Musashi Mix Inq

Palliativity 107: What Does’t Kill You…

Posted on November 24, 2010

what doesn't kill you

For 2 years I've been self-injecting lidocaine as my only means of direct pain management that is not a narcotic. M357 is merely the void. My other meds are like background-radiation resonating from the initial injury; god's white-noise machine, his hand fumbling for snooze.

Every drug claims a part of me. It's time to take it back.

< }•[•]•{ >

I had my first Prolotherapy treatment two days ago. The underlying concept is built on the function of  histamines and the body's immune-response. When the body detects damage, whether illness or trauma, histamines are released and the chain-reaction begins. To heal, the affected areas become inflamed which results in higher blood flow. It always baffles me when Western and Eastern medicine speak the same language.

Prolotherapy intentionally provokes the histamic reaction. My body has settled into its current state; chronic pain is not recognized as an antagonist. It has literally become a part of me. The concoction injected is comprised of saline, lidocaine and sugar. The catch is that in order for the treatment to work I can't use ice, ibuprofen or M357. Disarmed, I scan the perimeter for the next attack.

I feel like I'm stuck in another MRI, unable to move and hoping that temporary suffering will help me find new hope. How does it feel? Like a knife jabbed into the side of my neck. Inotherwords? Not as bad as normal. The difference? I know that this pain I feel is a wake-up call to the system. This is a shock-and-awe campaign. We have an intruder among our ranks and the only solution is to

cut it out.


Filed under: Blog, Pain No Comments

Palliativity 105: Dysphoria

Posted on November 11, 2010

dysphoria :/

I grew up with people asking me, "what are you?". I got used to it. I eventually learned not to play that game. To answer is to agree with the underlying assumption that I am the anomaly; an object of fascination that should be hunted, stuffed and installed in the great-room curio of a Victorian naturalist.

I was told that I'm half Japanese and half Jewish. For the observer, this genetic algebra equated to a whole person in their neat and tidy world. I wasn't put in a box. I was sliced in half; subdivided and subjugated, and yet I carry twice the heritage and just as much angst. I wish people could deal with me as I am— instead of where I need to be filed.

I've received the same type of treatment when I'm in treatment. My humanity is something rarely touched on. I am my affliction. My name is Miss Diagnosed.

I have been defined by many labels; prepackaged for mass consumption. My identity is pending investigation. We waive all responsibility if contents are damaged in transit;

I won't apologize for my existence. I am proud to be complicated.


Filed under: Blog, identity, Pain No Comments

Palliativity 104: Scar Tissue

Posted on November 4, 2010

scar tissue

Family means everything to me. I'm not just talking about blood, it's the connections we make in life that can never be broken; the unweathered well deep in our hearts.


For a couple of years, death encompased my life. Enough tragedies can blind you and break you down. Lost in the wilderness, I blame the trees for the forest.

Drunk driver

For my partner and I, the beginning of our relationship was steeped in death. The deep cuts healed us together, stitched at the heart. The greater the damage, the stronger the bonds: scar tissue that I know you saw... Looking at one another, we can see the jagged pain as well as the joy. We learned to accept life's contradictions.

The symptoms and proffered cures however are another matter—


‡ Δ ‡

Tragedy can become a chronic condition if we merely tread water. Assess the damage and heal strong. Destiny doesn't pull punches, so why should we?


Filed under: Blog, Pain No Comments

Ouroboros: it gets Brighter

Posted on October 28, 2010


Step 1: Take one minute and look
ttttttttttttinto a mirror. Get up close.
Step 2: Breath
Step 3: Reflect

I am graphic designer to support the habit. Pain, drugs, love, and ontology are my enablers. I am powerless to my need to create. Madness, if anything, is encouraged.

My patron saint is Ouroboros, the self-eating snake. Each creation is a small death; I bathe in the ashes of the Phoenix. Each project begins at the epic conclusion of a narcissistic battle between the rational and the etherial.

When posting a new piece, I am the one hand clapping, hoping for the universe to clap back; Synchronicity with the beat of the open void shouting out the statically fried messages of a poetic radio-operator. Everything is subject to entropy, even creativity.

When I stare at a digital canvas, I envision that if I were to paint every possible stroke, a black page would remain. In the darkness I see my flat world reflected in gloss. I find comfort in this. It means that in a way, we are all connected through the vail of the floating void; the dark-canvas-mirror live-video-feed into each other's souls. Welcome to the inner depths.

Know this:

You are not alone

• ∞ λ ∞ •

Be brave. Stand strong. Be proud. Reach out. It gets brighter.


Filed under: Art, Belief, Blog, Pain, Q No Comments

Palliativity 103: Phantom Pain

Posted on October 21, 2010


I hear this word for the first time and my body goes cold. Long months of recovery, rehab and healing have brought me here; to the medical chopping block. I am 15 years old, t+2years since my surgery, and host to a chronic pain more powerful than the slice of a scalpel...

I am sitting in my neuro-doctor's office seeking to find my way to the path of ever-elusive progress. Every exercise, every minute my testosterone filled body gets stronger, the pain gets worse. At the time, I still looked to the labcoats for hope and answers:

"Phantom Pain" was the offered diagnosis, "There is nothing more we can do for you —".

Terminal suffering; there is no path.

Doc, are you telling me that a ghostly apparition of a body bound poltergeist haunts my nerves and tendons? This is science? Don't you offer exorcisms?

I learn in that moment that it is I who must take pilot's seat and steer this burning wreckage toward a better land on the far-side of self-distruction and the impulse to end it all.

We are all victims of our biology. Through the tears I find a tiny glimmer of strength and resolve, like the lone-star hovering in the red-glow-black of a city night's sky. Fuck physics and Fuck physicians; I am the ocean, the sky and the stars. I pull back on the yolk and ram forward the throttle with a roaring tail made of fire.

This is my life and I've got places to be —

"What doesn't kill you, defines you" *



*The Zero Effect

Filed under: Blog, Pain No Comments

Palliativity 102: M357 — Moderate Abuse Potential

Posted on October 7, 2010


Medication Details*

  • Imprint(s): M357
  • Strength(s): 500 mg / 5 mg
  • Color: White
  • Shape: Elliptical / Oval
  • Size (mm): 17 X 7 X 5
  • Drug Class: Narcotic analgesic combinations
  • CSA Schedule: 3 - Moderate abuse potential

My happiness runs on manual only. The endorphin compounds constantly coursing through my body to fight the chronic pain merely serve as a bandage on an open wound. My biology has given up on fixing the problem on its own; its only recourse is to lead me to distraction.

Endorphins are the filter through which our bodies can experience the world, acting as a safety net for when the world hits back. When the spinal cord transmits data for excitement, exertion, pain or love, the pituitary gland releases a burst of pure happy before it hits the brain. For me this is like a travel-pillow strapped to the front of a pick-up truck.

My chronic condition monopolizes most of my endorphins, leaving me feeling like Dorothy stuck in black and white. Depression is the inevitable state of being; I am the rock in the field. After 13 years of living like this, I am finally able to appreciate a long-lens view of how I've managed to stay afloat.

Four years ago, M357 came into my life. My first hit was a rocket blast Dark-Side-of-the-Moon ride over the rainbow, radiant in glorious over-saturated Technicolor. This is what happiness feels like. This is what it feels like to have control over my existence; to feel elation for being alive.

While medicated, I began allowing myself to feel all of the things that had been buried under years of distracting myself from pain; you are now free to roam about the cabin. Sadly the flight is only four hours long and the drug isn't a cure. M357 helps me look into the abyss and salvage my dark reflection.

Am I an addict? Yes. I am addicted to feeling alive.

The Buddha said, "life is suffering". Miles Vorkosigan said, "biology is destiny". I say, get over it —



Filed under: Blog, Pain No Comments