on the road, but unfortunately had failed to bring something with us to put the whole mess in. Which was when the two Tesco bags buried at the bottom of my ruck just came in handy. Filled them both but good.

Trepanation might be fun ...

2006-08-25T13:47:00.000+01:00

... but still think puncturing the lumps being already fun enough for my tastes, thanks.

Already had been to the surgeon 3 days earlier on Monday. Just for having the remains of the formerly dripping lump examined. Him quite pleased how small it had become (though actually in the meantime already started inflating again). Since in the meantime the wound had closed nicely, to my amazement said looked pretty ok and that there'd be nothing more to be done at the moment.

So only returned for the scheduled 2nd puncture Thursday. Big lump feeling quite stuffed and tense again. After having cut a small hole into it with his precious scissors, immediately yelled for the bowl he at first had figured could do without, remarking, 'A veritable fountain.'

Ok, at least didn't reek like the other one last Sunday. Again he said the smaller'd look just fine (though again having inflated some more). Really had to insist till he eventually reopened it. And surprise, surprise ... immediately wrinkled their noses, him going 'uh-oh', while the assistant quickly to open the window.

Not that I would've objected. Heck, stank even worse than Sunday morning. Suddenly surgeon also saying nothing more about 'looking well'. But rather stated 'infection', plus having another sample taken and sent to the lab for analysis. Plus no 2, going back to the beloved daily rinsing routine, again. Well, halleluia anyway.

At least reassured me the stitches on the side my hand looking fine, so hopefully no sh**ty scar like the one on my arm.

Back to school

2006-08-24T01:16:00.000+01:00

University, that is. And a funny one, too. Cause after becoming famous (well, locally sort of) cause of the police raiding our house (erm, squat) and then having to appear before court etc. just cause we'd done this infamous little film, in the end my mate and me had ditched university despite our already indecently long stint there.

Not being too happy anyway with this really kinda restricted understanding of art and literature they were teaching there (not to mention expecting everybody to eagerly adapt yourself to). To put a long story short, in the end the only thing there I still frequented regularly had been the gym.

So besides feeling flattered, when we were asked to give a course next winter semester about one of the bookprojects we're doing in the meantime, we wer having quite a laugh. I mean imagine, at the very same uni (though at the newly shaped department of pupular cultures -- nice ring to it, doesn't it?).

Well, better be careful what you laugh at, cause only too often it may laugh back at you, haha.

Which is exactly as it went. I.e. while going a bit deeper into the preparations, being told we could graduate in this dept. more or less on the stuff we're doing anyway while editing this series, in the end went for it hook, line and sinker.

Still find it hard to belive sometimes, and as everything of course has pros and cons, namely being tied down longer periods, but all in all ...

Nice one, I'd say.

And just because it'd been so lovely ... (Blood on the Dancefloor Pt. 3)

2006-08-22T15:43:00.000+01:00

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2]

So I'd put on one of the latex gloves I'd requested at the hospital to protect my bandaged left hand, taped it waterproof to the arm and hit the shower. Washing down the rest of the sweat 'n' blood, relaxing some under the warm water. Though eventually having rinsed the detergent from my head and body, suddenly wrinkling my nose like, now what's that, didn't I just wash myself behind the ears just for the second time in less than 24 hours or not, so what's that smell?

Actually should've gotten pretty suspicious just then, but obviously didn't dare thinking of the obvious. So instead just went into , gave the head another rub with detergent, pleased that the smell finally vanished, rinsed again and reached for the towel, drying myself.

Which was when the obvious hit back. Cause already there was that smell again, or rather having evolved into a solid stench now. Then I discoverd this kinda rencid mayo smeared onto the towel, and yes, just smelling like 5 years of unwashed living rot behind the ears, and finally it started dawning on me. I mean, not too many places where that could've been coming from, now couldn't it?!

A quick look into the mirror, and suddenly even sank in. Cause yes, of course was one of the punctured lumps, aw f**k! And even plenty more to come! Argh! Gross! Yuck!

Only the small one sactually, though being the one with the bigger puncture wound, and of course from out of there that all that stuff had come. Rather incredible, the sheer quantity of it, just how could this all've been hidden inside?

Just kept on squeezing and squeezing more or less gently, and the stuff just flowing and flowing. Only very blood, though. But plenty cyst juice, sebum, pus, lymph, you name it. True zit lover's delight, I guess.

(Something me too I've got some weakness for as I've to admit, though not really to that extent I'm afraid. Plus the reek of it not exactly smelling trusty neither.)

At least in the end there literally wasn't too much left of the lump anymore, except for the now empty skin bag. Just cleaned it thoroughly with Cutasept, then poured another good gush over it, drenched a compress dripping well in the same, and with a little help by my mate taped it firm on top of the remains lump with the rest of the medical tape I still got left from last surgery, sent the surgeon a txt with a description of the problem, and eventually hit the train to the birthday party of my sister's younger kid.

Though no more playing with lumpy lumps today, I'm afraid.

Drip, drip, spurt, spill (Blood on the Dancefloor Pt. 2)

2006-08-21T19:47:00.000+01:00

[Pt. 1]

Just kept going berserk, defending my place in front of the speaker, as usual making fun of yelling 'Drop it NOW!' etc. to the DJs just before they'd bring the beat back or producing sort of a drum roll to the same extent on whatever would resonate well enough when I'd hit it with my fists or the like, still kinda wondering I hadn't dropped hours ago. Just felt so good.

Well, actually was about as good as it would get this night, cause from then on just went downstream and steady.

First didn't notice myself at all, only the way some people around started gawping at me even more shocked like. Plus staring at my chest, and not the head. So eventually looked down on myself, and woa, hey, what's that? My T-shirt just turning red with huge stains of familiarly looking red, though not seeming torn or anything.

Well, found the source soon enough, juice literally flowing from my left hand. Drip, drip, drip, spurt, splish, splosh. Spilling not only on my shirt but also on my trousers, shoes and on the floor etc. as well (which finally brings us back to the overall title, by the way).

First thought it being plain funny. This time even being indolent for real. Guess no wonder after all the working out, going berserk, drinking etc., plus obviously the shock. Also definitely didn't want to leave the party.

But examining the hand closer, noticed this rather ugly gash at the side of my hand. At least 2 inches long, kinda deep looking. Must've come from this part of a broken bottle on the wooden stage beside me, having slammed it into the side of my hand for good when hammering to the beat there with my fist. Actually looking far too big and deep to just leave it be (not to mention the still ongoing generous donation).

So I decided to ask to have it dressed provisionally and then going straight to the hospital for some stitches. At first the people were a bit shocked cause I had loads of red also on my face (as I discovered later in the mirror), only calming down after I'd washed it away at the sink. Also while going up, remember this dog running along, sniffing and looking at me with this big begging eyes, me trying not dripping too much.

Fortunately they had all the necessary gear upstairs, this guy doing a nice job with the bandage. Even gave me some cash behind the bar for the tram when I asked, only to discover outside still being an hour early for that.

So in the end it was fastest and easiest just going by bike. Can't remember ever having cursed that much and loud while cycling before.

At the hospital they were nice enough after I'd filled out all the necessary forms etc., though didn't seem feeling inclined to believe I actually got this from dancing. Didn't take too much of a telepath taking a peak inside their heads, them thinking 'brawl' with an exclamation mark or two.

Concerning the slash, looks like I'm being lucky not having cut any tendons, important nerves or other delicate stuff, just a good old fashioned flesh wound.

Eventually this doctor rolled my bed to the operating theatre, him reassuring me he'll do narrow nice stitches so I won't have too much of an ugly scar and definitely not like on my other arm, as I'd been asking for repeatedly.

Still was a 100% indolent, but he nonetheless insisted injecting me an anaestethic anyway. Which I didn't feel as well, though it usually burns fairly well enough at first before turning numb. Was funny being able to see him going at it for a change, cause when getting the head done there's no such a chance.

Eventually rolled me back to emergency, where this other nurse from before injected me an tetanus vaccination, and off again I was.

Unfortunately, when I came back the party was already over, so eventually went home by tram 'n' bus for a shower plus some more protein, considering me having had enough adventure and not to mention trouble for the night and going for a kip just after.

Well, little did I know ...

(to be concluded)

Blood on the dancefloor

2006-08-20T11:01:00.000+01:00

And I mean literally. And plenty, too. But let's start at the beginning.

Two weeks after surgery finally was allowed to do some exercises again. And to my surprise even went quite well. Also on the track.

Even the better, same when I came back to the woods two days later! Of course was a bit harsher, but still was able pulling it off, doing all my exercises at full strenght and even my usual ridiculous amount of rounds on the sawdust. Despite there had been a tree cut down by the storm a day earlier, still laying across the track, and not to mention the weather. Cause of course, as soon as I was up, just started raining cats and dogs for good, again. Well, guess this and the likes is what I bought this raingear for in the end.

Even better, after having showered, cut my hair etc., plus doing a little doping (i.e. swallowing a healthy dose of my trusty mixture of orange juice, water and plenty glucose and guarana), still felt fit enough cycling to this drum'n'bass party at Kalkbreite. Sound was cool, DJanes dropping it nicely, no fussing around with too many bloody intros etc. Uplifting hedonistic beats, as it should be always, and from there just on and on.

To my surprise just went off full throttle myself right from the start, and just kept going, having another almost or literally free pint every 40 minutes or so. Even losing the cap rather quickly so I could wear it again for work next evening instead of having to put it straight back into the laundry cause of being too soaked in sweat.

This time being another crowd than at the metal nite I wrote about earlier, kinda less cool, i.e. mostly goggle-eyed etc. Business as usual I guess, though somehow this time most people seem to ask my mate about the inevitable while sparing me. Remember this one girl calling me 'Mongo'. But just smiled at her and and blinked my eyelids (am I not too nice? -- ok, perhaps also rolling them heavenwards some). And this other one coming over saying, 'Respect for having the bottle going on the street like this.'

Erm, uh, well, yeah.

(to be continued)

'Feels like an angel dreaming of you' (Body Fascist Pt. 7)

2006-08-19T00:03:00.000+01:00

Was visiting my sis, getting some books n stuff I'm still stashing in their attic. Having a juice in the kitchen before going upstairs, as usual their two and a half year little one wanting me to play 'Up' with him, i.e. me lifting him at the hands, feet or shoulders as high as I can, cause he knows I'm game at that.

After a while I got a bit worn out and just carried him piggyback or had him sitting on my arm in front of me. Which of course gets him bored rather quickly, so he decided to go for my cap for a change. Cause the wound being still a bit sore and I'm wearing the lose XL one, he's taking it off easily enough.

His eyes already widening at the kinda unexpected result, me automatically thinking, 'Uh-oh, how am I going to break it to him gently so he's not gonna be afraid?'

Which was when it happened. Something I hadn't dared imagining in my wildest dreams, and which I'll carry inside my heart forever.

Cause his eyes were widening, ok, and his mouth opening too -- so far, so common. But not the way like alla the other's, no. Getting really big them eyes, yes, but instead of looking at me with the usual only too well known expressions of contempt, disgust, horror, frowning and you name it -- lightening up, and his mouth starting to smile, till he beamed all over his face, giggling as he wholeheartedly went after the remaining lumps with his wee little fingers, like them being a most delightful new toy, which for him they obviously were.

So much unlike the various strangers grabbing at them like some kind of courage test, approaching their fingertips slowly, touching quickly, recoiling immediately while drawing in a short hissing breath. Not to mention virtually any women I've been with since I'd cut my hair, exposing them to the world to see (and, uh, feel).

Felt like this song by Sonic Youth, kinda, that always used to make me cry:

'It feels like a wish, coming true
It feel like an angel, dreaming of you
Feels like heaven, forgiving and getting ...'

I'm so glad having experienced this before having them all removed. Probably the closest to absolution and redemption I will ever get.

And though also myself I felt so touched and forgiven by his reaction, that's not actually what I'm going on about.

I am talking bout the bloody human race.

(continued ...)

'Too female' (Beyond Pain Pt. 4)

2006-08-16T19:53:00.000+01:00

Recently in Beyond Pain: 'the secret nature of pain' in (Pt. 1 & Pt. 2) However, concerning my recent surgery, what really hurt, was when it didn't hurt anymore, but just went numb forever - luckily only at the back of my head ... (Pt. 3).

I mean, ok, I know and do consider, what happened to the back of my head was a mishap, not really being typical for the average process. But also every other surgical scars I have, whether botched up royally like these on my arm, ok like e.g. the one down at the side of my belly, or even state of the art like the ones down on my throat where he'd harvested the skin for grafting, fact is, they're all not as sensitive as they were and the whole parts also don't feel like they used to anymore.

Especially concerning the more, erm, delicate aspects of perception.

Now, besides the aforementioned lips, just one more example of another relatively innocent body part often submitted to plastic surgery. I mean, at least in my humble opinion, what the feck's the use of a small, sleek, elegant nose, when it's no more fun doing the good ole Innuit game anymore? (I.e. nose-kissing, in case you didn't know.)

Anybody can fill me in?

(Ok, at least partly only a rhetorical question of course, hinting at 'our' culture's predominance of the visual sense, while at the same time denying touch as a mere 'mild collisions of flesh', as Jim Morrison once put it in 'Eyes'. Not to mention the many people, mostly women I'm afraid, though not only, for whom sex is just a necessary evil to marry a guy or girl with lotsa cash, so probably they're better off numb anyway.)

Cause, as you all might've guessed or, despite this being a topic usually not too much talked about in public, even do positively know from one source or another, there's also loads and loads of less 'innocent' parts and cases suffering from 'side effects' of plastic surgery (and just by the way, cesarians as well).

A rather drastic example probably being this one recently reported in in brief by a local Sunday tabloid about 'Switzerlands most well-known trans-sexual', having undergone 14 surgeries to become a woman:

'For eight years, I didn't have an orgasm anymore', Nadia Broennimann complains, 'when still being a man, at least I could help myself ...' The many surgeries had destroyed the genital nerves. 'It's enough to make you weep, cause no doctor can help me.'

Now, even though there may be plenty other, way less castration related (but still perhaps even worse) cases where you could say the same:

If that's not buggered but good, then what is?

(No further comment by the way concerning the short article's original title: 'Too female' ...)

'Got pills?'

2006-08-14T01:16:00.000+01:00

Still couldn't resist going to this party in the end. Pikey as usual, this time even with an official guest badge, whoa. Open air goa thing, course raining like buckets, so settled for the 2nd floor within a circus tent (right up in front of the subwoofers in case you didn't guess).

Actually felt more than just a little bit outta shape. Also still had to be careful not swinging around my head too wildly so as not to lose my bandage or even some skin. So I kept in low gear, also intoxicationwise. Which means besides a little weedstuff I only had one pint of beer (though for obvious reasons didn't smoke the earlier), and only could feel the wound wee bit once.

Lots of the other folks doing pills, though. Ok by me, it's just like don't feel the need of doing so myself, also without the sore head. Give me a decently hedonistic beat, solid sound pressure at the lower end of the frequency spectrum and I'm off then as wild and crazy as I'll ever be without anything in addition. Besides I have this thing, when I'm among people being high on whatever I just kinda am on it too anyway. Funny, but that's how it is.

Problem is, no one seems to believe, obviously even when I'm actually restraining myself on the floor. So, as long as I go with full gear incl. compulsory camo, there's still the other inevitable question I never seem to be able escaping from.

They'd come on to the floor, look around a bit, and then they'd come up straight to me and ask, 'Hey, got pills? Don't know anybody who does?' And when I reply, 'Sorry, no, don't do, don't know,' they look at me frowning like I'd be taking the mickey.

There was even this guy once, tapping at my shoulder, looking into my face, insisting, 'I want exactly the pill you had,' and when I said I didn't he absolutely wouldn't believe.

Now I'm aware I'm getting big pupils many times for reasons I still can't exactly figure, and yes, I like going berserk as you might know, even hey, as someone once told me, maybe I'm really being a bit stuck on a good trip since I-don't-know-anmore.

But the rest, really beats me.