Why I take exception to being called "a liberal."

"Liberalism is a half-measure. It sees government and capitalism as essentially sound, just in need of a few tweaks to function properly. Liberals like authority just as much as conservatives, they just believe in a slightly more benevolent authority that has slightly more consent from the governed. Liberals pay lip service to equality and inclusiveness, but are comfortable uncritically occupying positions of privilege.

"All that is well and good. We can work with misguided reformists. The problem is liberals' insistence that everyone else abide by their rules. Their privilege and authority issues ensure that they will try to control every movement they are involved in. They will gravitate to leadership positions (if there aren't any, they will create some), they will insist on controlling the message, and they will denounce any tactics they disagree with.

"Liberals are cop worshippers and politician's boot-licks. They are every movement's wet blankets, trying to push everyone back on the sidewalk and back in line when things are just about to get interesting. They are snitches and backstabbers. They will try to hold us back until we are unstoppable and then they will betray us."

Source

Fundamental change requires education.

"Anarchists know that a long period of education must precede any great fundamental change in society, hence they do not believe in vote begging, nor political campaigns, but rather in the development of self-thinking individuals. "We look away from government for relief, because we know that force (legalized) invades the personal liberty of man, seizes upon the natural elements and intervenes between man and natural laws; from this exercise of force through governments flows nearly all the misery, poverty, crime and confusion existing in society." — Lucy Parsons, in The Principles of Anarchism

Anarchism is not prescriptive.

I thought this was a great comment that addresses a common misunderstanding of anarchism, and breaks down why the question of "what would an anarchist society look like" is a problematic one.

First, I want to tangent a little bit. Anarchy is not a society that we can predict is going to exist. It's not a formula that we follow as a society that will lead us to a utopian existence. Anarchism is at its core a critique of the State, Capitalism, and hierarchical organization. As an ideology, it is the practice of decentralization of political, economic, and social power.

The misunderstanding with anarchism is that it does offer solutions and alternatives to the criticisms it gives, and in doing so it creates an illusion of an end-goal. Instead, each tendency and current of anarchism is a complementary tactic on decentralizing power. For example, Marx criticized capitalism for being exploitative; Kropotkin develops mutualism as a way of allowing workers to take direct control of the means of production and yet maintain the competitiveness of capitalist markets and the freedom to control one's labor. Communism criticizes capitalism for exploiting the workers; anarcho-communism criticizes capitalism for exploiting the workers and the State for perpetuating capitalism and violent social stratification; anarcho-syndicalism solves both of these criticisms as an anarchist tactic. The unions seize the means of production which allows them to decide what to do with their own labor; consensus direct democracy decision making. However, it also doesn't require the state to seize and distribute the means of production. The misconception is that anarchism is an ideology that hopes to spread to reach a critical mass, after which a majority of the working class seizes their own means of production. Instead, during times of revolutionary upheaval such as Anarchist Catalonia, we see glimpses of anarchism because anarchism is the assault on illegitimate hierarchies.

So, you can see a vision of mutualist societies in looking at present-day worker co-ops like Mondragon Corp and Valve (video game). You can see anarcho-syndicalism in the C.N.T. and the I.W.W. Less-so in the liberal trade unions like the AFL-CIO. You can see insurrectionary anarchism in Robin Hood and in bank robbers like Bonnano and the Conspiracy Cells of Fire living as outlaws in direct resistance to the state, or a even a biker gang. Life would differ depending on where you live. If you live in New York City, maybe you'd see taxis and bus drivers as part of a transportation union; you'd see Wall Street turned into some ironic piece of socialist art; if you live in the rural midwest you might see a return of a Wild-West sort of Wyatt Earp/Seth Bullock-type sheriff with a guardian, rather than enforcer, role, (I hope so!) with mostly lawlessness but banditry would be easily beaten by solidarity.

This is a much more in-depth explanation of what I usually tell people, which is that anarchism is not a goal, it is a journey -- it is a never-ending critique of power.

Come on, pal, the clock's running.

Q: All right, let's start with the most basic question there is: Are you a religious man? Do you believe in God?

A: Well, that'll do for openers. I think I can sum up my religious feelings in a couple of paragraphs. First: I believe in you and me. I'm like Albert Schweitzer and Bertrand Russell and Albert Einstein in that I have a respect for life -- in any form. I believe in nature, in the birds, the sea, the sky, in everything I can see or that there is real evidence for. If these things are what you mean by God, then I believe in God. But I don't believe in a personal God to whom I look for comfort or for a natural on the next roll of the dice. I'm not unmindful of man's seeming need for faith; I'm for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniel's. But to me religion is a deeply personal thing in which man and God go it alone together, without the witch doctor in the middle. The witch doctor tries to convince us that we have to ask God for help, to spell out to him what we need, even to bribe him with prayer or cash on the line. Well, I believe that God knows what each of us wants and needs. It's not necessary for us to make it to church on Sunday to reach Him. You can find Him anyplace. And if that sounds heretical, my source is pretty good: Matthew, Five to Seven, The Sermon on the Mount.

Q: You haven't found any answers for yourself in organized religion?

A: There are things about organized religion which I resent. Christ is revered as the Prince of Peace, but more blood has been shed in His name than any other figure in history. You show me one step forward in the name of religion and I'll show you a hundred retrogressions. Remember, they were men of God who destroyed the educational treasures at Alexandria, who perpetrated the Inquisition in Spain, who burned the witches at Salem. Over 25,000 organized religions flourish on this planet, but the followers of each think all the others are miserably misguided and probably evil as well. In India they worship white cows, monkeys and a dip in the Ganges. The Moslems accept slavery and prepare for Allah, who promises wine and revirginated women. And witch doctors aren't just in Africa. If you look in the L.A. papers of a Sunday morning, you'll see the local variety advertising their wares like suits with two pairs of pants.

Q: Hasn't religious faith just as often served as a civilizing influence?

A: Remember that leering, cursing lynch mob in Little Rock reviling a meek, innocent little 12-year-old Negro girl as she tried to enroll in public school? Weren't they -- or most of them -- devout churchgoers? I detest the two-faced who pretend liberality but are practiced bigots in their own mean little spheres. I didn't tell my daughter whom to marry, but I'd have broken her back if she had had big eyes for a bigot. As I see it, man is a product of his conditioning, and the social forces which mold his morality and conduct -- including racial prejudice -- are influenced more by material things like food and economic necessities than by the fear and awe and bigotry generated by the high priests of commercialized superstition. Now don't get me wrong. I'm for decency -- period. I'm for anything and everything that bodes love and consideration for my fellow man. But when lip service to some mysterious deity permits bestiality on Wednesday and absolution on Sunday -- cash me out.

Q: But aren't such spiritual hypocrites in a minority? Aren't most Americans fairly consistent in their conduct within the precepts of religious doctrine?

A: I've got no quarrel with men of decency at any level. But I can't believe that decency stems only from religion. And I can't help wondering how many public figures make avowals of religious faith to maintain an aura of respectability. Our civilization, such as it is, was shaped by religion, and the men who aspire to public office anyplace in the free world must make obeisance to God or risk immediate opprobrium. Our press accurately reflects the religious nature of our society, but you'll notice that it also carries the articles and advertisements of astrology and hokey Elmer Gantry revivalists. We in America pride ourselves on freedom of the press, but every day I see, and so do you, this kind of dishonesty and distortion not only in this area but in reporting -- about guys like me, for instance, which is of minor importance except to me; but also in reporting world news. How can a free people make decisions without facts? If the press reports world news as they report about me, we're in trouble.

Q: Are you saying that . . .

A: No, wait, let me finish. Have you thought of the chance I'm taking by speaking out this way? Can you imagine the deluge of crank letters, curses, threats and obscenities I'll receive after these remarks gain general circulation? Worse, the boycott of my records, my films, maybe a picket line at my opening at the Sands. Why? Because I've dared to say that love and decency are not necessarily concomitants of religious fervor.

Q: If you think you're stepping over the line, offending your public or perhaps risking economic suicide, shall we cut this off now, erase the tape and start over along more antiseptic lines?

A: No, let's let it run. I've thought this way for years, ached to say these things. Whom have I harmed by what I've said? What moral defection have I suggested? No, I don't want to chicken out now. Come on, pal, the clock's running.

-- Playboy Magazine Interview with Frank Sinatra, February 1963, Part 1 of 3, with interviewer Joe Hyams

The (sometimes) futility of explaining anarchism.

For anarchists who do know something about anthropology, the arguments are all too familiar. A typical exchange goes something like this:

Skeptic: Well, I might take this whole anarchism idea more seriously if you could give me some reason to think it would work. Can you name me a single viable example of a society which has existed without a government?

Anarchist: Sure. There have been thousands. I could name a dozen just off the top of my head: the Bororo, the Baining, the Onondaga, the Wintu, the Ema, the Tallensi, the Vezo… All without violence or hierarchy.

Skeptic: But those are all a bunch of primitives! I‟m talking about anarchism in a modern, technological society.

Anarchist: Okay, then. There have been all sorts of successful experiments: experiments with worker's self-management, like Mondragon; economic projects based on the idea of the gift economy, like Linux; all sorts of political organizations based on consensus and direct democracy…

Skeptic: Sure, sure, but these are small, isolated examples. I'm talking about whole societies.

Anarchist: Well, it's not like people haven't tried. Look at the Paris Commune, the free states in Ukraine and Shimin, the 1936 revolution in Spain…

Skeptic: Yeah, and look what happened to those guys! They all got killed!

The dice are loaded. You can't win. Because when the skeptic says “society,” what he really means is “state,” even “nation-state.” Since no one is going to produce an example of an anarchist state — that would be a contradiction in terms — what we're really being asked for is an example of a modern nation-state with the government somehow plucked away: a situation in which the government of Canada, to take a random example, has been overthrown, or for some reason abolished itself, and no new one has taken its place but instead all former Canadian citizens begin to organize themselves into libertarian collectives. Obviously this would never be allowed to happen. In the past, whenever it even looked like it might — here, the Paris commune and Spanish civil war are excellent examples — the politicians running pretty much every state in the vicinity have been willing to put their differences on hold until those trying to bring such a situation about had been rounded up and shot.

There is a way out, which is to accept that anarchist forms of organization would not look anything like a state. That they would involve an endless variety of communities, associations, networks, projects, on every conceivable scale, overlapping and intersecting in any way we could imagine, and possibly many that we can't. Some would be quite local, others global. Perhaps all they would have in common is that none would involve anyone showing up with weapons and telling everyone else to shut up and do what they were told. And that, since anarchists are not actually trying to seize power within any national territory, the process of one system replacing the other will not take the form of some sudden revolutionary cataclysm—the storming of a Bastille, the seizing of a Winter Palace — but will necessarily be gradual, the creation of alternative forms of organization on a world scale, new forms of communication, new, less alienated ways of organizing life, which will, eventually, make currently existing forms of power seem stupid and beside the point. That in turn would mean that there are endless examples of viable anarchism: pretty much any form of organization would count as one, so long as it was not imposed by some higher authority, from a klezmer band to the international postal service.

– Excerpt from David Graeber's Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology

Mass amnesia makes Americans forget the story behind May Day

By Rudolph J. Vecoli for The Barre Montpelier Times Argus
April 26, 2007

May Day: The holiday of the workers. In days gone by, when men, women and children often worked 10 or more hours a day, seven days a week, May Day was an assertion on the part of wage-slaves that they were sovereign human beings with control over their own lives and destinies. They celebrated the day with marches of tens and hundreds of thousands throughout the world.

May Day was an expression of the international solidarity of the working class. "Workers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your chains," was not just a slogan. It was a battle cry in the war between classes. Their marches and rallies, with fiery speeches, impassioned poetry and stirring anthems, gave them a sense of their collective strength. It was an act of defiance of the combined forces of employers and public authorities. Often their gatherings were brutally attacked by police or thugs with clubs and guns.

Many of us have grandparents or great-grandparents who participated in these observances. Few of us acknowledge or are even aware of this inspiring part of our family histories. We Americans suffer from mass amnesia of the remarkable and some times glorious history of workers' struggles for liberty of expression and social justice. Who now remembers May Day?

Although not often taught in American history classes, May Day originated in the United States during the campaign for an eight-hour day. The Knights of Labor, the nascent American Federation of Labor and various anarchist groups designated May 1, 1886, for nationwide demonstrations for the eight-hour goal. An incident which occurred several days later in Chicago made this the beginning of a global workers' movement. Following a clash between strikers and police in which several workers were killed, a protest meeting was held in Haymarket Square.

When police attacked the gathering, a bomb was thrown, killing several officers. In the trial of anarchists (who were not accused of the bombing, but for advocating violence) which followed, eight were found guilty and four subsequently executed. These "Haymarket martyrs" quickly became revered heroes of labor movements throughout the world.

With this tragic episode in the class war in mind, the International Socialist Congress meeting in Paris in 1889 designated May 1, 1890, as an eight-hour holiday to be observed by workers in all countries. An increasingly conservative Samuel Gompers and AF of L had by the mid-1890s distanced themselves from May Day and embraced the legally sanctioned Labor Day, which was observed the first Monday in September. Coming from radical backgrounds, Finns, Slavs, East European Jews, Italians and other immigrants found their cherished May Day opposed not only by capitalists but often by American workers as well. Despite being denounced as "foreign born reds," they kept the torch of May Day idealism burning for another generation.

The response of the "bosses," political and economic, was twofold: to allay the anger of the workers, measures were taken to ameliorate the worst abuses of the capitalist system; while extreme repression was used to silence the most vocal and active labor advocates. The case of Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, two Italian anarchist immigrants, electrocuted on Aug. 23, 1927, following a blatantly biased trial, is the most heinous example of the latter.

However, the ideal of May Day had already been shattered by the collision of international solidarity of the "proletariat" with the fervid nationalism resulting from World War I. Patriotism trumped class consciousness, and millions of workers killed each other in the name of the fatherland. Meanwhile, the Bolshevik Revolution which appeared to fulfill the vision of a collective republic turned out to be a Trojan horse in the socialist camp. The Leninist-Stalinist regime proved to be a ruthless dictatorship presiding over state capitalism. Among the earliest and most passionate opponents of Communist Russia were socialists and anarchists whose comrades were being liquidated by the Bolsheviks.

The aspiration for the unity of workers was shattered by these developments.

In the United States, the Great Depression of the 1930s did not usher in communism but the New Deal of Franklin D. Roosevelt, which saved capitalism and laid the basis for a welfare state.

May Day was hijacked by the Soviet Union with its displays of military prowess in Red Square. The association of May Day with Soviet Communism has given it a bad name to this day.

In this age of globalization, when workers are pitted against each other, across oceans and continents, we have returned to conditions of pitiless exploitation of human beings. If greed ever was constrained by patriotism, it certainly is not today. The quest for profits knows no inhibitions by national ideologies or loyalties. Yes, we are involved in a class war, a war of oil companies, the military-industrial complex, the corrupted political institutions, against the workers and consumers.

We, the American working people, remain beguiled by symbols, the flag, the Fourth of July, the Thanksgiving turkey. It is time to revisit May Day in the spirit in which it was conceived over a hundred years ago. Only an international labor movement can hope to match the prowess of the amoral trans-national capitalist system. Freeing ourselves from the sordid history which stained the banner of May Day, we need to raise a cleansed, purified standard on which is emblazoned once again: "Workers of the World Unite!"

Rudolph J. Vecoli is professor emeritus of history and former director of the Immigration History Research Center University of Minnesota-Twin Cities. He lives in St. Paul, Minn.

March 15 is sodomy day.

There, now it's official.

Why Haiti is the way it is.

Haiti's condition as a nation started with French colonialism in the 18th century, during which the native populace was exterminated and replaced entirely by slaves. At the end of the 18th century, a 13 year long slave rebellion overthew the slave-masters, followed by the opportunistic armies of Spain and Britain who were looking to exploit Haiti during the rebellion, and finally Napoleon's own army. To this day, Haiti is still the only successul slave revolt in history.

Once the slaves of Haiti won their freedom through war and revolution, the U.S. and European powers still refused to recognize Haiti's independence as a nation, and made that known by imposing embargoes and blockades. The distaste for a liberated Haiti was likely rooted in the belief that supporting the newly freed country would send the wrong message to their own slaves: if you fight, you could be free. Those embargoes crippled Haiti's ability to bounce back from the devastation wrought by warring with 3 nations trying to maintain them as a slave-state. The French-led embargo continued until almost 1830, when it was dissolved only under the condition that Haiti reimburse France for the loss of their property: their slaves. The value was set at 150 million francs, close to the annual budget of France at the time. Due to this unjust debt being forced on Haiti, the country was plunged even further into poverty, so much so that 80% of Haiti's national budget went towards debt payments.

When the U.S. decided to flex its might in the western hemisphere, one of the ways they showed it was by sending in the Marines in 1915 to plunder and occupy Haiti. The Marines went straight to the Haiti national bank and took all their gold reserves, moving them to U.S. soil. After we stole their gold, we forced them to rewrite their constitution, allowing for the occupation, foreign ownership of Haitian land, and numerous other changes designed only to benefit us. The Haitians resisted this occupation through a series of revolts, each of which was crushed by the U.S. military by murdering revolt leaders, razing entire villages, and killing somewhere between 20-30,000 Haitians. Then, in the early 1930s, we abandoned our occupation of Haiti, leaving in power the brutal, U.S.-trained Haitian National Army to oppress and control the former slave populace.

In the late '50s Papa Doc Duvalier came to power through a fraudulent election and brought in his own army of thugs, the Tontons Macoutes. Duvalier's tyranny killed roughly 50,000 Haitians, and guess who supported his rule? That's right, the U.S. government. When Papa Doc Duvalier died, the U.S. stationed warships off the coast of Haiti as a display of force to insure a smooth transition of power to Papa Doc's son, Jean-Francois. Jean-Francois Duvalier was closely associated with and supported the U.S. "American Plan," which explicitly aimed to drive people into shantytowns and get them to work in assembly plants set up by the U.S.

Jean-Francois continued his reign until the mid 1980s when a series of uprisings forced the U.S. to extract him and give him sanctuary in France, so that we could keep control of the country through the U.S.-trained Haitian National Army and a series of military juntas. In 1991 a priest and member of the anti-Duvalier movement by the name of Jean Aristide was elected as president. This new president didn't make any noise about completely severing the power connections of the United States, but he made it known through fierce policy debate that he wasn't going to bend to the will of the U.S. government nor the local ruling class elite that supported U.S. policy. After less than a year in office, the CIA worked with the Haitian military to stage a coup and eliminate Aristide's support structure. This was done through repression by military soldiers and Duvalier's Macoutes. Thousands of Aristide's supporters were slaughtered, hundreds of thousands went into hiding and almost another hundred thousand fled the country.

All this intervention still didn't give the U.S. government what it wanted, so a few years later the U.S. returned Aristide to power, along with 20,000 U.S. troops to protect the paramilitary squads that had been put in place during Aristide's exile, and to train them again with even harsher techniques of oppression. The 20,000 U.S. troops stayed for a year, leaving only when Aristide agreed to the Governor's Island accords, which stated that he must stop resisting U.S. plans for Haiti. He stayed true to his agreement for the most part, but kept fighting for any concessions he could, which the U.S. grew tired of, and in 2004 another coup was organized by the CIA and the International Republican Institute--Aristide and his family were kidnapped and put on a plane for the Central African Republic. Within a few days U.S. soldiers once again patrolled the capital of Haiti and before long a new government was created, complete with new attacks on the people of Haiti, many of which were perpetrated by U.S. forces. A few short months after that the U.S. troops were replaced with U.N. soldiers, mainly Brazilians, who have been critized by human rights groups for summary executions. From 2004 until the recent earthquake, there has been no change in Haiti's structure of government or oppression of its people.

That's all, folks.

And that concludes the online journal entries I made while going through treatment.

2002/08/29 05:46

I had what was the worst session of chemotherapy to date on Tuesday. It is now technically Thursday morning, and I'm feeling a bit better, which is good. The words to accurately describe how chemotherapy feels still elude me, no matter how hard I try to find them. I guess some things are inexplicable, eh?

I sitll haven't come to terms with the fact that it's been getting worse each time and will continue to do so until my treatment is over. That's probably the most difficult thing for me to swallow in all of this. With each treatment, I ask myself how it could possibly make me feel worse, and with each treatment, I find out.

Oh well. C'est la vie.

On a lighter note, I had a wonderful motorcycle ride this past Sunday with two good friends of mine, Matt and Tom. We rode up Page Mill Road, and stopped at the intersection of Page Mill/Alpine Rd. and Skyline Road to take a break and relax a bit to soak in the beauty of it all.

A couple of days before that I got to hang out with Jessica, which is enjoyable every time I do. I really did miss hanging out with her, as she has been such a good friend to me for so very long, and is just overall a really good person. I took a picture of her that night, I guess she wasn't too happy with it.

I also went out to lunch with her on Tuesday before going to chemotherapy; I think my decision of where to go might've been a bad idea, considering the fact that I ate a hamburger, which was the first time in a while that I'd had red meat. It should be enough to say that it was pretty hard on my stomach, and it definitely had its effect during my chemo treatment. Luckily, my timing in getting to the bathroom was impeccable, especially considering that I had to get my IV unplugged from the wall which was no easy feat.

Azitta went with me to chemo this time, which did wonders for me. It also helped me to deal with my mom, as she can be quite over-bearing and over-protective at times.

Well, all the time, actually. I just normally have the energy and patience to be able to deal with it, but chemo drains all that away. It makes me feel like I'm an octogenarian, slowly withering away into nothingness.

Damnit, I was trying to keep this light-hearted. That just shows the frame of mind I'm in right now, I suppose. Why force it, eh?

On that note .. end transmission.

2002/08/21 19:20

Sometimes the lyrics of this song describe exactly how I feel; so I present unto you the words for "Corporal Jigsore Quandray" by the band Carcass, off of their epic release Necroticism: Descanting the Insalubrious:

Excised and anatomised, deviscerated disarray
The torso diverged with pride
Deftly amputated, evulsed limbs now defunct
The trunk imbrued, tatty stumps used as lugs
For a chondrin puzzle so quaint
Head and body decollate
A heaving mass so quiescent...

Scattered and scrambled, your teasement grows
- A bloody caricature to make whole
A squirming grisly jigsaw, detrital fragments fit so snug
- That missing piece will leave you stumped
Totally disassembled, nicely sliced and diced
- A human being this once resembled
Real cranium teaser, carved from flesh and bone
- So mystifying...

Battered and diffused with placating blows
- A human jigsaw to make whole
A sequacious pattern which once fitted so snug
- Joining together each dubious lump
Ravaged disassembly, neatly cubed and diced
- A cold mannequin once reassembled
Astute brain teaser, incorporate flesh and bone
- So mortifying...

An incessant game - methodically made
With each cumulative piecing - of commensated meat...

Bi-manual reconstruction, eldritch problem complete
A convened effigy
A pathological toy, each chunk rigorously
Inter mortis locking, as you pathogenically rot
Such a perplexing task
To fit the remains in the casket
Uliginous mess so quiescent...

An incessant game - methodically made
With each cumulative piece - of commensated meat...

2002/08/19 00:27

"You are a victim of cancer, not a victim of treatment. Treatment is the answer."
-- Peter Guethlein

Oddly enough, thinking of that quote is sometimes the one thing that makes me feel better about chemotherapy. One may ask "Why in God's name would there need to be a quote like that?" Well, the simple fact is that with most treatments in life, you feel better as you progress through it.

With chemotherapy, you feel worse with every treatment. Every visit is worse than the prior, more painful, more complicated, and it almost starts to seem like chemotherapy is the thing to fear, the thing to avoid.

No energy to write tonight.

2002/08/13 11:46

Today is the day. 3:30PM. What fun.

2002/08/11 22:35

Words can not convey how much I do not want to go to chemotherapy on Tuesday. I don't have a choice in the matter, of course; if I don't go to chemo and don't continue my treatment, cancer will kill me.

I just don't like feeling sick, I don't like feeling like .. like not me. It's gotten to the point where even thinking of chemotherapy makes me nauseas, where even passing close to the hospital makes me sick. Literally, sick to my stomach. I know that it's all Pavlovian in nature, psychosomatic if you will, but the effects are the same nonetheless. Nausea.

I'm so tired. My tiredness extends far deeper than just being sleepy or the like; it's like a fatigue to the very core of my being, like my body just barely has enough energy to go on day after day. Almost everything requires much more energy than I have available in my reserves; I'm always pushing my own boundaries when it comes to any sort of activity, even ones that I enjoy. That makes sense, of course. Why would the fact that I enjoy an activity make it any easier on my body to perform it? Mind over matter, right? Yeah. Right.

The clumps of hair in my shower get worse every day. I didn't think it would be that noticeable, but it is. Luckily the way that my hair has been falling out has been nothing more than a general thinning all over. The hair on my head is not the only place it's going away, it's pretty much body-wide.

It's just disturbing when I see it actually falling out. When I pull off a black shirt, I can see all the hair that was pulled out just by the shirt rubbing against my head. And we're not talking just a few strands of hair here, either; each time I take a shirt off, I lose an average of two dozen hairs from what I can see.

The fact that I always feel sick right after eating makes it very difficult for me to want to eat. Luckily I've been able to force myself to eat no matter what so far, but I have a feeling that as my treatment continues that may change. I've go to keep forcing myself to eat no matter what, seeing as how I lost 13 pounds in June, and I've only gained back 11 of that. Even once I've gained back the weight that I lost, I have to keep eating, keep forcing myself. I've always been underweight, and that's not good in general, but especially for me now.

I wish I could describe how I feel phsyically. Emotions aren't as difficult to verbalize, but since this is a type of physical discomfort I've never felt before, it's quite hard to describe. I really think only a fellow cancer patient that went through chemotherapy would understand. It's shitty, because when someone asks me how I'm feeling and I respond with "tired," they frequently respond with something along the lines of "I know what you mean," and the first thought that goes through my head is "No, you don't."

Tired is merely the easiest way I can describe it. Nausea is just so much simpler than trying to convey that I am quite literally in pain most of the day each and every day. A headache to me is not just a headache, it's a pounding, throbbing beast that extends into my entire body, causing a chain-reaction of pain and discomfort that .. fuck. How I feel is truly indescribable, far more powerful than I could possible verbalize.

And it fucking sucks, because I was always one of those people that never really got headaches, got sick, felt nauseas, et cetera. Rarely have I ever had the flu, or gotten a cold. I've never had bronchitis, and I've only had strep throat once in my life. I used to get ear infections when I was younger, but that stopped a long time ago. Bug bites don't bother me, neither does poison oak.

So of course, my adult life of relative ease as far as health is concerned finally decided to catch up to me. Here, have some fucking cancer.

Today would qualify as a bad day, as far as my psyche is concerned, I suppose. I think it's because I've been thinking about the fact that tomorrow I have to go in for my blood tests and then my chemotherapy on Tuesday.

And thinking about how much I just want to be normal again.

2002/07/24 09:14

You know, this whole being unable to go to sleep until dawn and waking up a couple hours later is getting out of hand.

I finally fell asleep around 5AM, and I woke up about 20 minutes ago. Oh well. I guess if I utilize my time properly, I should be able to get twice as much done in a day.

Tangent: discourteous drivers. I went riding yesterday in the hills behind my house, and believe you me, someone must have had some sort of impatient driver convention. The roads were overrun with tailgaters, people attempting to pass other people in the middle of turns, insanely slow drivers, et al.

Luckily, me being on a motorcycle, I was somewhat unaffected by all of this; I have yet to encounter a motorist that is anywhere near capable of keeping up with me when I'm on my motorcycle.

The most impressive event by far occurred while Ben and I were pulled off onto the side of the road. A group of three cars were speeding towards a turn that had a passing lane just before the turn began. Imagine, if you will, a car pulling into the lane to the right to allow the car directly behind it to pass. Now imagine the car behind that attempting to pass car two by pulling to the left into the oncoming traffic lane.

So what you had was 3 cars all in one stage of passing or another, careening towards the upcoming turn; now throw in the possibility of a car coming in the opposite direction around the turn, the entire road blocked with oncoming traffic, unbeknownst to him.

Quite the gaggle of fools.

Crap. Stomach hurts. I really should get some food.

On a lighter note, last night I found myself feeling like a capable man again. It appears that my patience in relation to my body's desire for sex payed off. So I guess it takes about 7 days for me to process the chemotherapy drugs enough to get my libido back and for my body to be physiologically capable of having sex again.

That pleases me.

2002/07/22 04:16

I rode earlier today. Rode quite a bit, actually. I had my motorcycle time, and it felt good.

Motorcycle time always feels good.

I'm exhausted right now, so that's all I'm going to write about it, but I did take some pictures that I'm going to post up after I wake up in the morning.

On a side-note, I've noticed a side-effect beside nausea and fatigue from my chemotherapy treatments. This is a side-effect that I really don't like, and it makes me feel like much less of a man, I can tell you that much.

According to my information sheets from the hospital, I am supposed to avoid sex for 48 hours after treatment, which is fine. After that, back to normal, right?

Not quite.

For the past 3 days, I've had little to no libido whatsoever, and it's quite upsetting. I don't like feeling like there's something I can't do for her, something I can't provide.

Especially sex.

I'm young and supposed to be virile, and it's disturbing as hell for me to go from the capability of having sex multiple times in one night to being able to only perform once. And to get my body to the point where it wants to perform just that once requires quite a bit of patience and coaxing, and I as a 23 year-old should not need that. Up until now, I haven't.

The fucked up part is that it's a vicious cycle: I get frustrated that there's no reaction, which stresses me out, which puts pressure on me to perform, which makes it even more difficult for my body to do anything.

It's not like she hasn't been completely and totally understanding and compassionate; for that, I am beyond grateful. And I certainly don't ignore it and not say anything. We've talked about it, talked about how it makes me feel, how it makes her feel, et cetera. She's worried about the effect this is having on my psyche, and rightly so.

My last chemo treatment had a similar effect, but it only lasted a day or so after that 48 "cooling off" period.

Maybe I'm just not being patient enough with my body. It is processing a massive amount of chemotherapy toxins and battling cancer.

Patience is not something I have an abundance of, as anyone that knows me will attest to.

I thought this was going to be a short entry. Guess I thought wrong.

Tomorrow, pictures from the ride.

2002/07/16 19:39

Almost forgot.

Here's a poem that I encountered today; it's by Edgar Allan Poe, written in 1850. The title is "Alone":

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view

2002/07/16 19:19

I've been groggy all day.

Last night I fell asleep somewhere around 3-3:30AM, knowing full-well that I had to be up in 2-2 1/2 hours to go on a motorcycle ride with my friend Tom.

So, at 6AM, off went my alarm. I promptly silenced it.

And then I heard a horn honk out in my driveway. I thought to myself, "Damn. Tom did show up."

I jumped out of bed, threw on my robe and ran downstairs to let him know that I would be jumping in the shower and getting ready real quick. He just told me to meet him at Coffee Society when I was through.

So after shaving/shitting/showering, I gear myself up and jump on the bike. Off to Coffee I go. As I pull up, he sees me and starts walking to his bike to get ready to go.

I inform him that I have a short amount of time, due to the fact that my second chemotherapy treatment is at 9:15AM, and I have to be at my dad's house before that so I can pick him up and take him with me. Tom sort of looked off into the distance for a moment, and replied with "Ok!"

And off we went at approximately 6:40AM.

85 south to 17 south, exit Bear Creek Road, make a left onto Black Rd. (Black Mountain Rd.?), take that all the way to the southern tip of Skyline Rd., at which point we kick things up a notch and haul ass to Four Corners, the Highway 9/Skyline Road intersection.

When we stopped at Four Corners, we checked the time and realized that it was only 7AM!

Damn!

So off down the backside we went. As soon as I turned onto that road, I felt it calling to me, felt the beauty of the turn, the lure of the motorcycle zen.

I punched it.

I didn't ride so hard as to push my previously explored limits, but I definitely rode at a spirited pace.

And for the first time since I've ridden, I left Tom behind. Normally, there's a small sense of victory when one encounters a situation like that, as it confirms your level of riding experience and ability, but it made me feel empty inside to gain a lead on Tom like that.

See, the thing is, Tom pretty much taught me how to ride in the hills. He's my mentor, my teacher.

When I got to the bottom of 9, I sat and waited for him .. if I had a cigarette, I would have been able to finish it, most likely. He came hauling ass around the turn, flew past me at high-speed, but he saw me and slowed down. He turned around and pulled up next to me, and after exchangings "Sups," the first words out of his mouth were "You've gotten a LOT faster."

I can't really explain why it makes me feel so strange to know that I am now a faster rider than Tom. Perhaps the best way to illustrate it is as such: due to Tom being my primary mentor as far as riding in the hills, I always aspired to be at his level of speed, smoothness and consistency in turns.

And now that I've surpassed his level, at least his level on his bike right now, it just makes me feel .. well, like I said before. Empty.

I do know, however, that I am nowhere near the rider that he is, in general. I have only surpassed him in speed. He is a more confident, stable, versatile and experienced rider than I will ever be. Period.

So .. after that, I ran home, got my car and picked my dad up. It was time for round 2 of my chemotherapy.

Pretty uneventful, actually. I'll skip over the description of sitting there for 3 hours and letting them inject me with toxins.

As soon as I got home, I started to feel strange. I still do. It's like my body is telling me that it's filled with poisons right now, that it's battling toxins. I'm incredibly tired, and mentally dead.

I'm suffering from "chemo-brain," I think.

Ugh.

They said I can expect hair loss within 3 weeks. Yay. I've already noticed that my hair is thinning.

2002/07/15 05:35

An interesting day. Went and rode my ass off in the hills on my motorcycle this morning, fell asleep afterwards, did nothing and had quite a bit of fun doing just that.

Nothing.

2002/07/11 02:42

My friends are so sweet:

(justin) 4 mark