Sunday, July 31, 2005

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - Part 16

Rabbit followed Mr. Fox’s instructions and inserted the hand into the bucket of ink. He fondly licked the bucket with his long tongue. “It does not taste like raspberries.” Rabbit’s voice was tinged with resentment.
“It is because it was never baked.” Mr. Fox rolled his eyes with undisguised exasperation. “So obvious, dummy.”
“So be it.” Rabbit took Benny’s hand from the bucket of ink and affixed it on the bottom of the parchment.
“What does it say?”
“The parchment?”
“Yes, the parchment.”
“I say nothing.” Said the parchment, sarcastically.
Ignoring her, Rabbit cleared his throat and began to read, his voice a sonorous thunder of self gratification:
“I, Benny the Man, the Magic Man, otherwise known as Four Finger Benny, Lord Flasheart of all Ladies, hereby bequeath my Suzuki Samurai to Rabbit. I also bequeath him my firstborn, assuming I have one, particularly if she is hot and at least, say, 16 years old… also, all my possessions that Rabbit might want… and any good porn that may be lying around…. And feel free to check the fridge.”
“This is Benny’s will?”
“Duh!” Rabbit rolled his eyes and brandished the parchment. He shook his paw at the smeared imprint of Benny’s detached hand. “It has his seal!”
Mr. Fox blinked. “Yeeees. Of course it does.”
“Well, let me finish.”
“I thought you finished already?”
Rabbit frowned. “Not quite,” he briefly paused and resumed his reading. “I further leave the vast stocks of cheese buried beneath my mansion at 32 Beechwood Age Drive, Hammersmith, Vermont, to Worker 342212A … what the hell?”
Mr. Fox squinted at the parchment. “Wow – the will is writing itself!”
“Hmmm…. No, I suspect it is wee ant 342212A who is amending this essential document to improve her material well being.”
“I wonder why she wants the cheese.”
“Why would she want cheese? I thought mice liked cheese.”
“Mice do like cheese. That does not mean ants don’t like cheese.”
“Maybe the queen wants the cheese?”
“The will does not bequeath the cheese to the queen. It specifically states ‘Worker 342212A.”
“Hmm. So it does. Did you know Benny had a mansion in Vermont?”
“With vast stocks of cheese?”
“Yes.”
“I did not know that.”
“Cheese is perishable.”
“Perishable.”
“Road trip?”
“Road trip!”

Thursday, July 28, 2005

TWP Tries to Give Blood

I was whisked off to the Red Cross by two of the women at the translation firm. I smiled and said sure, why not. I had to fill out a questionnaire before I could join the throng of people in a delipedated, communist era gymnasium. In decrepit chairs sait suspicious looking welders and other simple souls, with bags of blood moving up and down, up and down, up and down, on these... things.

Anyway, I filled out the questionnaire.

Actual conversation between rail thin, anorexic doctor and TWP:

"Let's see now..." (slight pause while she digests the unusual number of 'yes' responses on the questionnaire) "Jesus." (stares at TWP, looking suspicious) "You had cancer? What kind of cancer?"
"Brain tumor."
"BRAIN TUMOR?"
"Yes. This is why I checked the rubric next to RADIATION TREATMENT."
"When was this?"
"Uhm... A year ago?"
"You see... You see, you can never ever give blood."
"Uhm?"
"There is a chance of a blood clot inside your brain. If we drain 4.5 dcl of blood, the blood clot might KILL YOU. Also, this sort of thing can piss off your cellular metabolism and your tumor could make a comeback. Of course, there are a bunch or reasons why you cannot give blood, I simply picked out the most significant."
"Wonderful."
"I can't give blood either. Too skinny."
(we are peas in a pod, aren't we, cupcake) "I see. No worries, then. I will just meander off, no problemo."
"Here, let me put the code on your form, just sign here." (In large, terrified red letters, she engraves my form with the numbers 199). "You can never, ever ever give blood."
"Uh."
"So how did your personality change after the surgery?"
"Huh?"
"Everyone with serious brain surgery has a personality shift."
"Really?"
"Yes. My brother had encephalitis - he changed completely."
"Uh. Yes. Well, I suppose so did I."
"Really?"
"Yes. I changed for the better, I think. I do think it was more psychological, though. Fear of death, not much time left, etc. etc."
"Hmm, perhaps so, but I believe your personality would have changed anyway. It's physiological."
"Splendid."
"Isn't it?"

Monday, July 25, 2005


I really enjoy this Magpie picture. The more I know about magpies, more I HAVE to know, you see. Note the succulent elk beneath the beautiful bird! Posted by Picasa

Friday, July 22, 2005


My mom's garden. I simply could not bear the thought of having an enema as my final entry for the day. Posted by Picasa

Turn your head if you have to. I want to spend as little time as possible playing with this picture. That is 2.5 liters of a mixture of molten butter, salt and honey. The tube is... Well, you are welcome to draw your own conclusions. Posted by Picasa

This is the applicator on which I had to walk and lie on. By the end I actually managed to fall asleep on it. In the beginning it was like walking on lava. Supposedly it is easier to walk on burning coals. Posted by Picasa

The torch sticking out of my ear is used to draw the muck out of my ears. It works really well! Yes, yes, I know I look like crap on this picture... So would you if you were essentially on fire after an enema. Posted by Picasa

The joy of acupuncture - zoom in on the needles STICKING OUT OF MY HAND - Yes, it is PAINFUL. Posted by Picasa
Dezső Kosztolányi (1931) translated by TWP

Crimson Decay

Forest,
out cold, your frost-stung branch writhes unconscious.
You shall die,
crimson decay had cast its breath upon you.
Yet why this merry pomp? Why
do you dress in the
brazen color of
the glorious cardinal, drunken lover,
young wrath, fiery rebellion,
to welcome death?
Is it such a celebration to grow numb, to forget
noisy walkers and thrushes,
sound of waters,
sweet-cheap bells of life?
Is it so good not to live?Are you happy?
Dezső Kosztolányi (1931) translated by TWP

Crimson Decay

Forest,
out cold, your frost-stung branch writhes unconscious.
You shall die,
crimson decay had cast its breath upon you.
Yet why this merry pomp? Why
do you dress in the
brazen color of
the glorious cardinal, drunken lover,
young wrath, fiery rebellion,
to welcome death?
Is it such a celebration to grow numb, to forget
noisy walkers and thrushes,
sound of waters,
sweet-cheap bells of life?
Is it so good not to live?Are you happy?

Don't worry Neo - the pictures are coming

I must be the only human being on earth not to own a digital camera. As a result of this travesty, pictures will be a day or so late (like the picture of the needles sticking out of my flesh, the bottle of molten butter just prior to its incorporation into my bum, etc etc). For now, satisfy yourselves with the amusing vignettes of my rehabilitation, detailed below.

Road to Wellville - Part 2

July 11, 2005

Well, I have been here for over 10 days and it has been one hell of a trip. The first four days I thought I was going to die – for some reason, the emulsifying baths they have been sticking me into have generated horrible, world-splitting headaches and eyeaches, just like the ones I have encountered when the shit hit the fan a’la brain tumor/hydrocephalis. Now they are sticking me into baths with a bunch of weeds floating in the water, something that is supposed to reduce inflammation. My headaches have pretty much disappeared. Massage was an utter terror – my entire body is covered in black and blue marks, slowly fading. I am starting to be okay with the massage now. Walking on the applicator – essentially hard plastic spikes – is a perennial favorite. Supposedly it is a lot more painful than walking on burning coals. I suspect after this I will be able to walk on fire without batting an eye.

Having said all this… ENEMAS rule. GIGANTIC enemas using warm molten butter. 2.5 liters of it, to be precise. Let me tell you, nothing quite makes you chew your food like an enema. When you recognise your meal from 4 days ago after you expel it from your obviously half rotten bowels, it makes you CHEW LIKE YOU HAVE NEVER CHEWED BEFORE.

If you are asking why I got an enema to treat herniated disks, the answer is DETOXIFICATION.

The absolute king of treatments, however, is acupuncture. Seeing a needle stuck into your HAND, the fleshy part between the base of your thumb and the rest of your fingers, now that is something that will stay with me forever. The initial insertion is EXCRUCIATING. After the initial insertion, the doctor (a tiny blonde with a mousy voice) comes by, tenderly caresses my head and back, and proceeds to TWIST AND TURN THE NEEDLES every fucking 10 minutes.

So how am I feeling? I am feeling fucking great. I have never felt healthier in my life – of course, I still have herniated disks and the dead remnants of a brain tumor in my head, as well as a plastic tube going from my brain to my stomach underneath my skin. Other than that all is blooming bloody well.

July 12, 2005

At 6AM, the nurse came in to make my roommate vomit. She endeavored to accomplish this feat with vomit tea. A liter of bitter, salty tea, served in a clear glass pitcher. It did not make him vomit, or at least vomit with any VOLUME or appropriate VEHEMENCE, so she made him a solution of sodium carbonate, salt and something else. THAT made him vomit, but NOT ENOUGH.

DETOXIFICATION, baybee.

The nurse takes my blood pressure every morning. She then proceeds to take down a detailed report on any symptoms I may have had during the night/morning. She also wants a detailed accounting on the nature of my fecal matter. I have learned, over the course of the last 11 days, to recount PRECISELY the nature of my refuse.

My blood pressure had dropped to 100/50 in 11 days. I mean, if it drops anymore, I will be practically dead.

One of my massage therapists CONFIRMED the story about the pig MRI-s. It’s true. They conduct fat research in Kaposvar. He attended school there, he was an agricultural engineering student. They would take the hog (a good 200 pound heffer) and pump it full of sedatives and antibiotics. Once it was woozy enough to approach up close and personal, they would give it a shot of sleeping goodness through a bulging vein in the ear. Then it would collapse and they would stuff it through the MRI machine. There was a lot of stench, relaxed bowels, nervous diarrhea, et cetera. I go to that MRI machine once or twice a year…

Ok, I just exited the bathroom. I was in the bathroom four times already this morning. I will not tell you what I discovered in the porcelain bowl. It is not for the faint of heart. Hahaha. (This is an exhausted laugh).

July 13, 2005

I just had a fight with the cleaning woman. She is this stooped evil witch of the west type of person. If you don’t make up your bed, she screeches at you and gives you the evil eye. I screeched back. I think the 15 minute walk I just had downstairs on the bed of plastic spikes was directly responsible for my lack of patience.

Hungarian TV sucks. It’s a bunch of Colombian soaps spliced with the occasional Movie of the Week starring Ted Danson. Models Inc. is a treat, for god’s sake. Tonight they are showing Inlaws starring Peter Falk and the other guy who I think is really funny and I am looking forward to it. This is my life, ending one minute at a time.

H2C came to visit. Her boyfriend is an absolute ass. He took her to Italy – with his brother and his mother in the car. During the entire trip, his brother was sitting in the front seat, with the women clustered in the back along with most of the luggage. H2C kept carrying most of the luggage when they were afoot. What an ass. The guy, I mean.

July 14, 2005

Wow. After the doctor fired three members of the staff, service really took a nosedive at the facility. Those of you who know me in real life might know I am capable of absolute, spontaneous rage when I feel betrayed, cheated, or taken for a fool. I really, really went off on the staff during the morning visit, explaining in minute detail how the service was grossly inadequate over the course of the last four days. My mood did not improve as the day advanced.
The response to my complaining was nothing short of terrifying. First of all, today, we got all the treatments with a vengeance. I was tortured. When I say tortured, I mean tortured in the medieval sense. A two hundred pound dude walked all over my legs and back until I was ‘loose’, after which he placed glass suction jars on my legs – 10 of them, to be precise – to suck out toxins in my system. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this particular brand of orgasmic joy, vacuum cups on the skin burn like lava.

Exercise today included abs… I mean ABS. Horrible, multiple sets of grueling abs. After I was unable to do anymore ABS, I did leg stuff until I was in agonizing pain. With a delightful grin the doctor (the mousy blonde) instructed the physical therapist to make me go on the applicator (the plastic spike carpet) until I could do it without ANY PAIN WHATSOEVER.

Then she ordered me MULTIPLE TYPES OF ENEMAS and ordered me to take several forms of purgatives, most of them looking like dog poo. I am surprised she did not make me take hellebore. Well, maybe she did. I have no idea what was in 90 percent of this stuff.

July 19, 2005

After last night’s enema (referred to as a MICRO enema, a wee little one from a blue bulb) I was taken by surprise when this morning the doctor instructed the nurse to administer a MACRO one, the 2.5 liters of molten butter-salt-honey combination, a combination that is eminently effective in flushing you major league clean.

The doctor stared at me.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Uhm… I translate. I write,” here I paused for a moment. “In America, I was a lawyer.”
“I can tell you were a lawyer.”
“Oh.”
“I want to tell you something. You cannot impose your will on nature. Nature is in charge. I want you to think about what I have said.”
“Uhm. Okay.” I nodded and actually thought about what he had said. Is that actually true? Can one impose one’s will on nature? If so, what are the consequences?

Amusing aside:
I have a request. I need to know everything there is to know about Magpies. The birds. Any stories, anecdotes, actual ornithological information. There is scarcely any information on the net about them. I need all there is.

Back to Wellville:
I had more acupuncture today. I made the mistake of complaining about my ears clogging up after exerting myself. IMMEDIATELY the mousy blonde (who is probably a closeted sadist) ordered me to the massage room for acupuncture. Now, the first time I had acupuncture she only pushed in the needles halfway. By now the blasted things are pushed all the way in. About half an inch deep, each of them. Yes, they are painful. Once they are in they are not so bad – except the one she sticks in the soft, fleshy part of my left hand. That one immediately cramps up. It is excruciating.

I want to talk more about magpies. They are by far my favorite birds. Most people only know that magpies are thieves and are attracted to shiny objects. This is true – as magpies are related to crows and ravens, it’s hardly a surprise. Magpies can also be taught to talk, just like parrots. They are curious, clever and ornery. What I found incredible is what magpies do when one of them dies. You see, magpies gather from the entire forest and mourn their dead. Sometimes up to forty birds gather around the corpse and they dance and sing… and I am sure they would cry if they could. Can birds cry? I really want to know. I mean, do they have tearducts?

Road to Wellville - Part 1

Date this is being written: July 4, 2005. Time: 5:00am
Reason I am up this early: horrible splitting headache, running from the back of my head all the way to the goddamned valve sticking out of my skull (covered in hair, but still sticking out when I touch it, a hard little bump, it disturbs me).

Happy Independence Day. Yesterday, one of the local networks played the Movie Independence Day. I wonder if anyone knew they were off by one day.

I am a touch worried here. My headache is not going away. Since I’ve started this goddamned alternative treatment I have been having headaches every time I have lain down. Since the pain seems to be following the line of the shunt, I must assume the two are somehow related.

So now what? Should I stop the treatment and go back to Budapest to get X-rays and an opinion from my neural surgeon as to what the hell could be causing this pain? I am sure this would be the prudent course of action, but I have no desire to do this. I want my treatment to end. If I keep whining about my head, they will freak out at this clinic and simply stop my treatment. Obviously, this will also happen if I get a stroke, but still, I do not want to stretch out this incredibly unpleasant experience ad-infinitum. In any event, the neural surgeons never find anything. Every time I suffer from pain they run a gamut of tests and then they tell me everything is negative. It is only a year later that the big guy comes back hemming and humming and telling me that I had an obvious case of something bad, at last count, herniated disks.

Still no news on the PET scan front, god only know what they had found, maybe they are waiting for me to finish treatment here before telling me I am going to croak. If my son was getting treatment for herniated disks I would not want to spring such news on him either until after he had completed treatment. Still, I know I will learn of it, somehow.

Not unexpectedly, my sister could not bring my my DVD-s from the States, the box was buried somewhere within the wall of boxes that comprise my life back in the world, in Kathy’s garage. Great. Another two months of Fight Club. This will really help my mental health.

I am astonishingly hungry here. They pretty much starve you. The idea is to deprive you of coffee, all stimulants, alcohol, meat, fruit juice and carbonated beverages in an overarching effort to detoxify your body. You are fed gruel, fresh fruit, steamed vegetables and other unadulterated crap. Does it work? Yes, it does. Being thoroughly addicted to coffee (and probably, a little bit to booze) I suspect at least some of these headache pains are attributable to withdrawal.

They feed you strange concoctions, tinctures, they purge you… During admission they admitted to being sorry for not being allowed to bleed people. You know. Cut them. There is no gazillion dollar spine correctional equipment here, just a lot of people who know how to get rid of my problem with massage, emulsion therapy, acupuncture, physical therapy and other weirdo stuff. They have an astonishing track record of correcting herniated disks and other problems of a similar nature as well. Now that I am reading this over, with the exception of no beer I think the Sarcastrix would absolutely love it here. All she needs to be happy here is a crate load of science fiction and a secret stash of lager.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Stand By, Everyone

Ok, I just got back to civilization. WOW. 21 days without booze, meat or coffee. I have a huge entry or two and a bunch of pictures to post. I will post it all tomorrow, I am exhausted. I missed you two as well, by the way.