Big lumps and small ones and metaphorical lumps.

I saw a new Indian radiologist last Friday. The last was Chinese.
He told me the Ray is only really strong enough to kill microscopic lumps.
When the surgeon takes out the big lump it might be a 'dead potato', as he put it, but it could still have living cells.  The purpose of radiation is to kill the small lumps. Surgery takes out the big one.  The pathologist, after determining the condition of the potato burns it in a fury at the back of the hospital from whence it shall not return for it is a lump not suited to this world.  From the ashes it might be told a bird rises in earnest to create a new conflagration.  Perhaps a fire in the human heart ?


It would be honest to say my daily experience is getting somewhat lumpy. Like traversing rocky ground. I had forgotten I was told I might feel 5% of flue-like symptoms.  Except for early in the day, till around 11.00-am the thought of a couch with blanket or as the day wears on, a bed with doona are very attractive.  Maybe its the last throes of winter, or perhaps I'm not as young as I was or is it the Potatoe or the linear accelerator or General Wear?  That last ubiquitous media lump is starting to shit me.  He is the political bully, the professional who has been in the job so long power has corrupted him absolutely.  His character is formed by generations of human conflict and egotistical savagery.  I see him on the television, the newspapers, on bill boards, in the street.  He, who sometimes goes as a she, has nothing good to offer.  And now it seems I feel his presence more not less.  His name is General Ennui Wear and his only qualification for the position is that he has been around for a long time. I am worn out by his presence, so shitted upon that I barely know the difference.  Those who have not been around for so long seem under the delusion his position is glorious.  I wonder where  in the world I can escape his stink?


I wonder too, does he have children, who is his spouse, what has he produced?  In that I sense hope.  It is a thing of beauty that emerges from the tribal myopia just as humanity finds a beach on Mars.