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Cancer

I have just finished my study on Cancer. Talk about F**ked. Sorry but it is true. Only those who have it can understand. Cancer is the deepest bodily betrayal of itself.

Cancer is both merciful and vengeful.  Cancer is you. You are cancer. I did not quite understand what cancer was before my education. I was under the impression that cancer was an invading source that only destroyed and left PBS specials in its wake. Cancer is that. But is is so much more. Cancer is unique to every person. Cancer is customized like a pair of boots suited to fit.  The Latin term for cancer is  “crab”. No star signs here, no dreams of astrological. Just a wipe out disease. Both a murderer and it’s victim.

Tonight I shucked 3 pounds of crab. The spiny legs, the dark body meat. The crab cut my fingers as I was seeking its flesh.  I ate the cancer with butter over newspaper.

My education has given me a glimpse of the process of cancer and so much more into the cellular destruction of the body and the consequences of treatment. This was my last unit of study and test before my degree; quite rightly so as it was the most difficult to read, to know.

Still I wonder what is cancer? I have “learned” what cancer is. Or have I?

When I was a child I watched an HBO special (back in the 80’s) of a child, male, who suffered from leukemia. Leukemia is cancer of the blood and one of the most fatal if not the most fatal of cancers. For years I feared that I too had cancer. But that was all that I could conceive before I discovered what cancer was. I am starting to see what cancer is.

Cancer is our bodies destroying itself cell by cell.

Why would any body do this? I do not know, they do not know. No doctor, no pharmacist, no chemist. No one knows why the body’s cells do this. They speculate but do not seem to know for sure. They have speculative causes and theories but cancer seems to touch each patient differently.

Cancer has now become my life’s metaphor. I feel cancer in my life. People that are like tumors must be cut or radiated or chemically stripped off of me. Cancer has now become a very unique understanding for me.  But this is all it can do for me. I do not have cancer. But now I know what cancer is. My every day life. Those who have died have not died in vain to compensate drug companies and blasphemous power seeking charities. Those who have died have given me an understanding of what is my body, yet foreign and clumsy, a knowledge of it. Cancer, cancer of  all.

I have just received my degree and for this I say to you. All of you whom I will meet. All of you who have cancer.

I do not have cancer. I have a disease of the mind that will inhibit my growth and my life. You have cancer. I can relate to your demise. But I want you to know I will see you and your sick cells. I want you to know that I will be there for you if you need me. I want you to see me as well. I know what it feels like to have your own body destroy itself. I know what is happening to you. I am just a girl who has learned what cancer really is. But I understand. I see you. I see you.

This cancer. This is so much. Why do we have cancer?

This is the rub. Why? Cancer? Why?

Why do you find us… so unique?

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November

November. November. November.

This is the season of pain. The season of loss. The season of absolute agony.

This time of year. The depression is here. Depression; though comforting is cruel. She is truly a mistress of madness.

November is death. November remembers all that it has claimed.

This morning I could feel one more piece of my mind slip away from me. One more piece of happiness drift away like smoke in a damp sky. In it’s place is now another little black hole. My mind is covered with little black holes. All of the memories come back in November. My month of misery. It took me years and years to drink away the memories. In the process I took out the good ones to destroy the bad ones. Now just hundreds of little black holes. Soon I will be a black hole.

Will I survive this one? Will I collapse on myself like a dying star?

I am tired of pretending I am something I am not. Only one person knows me and only two people care. It is my own fault. My evasive lies and manipulative self expression are all false.

Who would want to see this? I have wasted too much energy hiding myself, masking myself and covering my tracks. Now I have no idea who I am.

But it is November. What will she claim this year? What will she rip from my spirit? What will she spit to the floor as she washes her hands of me?

Maybe she has come for my broken heart. My mind is filled with too many holes now. She will not accept it.

Will I survive as she rips my broken heart from my soul?

November, you cruel bitch you. How I have missed you.

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What was the body count again?

Did you ever wake in the am and have a foreboding sense that an entire war had just happened in your dreams? This happens to me quite often. Images of war, fire, blood and death. I awake this morning with my yellow eyed black cat, Ashes staring down from the window sail at me. It was one of those moments I have frequently with my cat, he graciously pokes his very cold nose into the corner of my eye, sneezes and then erupts in purr. Even with kitty boogers in my eye I am grateful the night of dreams has ended.

I first try to think of anything violent or disturbing that I may have watched in the last few days, drawing up a blank I try to remember the dreams, they are evasive. I have a habit of waking up around 3:00 every morning, which makes it easier to remember some of the dreams.

Last night I remember blood mostly. Suffering, pain, you know, the usual. I don’t get it. I want peaceful dreams of flying, the ocean and winning the lottery. But no, I get WW2, concentration camps and Hiroshima. Past life? No, thats a bit “out there”. So why am I having these dreams? I seldom went to any of my history classes in school, not that I do not find history fascinating but in High School smoking pot behind the school dumpsters was much more educational ( just call it sociology). If anyone has any ideas as to why these dream plague me or if they plague you, please let me know.

Good Morning.

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Kill Baby Kill 2

And so we stand here again. Blog post #2. Wolves. Shall we cut the crap and get straight to it? Yes, I agree.

“The only way we are going to make these wolves afraid to come around human beings and livestock,” says Beck, 71, “is (for wolves) to be shot at. –The Oregonian (Correction: Credit for The Oregonian references in this blog belong to reporter Richard Cockle – My apologies to Michelle Brence who is a editor at The Oregonian and was previously listed as the source of the reported statement).

– Here we go with the livestock again. Well, that is up to you. Are you a rancher? If so I already know what you think. Are you a red meat eater? If so I already know what you think. Or do I? I eat red meat. Not all too often but I do. What is better to me than a cool blue center ribeye, lovely free range meat (long lived mind you, I am not a baby killer: veal)? Not much better than that. But my steak is not worth two lives. My steak is not worth a wolf hunt. My pleasure is not that important. This is not about cattle, it is about control, power and you bet ya, MONEY.

“When wolves are indiscriminately killed whether as reprisal for livestock depredation or to reduce wolf predation on wild ungulates, it can affect future human-wolf relations. Removal of wolves from a region can enhance survival of remaining young growing pups which in turn increases the demand for more meat. Also indiscriminate predator control skews populations towards younger animals—which on the whole are inexperienced and more likely to kill livestock. Thus even killing wolves to enhance wild ungulate populations can increase wolf predation on livestock and ungulates that will likely increase demands for even more wolf control.  –George Wuerthner, New West

–I…oh wait, I agree.

Gray wolves were reintroduced in Idaho, Montana and Wyoming in the 1990s, and they’re again making their presence felt in Oregon. Some believe they should be left alone, and others insist they have no business here. – The Oregonian

– Ok, how can a wolf have “no business here”? I really do not get it. They are a part of the ecosystem, they are living creatures. How can they not have business here? They are not pushing paper, pushing the buck. Who the fuck do we think we are? Oh, that’s right, we are God. Silly me, I forgot.

Lets see what a local politician has to say on the matter. A Republican candidate for governor of Idaho, Rex Rammell, was at a political barbecue last week when somebody brought up the tags used by wolf hunters, and then made a reference to killing the president of the United States. “Obama tags?” Rammell replied, to laughter, according to an account in The Times-News of Twin Falls. “We’d buy some of those.” –Timothy Egan, New York Times

– Please don’t make me comment. Like Obama or not, is this really the kind of person you want playing a hand in your country? If you said yes, please vote under” Hitler” on your ballot, for even that terrorist had more eloquence than Rammell. As for wolves, Rammell wants them all dead, dead, dead. “I believe wolves need to be eliminated,” he says on his Web site. –Timothy Egan, New York Times

– No more wolves? Ever? You want to kill every last one? Wow. Listen up people, hide your children, hide your families. Once Hitler is done with the wolves… he may come for you. DEAD. DEAD. DEAD. I will keep bringing you the arguments. But in the end, I will change nothing. One last note tonight. If we can go to the moon, use plants to cure disease, bring children into the world 2 months before they are due and keep them alive, WHY, WHY, can we not find a way to co-exist with a creature that we have been playing GOD with for far to long.

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I Changed Me Bloggies

I have not written in this blog for many a month. It proves nothing other than I can never really see anything through, or even to a decent point in a timeline. It reminds me much of the doll reconstruction I was absolutely obsessed with for two months. Two months, new paints and Barbie heads (minus their manufacture paint and hair) littering the household. All of that research and passion for a new obsession simply added up to yet another project that will never be completed. The only good thing to come of the “I play with dollies” phase was the cats now have a lot of faceless, hairless heads to bat around the house. Good for kitties. Bad for me.

Upon reflection of this blasphemous blog I decided that my writing turned out not to be what I had thought or wanted it to be. Though my friends proclaimed to enjoy it, it simply was not it coming across as intended. I have a very deep spiritual side. But that is the only deep thing about me. My dream blog was to write about The One… I will go more into that later, I am to lazy to explain it now. Anyhow, instead of finding spiritual mastery, great meaning and an intimate relationship with the “great mystery” in my blog writing; I found a foul mouthed, sarcastic, control freak who really has either no clue of what is going on around her or too many clues that are confusing her.

I renamed the blog as such because I suffer from Bipolar Disorder (a mood disorder). If you want to know more about it, look it up, I am sick of talking about it. However, I have decided not to take medication for this very annoying mental illness. I think that my spiritual side may be just that, spirit, unseen, undefined. Hence only an ass like myself would choose to attempt to write about that. But this bipolar disorder… Well, this could be some fun. I tried to write a novel, I tried non fiction. Shit, these days I can’t even see to complete a Haiku. Perhaps a blog of my ups and downs might reveal a cure?

No. I think not. There is no cure. Maybe a cure is not meant to be. If I write honestly, I may be able to find a pattern to my disease and thus… Well, that really won’t help either but lets give it a try.

If you are reading this blog you will probably take nothing from it but please enjoy Royo’s beautiful artwork (or for some of you “hot chicks touching each other”).  I will keep posting them as my mood changes.