the famous Mr. ED, or do I really need Viagra?
Last night, while snuggling Trish under Toastie Bear, I got a major woody. The only reason we didn't go bouncy-bouncy is that it's cold in the bedroom. I don't know what it was then, but this morning when I turned on the computer, it was 8 below. So instead, Trish simply fondled Mr. Friendly, & I almost had an orgasm.
I've been having ED since I began haldol, which must've been about 7 years ago now, & for that period, I had real problems with ED. Trish would always worry something was wrong with her, when actually it was just a medication side-effect, & fuck all the Scientologists who'll read this page & start babbling about "abuses of psychiatry". Scientologists have killed more people than psychiatrists. Yes, I mean killed. By promoting all this phony pseudo-scientific stupid "vitamins" crap in the place of real medicine, they've led to the death of numerous people.
So now that the haldol is wearing out of my system, Mr. ED is going away. I hope to be fully recovered in another week. Assuming we make it to Griffles in this Invisible weather, I'm going to see about replacing the Depakote with more Abilify.
So yesterday I worked on my pitch for Phoenix Enthralled, to send to Analog. I reached the place where the frame trails off into the part about the psychedelic substances, & didn't know who, next, would break on thru to the other side. In the original, pre-Cawelti material, Part II opens with Smith in Afric, crafting a kobold. I wrote that section for Bill Veeder, after he'd complained that I'd "lost it", so I took a day off from writing, broke out the atomic bong, & went to the Art Institute to look at the Dali. Then the next day I started over again, writing on a real atomic submarine. He responded, "I don't know what you're doing now, but you're back on the right track". So somehow I must bridge the part where Farber is found alive with what's concurrently going on in his mind. I'm asking Stan if he'll allow me to work up the first 5K words of each of the 4 sections. Also, this story isn't being Critter'd. It's too symbolic, & the last time I tried that, someone made the inane suggestion that I should "add some sexual tension by adding [name], the ultra-feminist who's angry whenever your eyes stray beneath her eyes, or Bubbles, the ultra-sexy nympho". & like yeah, duh, I could do that, but neither of them are part of the symbolism, albeit Stan believes I concentrated too much on that. Whatever the case, my best work I created without Critters, nothing I've sent thru them has made it into publication, my best work was done solo, & it's all a matter of drugs: some of my complex soup of neuraleptics interfered with my creativity in the past, coupled with the schizophrenia that destroyed so many of my dreams, after Dr. Day refused to take me off Navane & put me on something that worked.
The alarm clock just went off. The kitchen light burned out this morning & I have to change it before breakfast.
I've been having ED since I began haldol, which must've been about 7 years ago now, & for that period, I had real problems with ED. Trish would always worry something was wrong with her, when actually it was just a medication side-effect, & fuck all the Scientologists who'll read this page & start babbling about "abuses of psychiatry". Scientologists have killed more people than psychiatrists. Yes, I mean killed. By promoting all this phony pseudo-scientific stupid "vitamins" crap in the place of real medicine, they've led to the death of numerous people.
So now that the haldol is wearing out of my system, Mr. ED is going away. I hope to be fully recovered in another week. Assuming we make it to Griffles in this Invisible weather, I'm going to see about replacing the Depakote with more Abilify.
So yesterday I worked on my pitch for Phoenix Enthralled, to send to Analog. I reached the place where the frame trails off into the part about the psychedelic substances, & didn't know who, next, would break on thru to the other side. In the original, pre-Cawelti material, Part II opens with Smith in Afric, crafting a kobold. I wrote that section for Bill Veeder, after he'd complained that I'd "lost it", so I took a day off from writing, broke out the atomic bong, & went to the Art Institute to look at the Dali. Then the next day I started over again, writing on a real atomic submarine. He responded, "I don't know what you're doing now, but you're back on the right track". So somehow I must bridge the part where Farber is found alive with what's concurrently going on in his mind. I'm asking Stan if he'll allow me to work up the first 5K words of each of the 4 sections. Also, this story isn't being Critter'd. It's too symbolic, & the last time I tried that, someone made the inane suggestion that I should "add some sexual tension by adding [name], the ultra-feminist who's angry whenever your eyes stray beneath her eyes, or Bubbles, the ultra-sexy nympho". & like yeah, duh, I could do that, but neither of them are part of the symbolism, albeit Stan believes I concentrated too much on that. Whatever the case, my best work I created without Critters, nothing I've sent thru them has made it into publication, my best work was done solo, & it's all a matter of drugs: some of my complex soup of neuraleptics interfered with my creativity in the past, coupled with the schizophrenia that destroyed so many of my dreams, after Dr. Day refused to take me off Navane & put me on something that worked.
The alarm clock just went off. The kitchen light burned out this morning & I have to change it before breakfast.
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