WHICH TASTES LIKE VICTORY

It takes half an hour, more or less, for the Amlodipine, Atorvastatin, baby Aspirin, Clopidogrel, Losartan, Metoprolol, and coffee to hit the brain and make life bright and sunny. Until then, the person is still somnolescent, and the mind is filled with surreal images from the dreamstate. Replay loop.
A televison show featuring a celebrity spouting off weird theories.
The Antwerp train station, filled with dark-hued cats.
Sheep wearing colourful woolen scarves.
Fikadel met mosterd.
Bells.

Actually, that baby Aspirin (81 Mg.), the Clopidogrel, and Atorvastatin are not, strictly speaking, functional in the wake up process -- more of long-term thing there -- and the odd images from the dreamstate are caused by the Amlodipine Besylate; they didn't start occuring so reliably until the end of March, when that medication was first prescribed. But I like it. I now hit the snooze button several times because of the surreal quality to waking up.

Sometimes I wish that baby Aspirin had a more butch or macho nickname. Arnold Schwarzenegger Aspirin, Sean Connery Aspirin, Lee van Cleef Aspirin. Baby Aspirin simply sounds so wussy.
Eighty one milligrams of whimpering.


I haven't felt so well in years.


Supposedly one of the side-effects of Amlodipine Besylate is swelling of the ankles and calves, which I haven't noticed, maybe because the minor tokes of nicotine and regular swilling of caffeinated beverages from dawn till dusk work vasodilatorily. The first pipe (or cigarillo) of the day smells like victory! Ah, those delicate whisps of ancient perfume drifting upwards in the shafts of sunlight, dust motes in the air adding a ghost-reflective vibrancy in the early morning, either outside the health club whose members wish I would not wait for the bus there, or in the room where the computers reside.


On a good day I twinkle for hours.


Today is a day off. Pay bills, do laundry, head into Chinatown for lunch at a chachanteng. Then a pipe while shopping for veggies. After which maybe a cup of milk tea at a bakery. People watching. Pipes.

Yesterday I discovered that in addition to adding hot sauce to salad, squeezing a whole lime over it makes it taste fairly edible.
The convenience store near work sells limes.
Things are looking very up.



AFTER THOUGHTS

A few days ago I opened up another tin of Dunhill's Dark Flake, which because production of Dunhill tobaccos ceased a year and a half ago, more or less, has aged nicely already. It reminds me of Petersen & Sorensen's Tradition, which has not been available for over a decade. It may, in fact, be the same recipe, cleverly re-branded under a more prestigious label.

There is a subtlety to the smell. Perfumy, recollective.
It inspires a dreaminess to just puttering about.
As days off are meant for doing.



Words drifting through the mind: Gynaecology (婦科學 'fu fo hok'; 婦產科 'fu chaan fo'). Peripheral neuropathy (周邊神經病變 'jau pin san keng beng pin', "peripheral" "nutcase" "rebellion"), which Norman has, that's why he can't drive anymore. There's poetry in the Chinese word. Tourist (遊客 'yau haak'; 觀光客 'gun gwong haak'). Frikandel. Lutefisk (鹼漬魚 'gaan ji yü'). Toes (足尖、腳尖、腳指 'juk jim', 'keuk jim', 'keuk ji'). Grass (草 'chou'). Dragonfly (蜻蜓 'ching ting'). Bugs (蟲 'chung')
Pipe (煙斗 'yin tou').

TOBACCO INDEX


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