Saturday, February 26, 2022
Friday, February 18, 2022
I started proton beam therapy Wednesday. This is the proton beam aperture and my immobilizing chair. The mesh cowl was premade to clamp my head. The plastic mesh has a haint that stays in my nose for a while.
The proton beam aperture is appropriately intimidating. It's amazing this powerful cyclotron machine is delicately murdering my wayward cells with such care. (Let's not forget the doctor and technicians are the actual care, magnified to atomic eyed monster, magnifying glass of will and deadly purpose)
Weekend off and then three more sessions next week. Anything go wrong, sight loss or black and white vision, I am to go straight to the emergency room. People ask how I'm doing and I'm fine.
I didn't feel anything. I didn't even see the flashes or flares or streaks of Cherenkov radiation like the astronauts see. Just as well, it would mean something went horribly wrong and I look like the Elephant Man before I die.
Nothing so dramatic. The proton beam is but a tickle compared to astronaut particle blasts.
I will tell you that my brain is sad. It has lost half its visual field.
What I see is a sargasso sea with occasional patches of clear. Those are welcome, comforting fetishes of vision, but looking through a tumor at the world is no fun. I've noticed an insecurity that did not exist before. I am less lithe, more hesitant, having to pause to orient: the motions of an old man. It might not get better. Not getting out of the woods. It may be woods from here on out. My brain must deal with this.
If the vision fails to improve, I will allow the ghost of Del Close to possess me and practice this particular affectation, but with less hair.
Friday, February 11, 2022
Last night I had a future dystopia dream. The interesting thing is I woke up to pee and wanted and managed to go right back into that dream. I been working on lucidity. Could be other people not so stupid as I. Could be others say yeah sure easy lucid dream.
The plot or action was mainly gang-pressing, drafting people involuntarily into labor and drudgery. I was threatened but never assaulted and could roam about the place. It was kind of a urban decay setting, perhaps soon after whatever collapse or breakdown as everyone seemed to be well fed and clothed.
The basic definition of a state is a collective of people. How that collective forms itself differs but based upon a primate foundation: Social monkey hive gets you heirarchy and castes. But the state, the intentiional eggregore, seems to be scaled up from a ship. A nautical Snow Piercer of an organization, as self containted as can be, between sources of refreshment. Impressment, slavery, is a primary definition of a ship, like it or not. As to how voluntary that impressment is on a map with axes freedom and liberty? (If you feel the need to collapse to cartoon).
You are free to take a shit on the hood of my car. You are not at liberty to do so.
There is a third dimension in the involuntary recruitments into a state and that is drugs. Intoxicants. Hallucinogens, yes. Always alcohol. Alcohol is a 500 million year old food. It easy to make and makes lots of calories.
Every state had a public drug delivery system. Every single dug up site identified as maybe a state, had drug manufacturing facilities. And with monkey distillers, Good Stuff pretty much guaranteed to get you hooked. So much easier than enforced labor. Build my pyramid and I will get you so high.
Friday, February 4, 2022
They say there are 100 billion dead behind us billions living. It's probably worse with bots. Bots have hurt my feelings on every venue of the intertubes. They are getting better at it.
One of the dumbest things I ever did was to waste time on the bulletin boards. It was interests and information exchange at first, and soon enough bickering and turf wars, spines and poisonous barbs come out. Little did I realize my reactions were being gauged, weaknesses and tender spots identified, triggers and reinforcements emplaced.
Probably by 2004 they had a really good simulation of me, or millions of me, in the virtual death spaces. Run a million times faster, consumerbot me, many me, knows exactly how to push my buttons.
To do what is the question. How am I working for the Man? (and don't even know it) Or rather, discourage me to do anything outside my established parameters.
Had a daytime operation last Tuesday. Emplacement of little tantalum rings sutured in the white of my eye. These are references for the proton beam. Atomic fire of death in a couple weeks. This was with "twilight" drug. I was consicous at the end of the operation, the surgeon says "last stitch". I asked him "good boy?" All the surgical staff said "good boy". All these surgeries have lowered my IQ with the drugs. I reread my last essay and realized I was still under the power of whatever goofy juice they gave me.
This is twice in as many months I've gotten a needle in my eye. After radiation treatments, and waiting for OK, I have another operation to salvage what sight we can.
In the meantime my feelings are being damaged by generative adversarial neural networks not even as sophisticated as a pyramidal neuron in your average cerebral cortex.