Shock and awe

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 ...

Spot the difference?

..........................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.

Kinda incognito a.k.a. Almost human

(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 ...)

'The horror, the horror'

(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 ...

Another by now familiar remark

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 ...

'Will the hair grow back?'

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 ...

'Strange hat you're wearing'

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 ...

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

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

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

continue ...

Relaxing in the hospital

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

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

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

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

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

continue ...

Good news and bad news

Back on the train again. Show went nice. Decently packed, audience lovely. Laughed in the right places, too.

Way too hot to wear a cap, also definitely not a pleasure at the moment. Perfect legitimation (or should I rather say excuse?). First show without a cap or hood since quite a while.

Also on the streets. On the way to the place met a guy who didn't just pop the question, but also said some warm things like but you're still human, not letting anyone put me down, and 'It's what's within one's heart that counts.'

Later realised, when getting asked about the lumps, this must've been the first time that the first thing I said about them being something like 'Ah, not so well', instead of the usual 'It's ok'. After all this trouble and pain recently guess I'll be just glad when it's over. Still a long way to go, though. Ah, there's the place now.

Next thing happening is a police car stopping beside me, and guess I'm just one lucky guy again for not having known that it's illegal putting up stickers of our evil homepages on to poles 'n' stuff (incl. bodyfascist.com, I'm afraid). Next he wants to know if I got some more, but well, in this case frankly didn't think so, and for what reasons ever they weren't too much in the mood of getting up and out've the car. So just hope my recent lucky streak will not become illegal itself at some point.

But the real luck is, histiology reports are finally out now from both my blood and tissue samples, and fortunately it's NO auto immune aggression. Just a complication cause of my scalp being way too hard and too much attached to the muscles above the skull itself. Probably due to a chronical low-lewel inflamation of the fat layer inbetween, caused by the steroids I had to take for some years. (No, wrong type of steroids, I'm afraid. A.k.a. Cortisone, which only makes you fat, but doesn't help with muscles. Still can't sleep, however, rsp. -- looking at the bright side -- won't need too much of it. Also known to make agressive, in case one finds no dumber excuse. Though just for the record, and irony OFF, always still managed to restrain myself well enough no problem.)

So the good news is, don't have being afraid no longer of more and more and even more spectacular 'surprises' after each forthcoming surgery, cause it's local on my head and known now, and by itself no actual problem. In case I didn't have surgery there, wouldn't've been noticed it at all.

Quite a relief! Sure beats wondering all the time, now just what might be the next parts of me suddenly going tits-up, starting to ooze and hurt like hell, becoming putrid and later perhaps will need being cut off?

Also just removing the lumps and making the holes smaller by cutting / shifting the scalp and then grafting skin from the throat over the rest of the hole like when I had the first lump removed at the forehead, again should work ok without real complications, cause like that the skin is lifted and shifted incl. the muscles below.

Normally lifting only the skin should be much easier, though. As the surgeon told my mate, one should be able just to put a finger inbetween, and then by moving it, lifting the skin no problem. But in my case, well, try a cowbar perhaps.

So, and here's the bad news, growing spare skin by inflatable implants, usually being easier, faster and delivering much discreter results than grafting skin from elsewhere, is definitely out. Though having been fairly obvious since a while anyway, still BAD news, and NO fun.

Stigmatized for life, no matter how much I was determined and how hard I tried. (Though of course, still will look by far less conspicious than with the lumps still on. Hah, friggin hah.)

Aw, just f**k it. Wasn't meant to be. Just why am I not surprised?

continued ...

Ouch, that must('ve) hurt?!! (Bodyfascist Pt. 4)

Recently on my way to the surgeon. Catch the train, get me a seat on the upper floor, unpack the 2nd half of my breakfast. On the other side some girls chatting. Had to hurry getting the train from the bus stop, and it's pretty heated, so I take off the woolcap before I sweat too much.

They all go silent for a breath or two.

Or as a mate put it: 'The bigger the lumps, the bigger people's eyes.'

Indeed. Mouths too ...

Ok, maybe I'm biased, but frankly still seem to fail just getting it.

I mean, c'mon, never seen anything like it?!

And hey, even if so, what the f**ck is your problem?!!

Ok, won't say I never stared myself, especially as a kid -- but still doubt ever doing so like most I get on an average day (in case I don't submit to mandatory wearing camo or just ignoring people, that is).

Next to staring, would also plead guilty for having frowned sometimes, too, e.g. when seeing people with, uh, things on their heads or faces. Probably even looking a bit scared.

But you don't see it on the streets too much anyway, do you?

One thing that struck me in my life, was realising why.

Was this guy in Munich. It was winter, guess when I was 18, way before the lumps started growing. Met him the park, scoring smoke. Had refused military service, so was doing cummunity service. Working in a home.

A guy living there joined us in the kitchen. He had no real face no more. Just a really, really nasty, thick burning scar with nostrils, mouth and eyes. (Much worse than the guy at Monument.)

Ouch, that must've hurt!!!

Never seen anything like it then, not even in a movie.

No way to look at him neutrally, like at other people, at least for the first moment.

Till I realised that at least the flesh had healed as well as it could, and that the actual pain must have stopped a long time ago, and that indulging probably wouldn't help either. Besides, smoked and talked just like everybody else at the table.

That was when I realised why you don't see such things on the street:

Cause they stay inside these homes.

Remained the other question: WHY DO THEY STAY IN THERE AND DON'T GO OUT? Cause wasn't like there were any bars, locks, official Verbote or something.

So why did he prefer to stay in there like it was a prison???

Frankly didn't get it for many, many years. Still having trouble fully accepting it today.

Ok, also remember sometimes having seen other things every couple of years, marks 'n' stuff, where it's not so really clear, if it must('ve) hurt a lot or perhaps not (like also e.g. mine), but still the question in my mind alone made me frown, before I could help myself eventually.

In the meantime, of course I'm much more hardboiled and virtually unshakable. (Haw, haw.)

Actually, whenever I saw kids looking at the lumps questioningly, quickly told them, 'No, doesn't hurt, just looks strange'.

Which, I admit, it does, too.

(Still, if you got any other problems with this matter, probably better start asking yourself about the however little or giant bodyfascist inside your own self. And, as Dennis Hopper used to say in Davis Lynch's 'Blue Velvet': Don't you f**king look at me!)

PS: Which just reminded me, sometimes actually used telling people at parties, 'Don't look!' Though far from 'Blue Velvet'-style, but rather the party-volume equivalent of 'Erm, you're standing on my toes, would you please mind ...'

Still perfectly did the trick, people suddenly turning away, looking guilty like kids getting catched with their hands inside the candy box ...)

continue 'Body Fascist' ... ........ continue 'Quit staring will ya?' ...

Keeping girls awake at night ... plus even more bodyparts (also by mail)

Awrite, the good news is, no more necrosis at the lips of the wounds, just some part of the dried stuff oozing from one cut had to be clipped Tuesday (also had stitched it together again Sat). Even better, most of the other affected skin recovering well.

However, some part the size between a 2 p and a 2 £ coin definitely didn't make it. Had to be cut off yesterday. (Plus another tissue sample, getting delivered by courier for analysis.) Plus he stiched the remaining hole a bit smaller, so there'll be as little skin as possible to be grafted next week.
Gee, that means I was two entire weeks without surgery -- how did I just survive for so long? When last Friday the GP's assitand tapped my vein for some more blood tests, actually felt like something being kinda wrong: Prick, the needle going in, but nothing feeling cold creeping up the vein, no merry-go-round starting slowly.

On my way over to the beauty farm having it done, sitting in the bus, this guy I know talking to me while going along the lake. Also was this drunk young girl he knew, going one or two stops further than him. Me having just the hood on my head, cause it's too warm for a wool cap; and, though I got myself an XXL one, camo is no fun at the moment with the dressing and what's under.

So, she's kinda peeping under the hood, asking what it was and to take it off. So I lifted it a little, and she goes like, 'Eeeeek, now I can't sleep tonight'. Complaining on, that she just had lunch and could have puked, too.

Tcha, guess I'm just one lucky guy.

(Mean ok, blokes're gawping, too. But the rest -- definitely must be kinda a woman's thing.)

Surgery went smooth. Again don't remember everything, though, 'cept never having seen my pulse more that 10 to 13 above my average rate for a change. But he assured me having taken all the photos this time. Sarted stinging a bit when the local anaestetic wore off, so so the anaestesist's assistant gave me a small shot by the drip. Plus the rest of the ampoule, since it still stinged.

Was like merry-go-round again. But then, after coming home, was ok. Even after the good stuff having worn off. Perfectly bearable, also today. Still took one of the other painkillers before going to bed, just to make sure, cause usually, though I sleep with the upper part of the bed pulled up, it's getting worse when laying down. But almost went too well, even managed reading no problem, cause wasn't really sleepy. In the end finished the whole book (and am afraid did't go to sleep exactly early).

When changing the dressing this morning, surgeon said it looked good, also the other wounds, finally closing. And hey, won't need the bandages changed and the wounds cleaned etc. daily anymore. Nice one.

continued ...

Testicles! On my head!

The first person to say the lumps would 'look like testicles' was artist HR Giger (in case somebody shouldn't know: amongst other things terrific painter and creator of the "Alien" monster) when me and my mate were talking to him about pikeying some of his pictures for our (still) forthcoming collected works edition of Paul Leppin.

Hadn't noticed that kind of resemblance myself yet, but HR insisted and was quite amused. More people made the same comparison since then. And in the meantime even I can understand why they keep coming up with that.

Gee! On my head! Anyway didn't take too long and I found it funny too.

Though when I was talking to HRG the next time, he came back to the lumps and said he was sorry, that he had thought they were artificial and that else he wouldn't have made the joke.

As usual I said no offence taken and that it'd been my choice to keep them and that he shouldn't have a bad conscience.

Still nice of him. By the way, also was one of those who didn't gawp.

continued ...

Anything strange?

Was reading a book on the bench at the bus stop in front of Cowley Club in Brighton, when suddenly somebody passing by grabs my cap and takes it away.

I look up, turn around fast, slightly snapping. 'Hey!'

Stands there this girl with a pram, my cap still in hand, eyes and mouth gaping wide. 'I ... I only saw the cap!'

I reach out my open hand and in a normal voice: 'Gimme back the cap.'

She hands it out still gawping. Then kinda apologises and asks to shake my hand and afterwards leaves.

Frankly didn't really dig it, but no harm done, so cool.

Later reminded me of the one other time some years ago in Zurich when somebody actually apologised afterwards for gaping at me going 'Yuck! Disgusting!'

Wrote me an email later she'd also regret it cause she had a disabled brother and so was familiar with feeling uncomfortable on the street because of strangers staring. And that by the way she was also not being sympathetic towards violent coppers.


Terrorizing innocent MPs, Zurich 2003
Still from Video Safari Clip
© PigBrother.info

As admitted I know fairly well I'm kinda a provocation on legs when not putting on camo. Especially while e.g. handing out leaflets to local MPs with graphic images of people suffering severe acid burns after being douched with so called 'tear gas'. Which was why I did so after all.

Anyway didn't take the 'disgusting' part personal but related it to the flyer from the start, as she'd just been looking up from it.

So wrote her that back as well as no offence taken and so no need to have a bad conscience on my behalf, and that I just put her on the PigBrother.info mailinglist.

And yep, that's it. While there are many who apologise for their curiosity in order to land the question, that's actually all of them odd'n'strange exceptions of people who said sorry for treating me like a human zoo.

Strange world, isn't it?

continued ...

Recently on a dancefloor (Pt. 1)

Ok, I'm a bit p**sed, but I'd say not p**sed enough to really blow it up, so let's just go.

Specially on a crowded floor, actually having these things on my head sometimes can be helpful getting enough space to move. Perhaps not as helpful as having long hair soaked with sweat and swinging them around, but as the advertisement goes: 'Every little helps.'

Though ever since I was eventually determined to have them cut off, generally started keeping the cap on when in public, i.e. also when going at parties. Just to see if I still can go wild and get enough space to do so without these little helpers. Well, up to now never a real problem.

So in the last six or seven months only at two occasions didn't opt for the entirely totally conservative victorian style dress-up incl. at least long trousers, T-shirt and of course a trusty camo cap. And even during the two exceptions only got rid of the latter.

First time was the first time after the surgery I was going out being allowed to sweat again, some metal bands playing at Kalkbreite in Zurich. Eventually put the cap off cause I started losing it every once in a while cause I didn't dare to put it on real firmly cause the scars were still fresh, so in the end just bagged it.

And you know what? Nobody was even looking hard (or at least I wouldn't have noticed). Not to mention really nobody popped the line, howgh. Incredible, isn't it?

Second time was tonight at this gig in a squat at Brixton Rd. Actually just removed it to put on the hoodie before going home, but then still stayed shaking a bit longer. Didn't take long and this girl came over, started groping them and said 'horrible'.

Aw, well, am used to that by now.

And by the way glad not seeing green martians in black helmets anymore, lurking from the corner of my eyes while dancing. Like at Mayday afterparty in Berlin.

As usual had the cap on all the time. But at some point this girl just lifted it off a bit, went 'Oh my god', looked quite annoyed and turned away.

Next time I met her upfront, handed her a bodyfascist.com sticker. According to her face sunk in immediately. Next thing she shows me the finger and then gropes my ass for a change, before putting the sticker on the DJ's back. Put another on hers later and was glad hadn't to go to school after the party.

Another guy seemed quite irritated because of the F-word part in the URL, but after I explained him dug it.

And believe it or not, in both places there were also people encouraging me to just go without the cap and not to care about people's reactions, or even not having them cut off at all.

continued ...

'Medic! Get a medic now!' ('Fun' with coppers Pt. 2)

Till yesterday I was in Berlin for some shows. Mayday I had a day off, so in the evening checked out a few bands at the open air party around Oranienstrasse. After a while it got dark and I decided to go over to the place where I stay to have some food and generally gear up for the afterparty.

Which was when it happened.

Just had eventually been able to borrow a bike the night before and was still really delighted about that. So I was pushing it over the street which wasn't too easy cause the place was mostly packed.

When suddenly somebody ran into me, pushed me over and went down on the bike himself.

Shieet!

So as soon as I got back on my knees, turned around yelling 'Hey, my bike!'

But in the meantime a not so little but rather bulky green alien from outer space had jumped on the guy and my bike below him -- and already I was up to a really close encounter of the unfriendly kind with another green martian in riot gear myself.

(For those of you who don't know: German coppers wear green.)

Cause right behind the first one came the next and of course jumped right on me, as eventually the rest of the troops arrived.

Right, wasn't exactly delighted about all of that. Actually rather majorly pissed, but still wise enough to know that probably wouldn't really be a good idea to try any funny stuff now. So as the green guy started yelling at me to stay down, told him I would not resist or make any trouble and did so.

Though of course every now and then with an occasional 'But I was only pushing my bike over the street!' inbetween.

Then some couragious folks obviously in favour of us arrestees started throwing bottles.

Well, thank you very much!

Face down on the ground, splinters raining down from everywhere, cutting my fingers while the martian starts cuffing me. Followed by more bottles, even a whole one bumping on my head, though luckily not with real force.

Guessed I was pretty f**ked anyway, cause Berlin cops have a bit of a rep and because of some writing and talking stuff I do about unsavoury coppers I'm generally aware of way too many examples of at least some of them never making "wrongful" arrests at all (bad career move), especially in riot situations. So whoever is taken into custody by mistake will just be framed and buggered thoroughly.

Aw, great!

Though besides that already considered myself just lucky. Cause the copper didn't hit, beat or kick me at all. Actually didn't even kneel on me hard. Also didn't close the cuffs too tight, and when they lifted me up later, did so at my upper arms and not by the cuffs.

Of course still wasn't nice having to jog along between them, my head being pressed down lower than my hips and so not exeactly getting enough air at all. Also my cap started slipping off, so I asked them to remove it before it'd also get lost.

Which led to the minor 'fun' part of this glorious evening. Cause as we arrived at their parking lot and I was told to squat down and stay on my knees, the rest of the troops gathered to have a look at their prey. Which was when one of the female martians blurted out the lines about getting a medic which I used as this entry's title.

Only thereafter one of her male collegues asked me if something was wrong with my head. Ok, no jokes here about 'coppers having taken me with them'. Just told them no, that on me it was kinda normal and no problem, and that I'd had them already before they booked me.

But the woman just went on for another while like 'But this can't be, have a look, he's got potato-sized lumps on his head!'

Actually I think she's just quite a considerable and responsible person, and she's got my respects for that, and may she not be mobbed out too soon.

Don't know what she experienced on earlier missions, but I for my part do know that people being hit on the head with e.g. police batons can develop lumps that look just too similar. (And also that considerably many of them die of brain hemorrage a few days or also years later, but that's another story.)

Now I think you might doubt that, cause I found it hard to believe first myself, so I'll just add two pics at that speak for themselves:


Lumps by police batons (Genoa 2001)

To cut it short, guess (and also was told so by other people) I was just one really lucky guy in the end. Cause contrary to my fears of getting framed there was one policeman who had clearly seen that I really was just pushing my bike across the street, and he even told his collegues. So little later I was uncuffed and sent to the guy that had jumped me for getting debriefed (and having my ID checked and noted).

He didn't actually apologize (guess expecting that'd be taking the boat out a bit too far). But at least he stated that, after first assuming I was with the guy that ran into me rsp. that I was coming for his aide, later it was established by his collegue that I was really just pushing the bike across the street. So that after initially having me deprived of my personal freedom, now I was allowed to leave, and that he wished me a good evening.

Actually first almost couldn't believe it, because as said I know other places and cases where I'd bet my last penny that the collegue rather'd be having a thorough look at my face and then saying something like: 'Yes, that one with the BLUTGEIL-shirt, I recognise him, that's the one throwing the stones!' Then another would come and also swear the same. And in the end doesn't take too much of a prophet to tell whom the judge will believe.

So being really relieved, I wished him a good evening too once his duty'd be finished, and went back looking for the bike despite his warnings. ('Remember, a life is more worth than a bike.') Fortunately it was still around, though in the process amongst other minor damages somebody (probably in green) had stomped on the back wheel real bad. But that again is another story.

continued ...

Flaunting it

Just before they started growing real fast
Publicity shot, London 2003
© Guy Smallman

Waiting for the tube at Monument, saw this black guy walking along the platform. Walking fast and looking straight forward, maybe just a wee bit hard.

He had lots of burn scars in his face and on his arms and shoulders (and probably on the torso as well), and he was wearing a muscle shirt.

Woa, respect!

I always was (and still am) well aware that I'm in the lucky position that all my lumps still just fit under a cap (though I had to start buying bigger ones during the years to be able to go to work) and that -- unlike others -- I always had the choice to do what I'm eventually doing these months, i.e. having them removed.

Still, in the fraction of a second I just perfectly understood the way he was looking. And also why he didn't opt for a long sleeve.

The former cause it's not too pleasant when people stare, frown or even turn away in disgust just because of the way God, nature, fate or whatever had chosen to make you look like.

The latter cause it's no real use to try to conceal it at least as much as possible. People will always notice sooner or later anyway. And, bitter as it is, usually later is even more painful.

Respect, man! May you know people who take you for what you do and are and not for what happened to you once.

continued ...

Fun with coppers (Pt. 1)

Sometimes it can be a nice one being stopped and searched and then in the process being told to take off the cap. If I have to go to a doctor or dentist and being asked to take it off, before doing so usually I say something like 'Please don't be frightened, I have these things on my head, they're harmless.' But under less voluntary circumstances I'd rather not.

Of course many officers are used to a lot of not so average customers and hardly show irritation, but others actually do gape and go 'Uh-oh' or 'Oh my god'. Which is kind of a slight compensation for being intimidated though I'm just going someplace minding my own business, and in contrary to them not being paid for wasting my time.

continued ...

'So, now what is it exactly?'

When they were still small and cuddly
Screenshot from danish TV-production, Copenhagen 1994
© TV-STOP

Frankly, at the moment don't know that myself. As I was told by my doctor when they first appeared (and since then told everybody, well, almost everybody), they were supposed to be something called 'atheromes', that's sebum glands not working properly rsp. that got stuck.

But when the surgeon sent in the first one for analysis after removal, turned out it was something very different consisting of hair root cells running amok, though gladly still nothing dangerous. But something so rare that he also had never heard about it before and will have to do some homework himself before being able to actually fill me in. So right now I'm still wondering myself too.

EDIT: Got it. It's a benign tumor stemming from hair root cells. The diagnosis according to the lab report was 'trichilemmal cyst', though in the u.s. 'proliferating pilar tumor (PPT)' seems to be the more common name.

continued ...

'Can I, um, ask you a question?'

Virtually wherever I'm out and about and not wearing camo, it's just a question of time till this line starts popping in my face. Since I'm aware of provoking it on my part, I'm usually not taking offence. Once I agree, of course the actual question is inevitably always the same, so I've grown used to not even wait for it.

Depending on how exactly I'm asked (ok, and also by whom, plus how many umpteen times in the last one or two hours already), I'm not always giving a straight answer, but am rather taking the piss.

Especially at parties, when it just won't stop, and then they (mostly girls actually) start 'looking' also with their fingers to check if the lumps are really real.

And yes, they ARE, and by the way also VERY CONTAGIOUS!

As in this case I never fail to explain gleefully. (Some even believe it.)

Though my favourite standard anwer is: 'Oh, the police took me with them.'

Followed by: 'No, it's from the piercing shop. Cost me a fortune.'

And: 'As a kid, I was always bad at math, so got a calculator wetwired.'

Since (as I had to learn the hard way) 'It just grows like that' nobody believes me anyway.

continued ...