a c a b i n e t o f m e d i c a l m a r v e l s p t . v i

‘galt’ trephine, c. 1915

“a 0.75 inch cylinder with a saw-toothed cutting edge at one end and grinding ridges down the outside with a crossbar handle at the other end for excision of a plate of bone. the center of the cutting circle has a sharp-pointed pin which prevents the trephine from moving laterally while cutting and fixes the trephined bone disk so that it does not fall into a cavity.”

- medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com

many are the new agers who claim that trepanation “induces higher states of consciousness by increasing blood volume in the brain and decreasing cerebrospinal fluid. Increased vitality, etc.” which sounds great, maybe even something i could offer as a service. in fact, you give me money, i drill a hole in your fucking head sounds like pretty much the perfect business arrangement to me. no, i don’t take cheques. however, a little reading into it and the (w)hole thing seems a great deal less cut and dried. funny that.

“trepanning can’t affect blood flow or volume inside the brain since the hole doesn’t penetrate the dura mater. It’s not physically possible. CSF is located in the subarachnoid layer, below the dura (see figure; click for larger image). [people undergoing trepanation] only opened their skulls.”

 

 still buy this if i saw it for sale though (“can i have a go?”).

l o v e l e t t e r s s t r a i g h t f r o m y o u r h e a r t . . .

t h e m i n d u n r a v e l s f o r d a y s

’small metal gods’, from manafon, the new album by david sylvian. an incredible, sparse, affecting record which stands among the best things he’s ever done. his voice has aged well and has an ever so slightly ‘broken’ edge to it i’ve not heard before. beautiful, experimental, stripped down at times to the bare minumum. highly recommended.

w a l k i n g a g a i n s t t h e w i n d

jesus, been a   l o n g   time with no posts i know. been terminally distracted by other things.

somehow i’ve managed to keep up with the running, albeit intermitently, and have the mile down to 8:04. my plan is to extend the distance when i break the 8 minute mark but this is proving somewhat problematic. perhaps i’ve hit my time, who knows…

as the weather cools i’ve discovered that right up there with twisted ankles, drivers not indicating, pedestrians thinking that they own the fucking pavment and so can take up as much of it as they fucking well want, that wind is not a friend to the runner. slows you down, steals your breath. wind is a cunt.

if only i were a “mega-mime”…

also, i’ve begun to make a list of music that is the best to run to, and that which, while great, seems only to hamper the enterprise.

the cutthroats 9 / unsane - good

the eighties matchbox b-line disaster – bad

todd – bad

fudge tunnel – good

the knife – good

services – good

whitehouse – bad

zeni geva – good

the pattern seems to be: too much which is unexpected or jarring = bad, whereas repetitive, plodding (preferably heavy) rhythm = good. hardly surprising really.

haven’t tried it with muffpunch yet. think i might give it a miss.

” b l a c k , l i k e m i d n i g h t o n a m o o n l e s s n i g h t . . . “

 

unreleased unsong drone track henry’s head has been employed in the showreel for new david lynch inspired cabaret & burlesque night the double r club (together with the superb andrew liles track robotic monkey):

 

next evening of “damn fine” cabaret & burlesque “from another place”, wednesday 21st october, bethnal green working men’s club…

” i t ‘ s   h a p p e n i n g   a g a i n . . . “

a c a b i n e t o f m e d i c a l m a r v e l s p t . v

split-hook prosthetic ‘hand’ (missing its bands)

“d. w. dorrance invented a terminal device to be used in the place of a hand in 1909. dorrance, who had lost his right arm in an accident, was unhappy with the prosthetic arms then available. until his invention, they had consisted of a leather socket and a heavy steel frame, and either had a heavy cosmetic hand in a glove, a rudimentary mechanical hand, or a passive hook incapable of prehension. dorrance invented a split hook that was anchored to the opposite shoulder and could be opened with a strap across the back and closed by rubber bands. his terminal device (the hook) is still considered to be a major advancement for amputees because it restored their prehension abilities to some extent. modified hooks are still used today, though they might be hidden by realistic-looking skin.”

 -enotes.com

“dorrance, who had lost his right arm in an accident, was unhappy” hardly surprising really. though some might see the loss of an extremity as a disadvantage, some, perhaps the glass half-full type, see it instead as an opportunity. in abu hamza’s case, the opportunity to become something akin to a bond villain, if a surprisingly useful one…

i c a n ‘ t s e e t h e c r y s t a l

h o t f o o t t o w a r d s t h e c o l d g r a v e

and so, despite my devilish knee, vague plans for me to “maybe take up running” have taken their first faltering step.

to kit me out i have a pair of ratty old black trainers that i somehow managed to acquire from some job or other, my swimming trunks (yeah i know, but they actually just look like shorts anyway, and i have no other shorts; if you’d seen my legs you’d know why), and an old stooges t-shirt. the trunks in particular are quite good, having as they do a net-like ’underpant lining’, a kind of genital hammock that i think should cut down on possible chaffing on possible future longer distances; plus the trunks have three pockets, handy for ipod and the house keys, the latter of which i have to keep in one hostess elisabeth’s socks to stop the keys poking through the aforementioned underpant lining. ahem.

o i’m all kitted out alright. i think i may need to visit some kind of sporting shop in the near future. at present i probably look like the running equivalent of a bring and buy sale.

i thought that to start with i should maybe just run around the block to see how i get on, whether i pass out, void my bowels uncontrollably etc. but because of where we are, the canal etc. it turns out that ‘around the block’ constitutes a distance of roughly 1 mile. but sod it, i thought, in for a penny an all that. i had a go.

anyhoo, off i went, my only mantra being don’t stop, you can go as slowly as you like but just don’t stop. surprisingly i managed it, though i can’t say it wasn’t toughgoing. since then i’ve done it twice more (once my legs had stopped screaming at me) and it’s definitely getting easier. in fact the last time i was about a third of the way through before it was even slightly difficult, so it seems to be working. if my calculations are correct i currently cover the distance in something like 10 minutes. no idea what that represents, but roger bannister needn’t worry.

hostess elisabeth, no doubt in between bouts of uncontrollable mirth, sent me a link to 100 beginner running tips.

have to say number 26 is a bit of a blow:

“running is not an excuse to triple your intake of doughnuts because runners gain weight too.”

damn. 

the venerable gude, who’s been running for a few years now, had some other sage advice:

“i also have an “if found, please return to” label in my running shoes,
as I have a fear of being found face-down chewing the tarmac, halfway up
that climb past the cemetery early one saturday morning, having been
gnawed by foxes and pecked by crows.”

 

i l e a r n t o a c c e p t m y r e w a r d

by way of a prize for my degree results, hostess elisabeth bought me the following:

-

1# something called a ’smiley lick‘ from hotel chocolat -a strange name, i mean, who licks chocolate? you don’t lick it, you bite it!

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2# a 20 piece box of 74% dark chocolate ’batons‘ from hotel chocolat.

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3# a mug with ‘mr. perfect‘ on it.

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4# a dvd copy of tod browning’s 1932 film ‘freaks’ (not quite sure what she’s trying to imply with this last one).

 

also, in the congratulations card, she drew a small picture of a cat, which i think is just fantastic. it manages to be both innately cat-like and genuinely funny to look at.

 

and this from a woman whose artistic history involves teachers glaring bemusedly over her shoulder, asking sarcastically why the people she’s drawing are all square, each one drawn with a ruler. a late bloomer then. this time next year, the turner prize…

a r m e d t o t h e t e e t h f o r a l l p o e t r y r e l a t e d c r i s e s

degree results are in. apparently i got something called a “first class honours”.

um, blimey.

so, three years not entirely wasted then. well… that’s my story and i’m sticking to it.

can you say “even less employable than when i started?”