With the coming of Dramacon the pages of The WhatTheFuckinomicon have been opened, and have begun to unleash chaos and upheaval into the world. As our understanding of this dark tomb deepen we have come upon a new terror. Those who wield and manipulate the dread powers of WhatTheFuckery - The WhatTheFuckromancer. Fear this dread wizard, for their appearance only signals disaster for the unwary.

Today I wondered if I can legally change my last name to Ninja?

Minus World

He says to me, "You know, not too long ago, whenever that was, we played with the idea of finding holes in the program. We searched for the alternate behind reality, hoping to get ourselves stuck in an endless an inescapable Here. We delved into paradox, and banged our heads against walls that might someday not be as solid as we feared they always would be. The ones that disappeared, we hoped, man. We dreamed for them, that they had made it and we could never hear from them again. We knew they were trapped, but that was the point. They made it out, and maybe what they made it into... well maybe it was this.

I've been looking around me for... well for as long as I've been looking. It changes, but doesn't change. I found my way here sometime ago, if there is such a thing anymore. Somewhere in there I found him. He says he found me, and that he was here first. I don't try to argue. That seems... redundant. I'm so tired of redundant.

"So you aren't the first you know. I've found others, or maybe (just maybe, and I ain't saying it's so) they found me. I think so anyway. Thinking is as good as anything in here, so yeah, that's what happened. Others crossed by here, and they were here for as long, if there is such a thing, as they were. But they aren't! Hear what I'm saying? The game changed! We stopped trying to get lost because we did that already. The challenge, the goal, the princess, was in finding our way out."

That was then, if there is such a thing. Those words are in my head. His eyes, his twitching lips, the smell of his breath, they are all as real as anything else in there (if there is such a place). There have been other faces, other voices. I dream for all of them that they were better at this than I am. That they went to the next level. Somewhere there's an exit. I was good enough to find my way in. There has to be a way out.

This song has been stuck in my head. For some reason I don't focus on any one person when I hear it, but there is a period of time that keeps filling my mind. It's a brief period. Maybe a few months, and by no means "the happiest days of my life."

What fills my mind is Sundays when Paradox23 and I would go to Il Ghiotto (now Spadra) for pancakes, then over to The Hub (now something lame and horrible) and play chess. Southern California sunshine on a lazy weekend. The Old Spaghetti Factory and the birthdays and dinners there with long time friends. Anaheim streets, that turn into Fullerton streets, that run into Brea and Yorba Linda streets, and all the people and places that I saw on all those streets. Late nights and early mornings under those chromatic skies and burning sunlight in a period of time that was completely meaningless; completely empty. Completely easy.

Not the happiest days of my life, no. In the past that was 1993-1995. I call them the Kontrol Faktory days, and if you were there, I don't need to explain it. If you weren't, well, it's a story best told in person over a beer, or a cup of coffee. I'm old enough now to enjoy telling a tale in person, but still young and impatient enough to not feel like typing it all out.

And those may not be the happiest days of my life, since there is more to come. This journal is... more or less... closed. I was feeling nostalgic, though, and a video post seemed more appropriate here than anywhere else. Since I was posting here in those days way back when Sunday pancakes were a regular occurrence, and the bright light of the dessert sun reflected off of miles after miles of endless concrete.

And I may be coming back to Southern California for a little while. Merely extended visits, and not a move. See I still have a girlfriend, and she still lives in Orange County. So to combat the strain of living 1000 miles apart from the person you most want to spend time with, I'm going to try spending a week or two at a time down there. Part of me is looking forward to it. Not just the part of waking up with a beautiful woman who loves me every day, but the part of me that remembers the palm trees fondly. The part that doesn't shudder at the thought of smog, but kind of misses it. The part that smiled under that burning sun.

I'll see you again soon, California.

This journal is closed.

( This is a long train ride, and I don't know where it's going )
Over time I became the weird kid. I was quiet, and I enjoyed weird things. That's another long story covering elementary - high school, and it could get its own awesome movie.

I could write about some of the horror stories I've had with doctors once I got sick, or the nurses I've run across, or the horrible, sickening people that have attempted to make money off of my illness from both me and Ellen. This blog entry would go on for pages and pages. I'll just leave them behind in this paragraph, and say that over years I have seen behavior from human beings that I simply did not believe people were willing to do to other people.
( Back to the future )

( Part 3 - How I found my soul, and what I did to it once I did )

( Part 2 - A long walk )

( An afternoon in three parts. Part 1 )

Some day I will look at the doctor who stands over me with bad news rolling off their tongue, and I will smile. I'll nod, and breath deep and say, "Now it's time, isn't it?" I will say my goodbyes, and then I'll take the easiest way out they offer me. This I know. One day will be no more fighting, and no more extensions. One day there will be no more time to borrow.

But that's not today. Instead today was a beautiful Fall day in Oregon. Sunny and bright, with a hint of the coming Winter chill. In Raseny's car I rode slowly down Multonomah Avenue under trees of brilliant yellow, orange, red, green and brown. I never understood the word "mosaic" until I moved here. Just like I never really understood Fall, and all the decorations around Halloween and Thanksgiving. I never really knew seasons until I left the desert. Not until I drove through forests that changed before my eyes from ashen grey, to livid green, to brilliant red, and back again. Staring at the trees mere blocks from my house I realized I never knew the depth of color in the world until I came here.

Raseny took the day off work so it was time for an adventure. We don't do that much anymore. She's got her boyfriend, and dodgeball, and stuff and things, and things and stuff. Not much time for getting lost on strange, beautiful streets we've never known were right around the corner, or just across the bridge. There's been moving, and parties, and visiting significant others to occupy our time. Well today there was none of that. There was me, her, and a sick day to spend aimlessly. And all in all it was a good day.

I had my first chili dog. Yes, I'm 34 years old, and I have just had my first chili dog. It was pretty good, too. Spicy, rich, and covered in cheese. Eaten at the wrong time one of those could very well kill me. This time, however, it just left me full, and craving another one. Now I know - chili dogs really can be as good as I'd heard.

We drove around Portland after that. Over to Annie's to pick up donuts, and then slowly drove home. Both of us children of the Southern California desert marveling at the season all around us. Soon those leaves will fall, and there will be months and months of gray. I will huddle inside in front of my tv, or my computer, listening to the rain on the windows and waiting for the snow to fall. There will be fires in the fireplace, and warm cups of coffee in the still of long, freezing nights. Drives will no longer be slow to enjoy the scenery, but to avoid losing control on patches of ice.

But today there is still nothing better than a friend's day off, and a lazy drive.

What people don't seem to realize is that life is not a permanent state. All forms of life are temporary. A blip on the sonar of time. It's only through constant and persistent efforts to stave off death for one more minute, one more hour, one more year, that allows that blip to keep sending out a signal. Every victory against death is only a reprieve, and the time you win is small.

But it's worth fighting for.

It's been a long day. All of it memorable in various ways so this may end up being a long post.

This day began at 10pm last night when I woke up after a brief nap. Dialysis was rough on me. When I say rough I mean painful. I don't know why, but when they use the new access (the cadaver vein graft in my upper right arm) it cuts off circulation to my right hand. My left hand has had problems with circulation during dialysis for a while now so it's no surprise to me when it falls asleep, but when both hands fall asleep - that's new. Again, there's a term here that might need some clarification. When I say my hands "fell asleep" I don't mean they were kinda tingly, and a little numb. No, they were completely useless. I could barely move my fingers, but had the lovely sensation of them being bombarded by a million needles of lidocaine.

If you've never tried to tie your shoes when you can't feel your hands, you should. Or better yet find someone else you can laugh at while they try to do it. It's a good show, I promise.

So after that I needed some rest. I got 3 hours. Thus begins the long night.
( I want to cut the ears off but I can't )
...and here is where things go bad.
( It's my curse. It's my fucking curse. )

"You're looking at the loss of your arm."
( . )

Since hearing those words there have been attempts to change my outlook. That's not definite. It's a worst case scenario. This doktor will find a way. I don't want to go into the details of everything he said. Exact recount of his explanation is only going to make me feel worse, and I've had enough of this for today. I'm not hopeful. That's all I'm going to say about it.

( Bright spots and magical thinking )
But maybe Ellen and her friends will slip into their meditative states, contact their unseen friends, and they'll pull their magical strings for a miracle. If you ask them, they've done it before.

Wouldn't it be nice if it were just that easy.
( what's next? )
My next appointment is next Wednesday. I expect on that day to hear a plan.

Here's a funny little truth about hospitals. You can tell them anything, and they won't believe you. Tell them you're in excrutiating pain, or that your legs are swollen to 4 times their normal size, or that you're dying. They'll take your vitals, some blood, and shuffle you out the door as fast as they can. Then you'll get billed for it. But you show up covered in blood, and they are all kinds of accomidating.

I guess people require demonstations. Words are easy - almost anybody can make them. But how many people can spray blood across a room? Not many. That kind of specialized skill sometimes is worth an extra hour or two in the ER, and a nicer nurse that will talk to you and smile instead of trying to get you out of her hair ASAP. The condition doesn't change, but the special effects do, and that makes all the difference.

So here I am at St. Vincent's again. I started coughing up blood at dialysis, and they called an ambulance. The bleeding thing has been going on for about 2 weeks now, but over the last 4 years, and the last 5 trips to the hospital for the exact same problem, I've learned that going to the ER over this results in nothing. They run tests, they tell me there's nothing they can do, and they send me home. It's been two years since the last time I coughed like this, and I only went to the hospital then because Darren called an ambulance. This time it was a dialysis nurse. Other people have yet to learn what I have about hospitals. But who knows, maybe this time will be different. Maybe there have been huge advances in diagnostic technology in the last two years, and I will reap their benefits. Yup, that's totally what's going to happen.

( something moved me )