Friday, September 28, 2012

To Treat Alzheimers wth Anti Cholinesterase inhibitors: Donepezil, Rivastigmine, Galantamine, Tacrine

Don Epezil was a forgetful sort – one of those old soldiers full of the sort of forgotten glory which exists on the edge of his mind leading him on with delusions of grandeur for something small made elevated during moments of testosterone and life and death (perhaps, since such instances do trigger such mix of aggrandizing emotions, perhaps they are worthy of the aggrandizing that they inspire).  He prowled the dry plains with his brothers of other similar self fantasies.  And they in their grey and decrepit former glory had nothing better to do than fall under Don Epezil’s spell and seek out a taste of something that made them forget the mortality they had to live with each day and recapture the forgetful Elysium that is youth and its disregard for the consequences of one’s actions.  These men simply wanted to b heroes again and through Don Epezil, they felt they could.  They included Rivast, who grabbed a young girl before she could step into a mine field, but couldn’t save her family.  He ended up adopting her with his wife and she lived to become president of his country and sometimes secret lover.  He could not say no to her nor forgive himself for not doing more that fateful day to keep her loved ones alive.  Of course she turned his country into the place hers was never allowed to become.  Galanta, formerly Larry, a sad sort who flew fighter planes and suffered mild brain damaged from being a test pilot.  He was the sort of hero that never really saves anyone, merely inspires through sheer bravery.  Unfortunately that brain damaged led to him believing aliens imparted him with gifts.  He grew his hair long, changed his name to Galanta and lived in seclusion in his home distrustful of the world but believing in Don Epezil and his tales.  Finally we have Sir Tacrine of May Royal, a small small kingdom in the mountains of somewhere far far away who settled these dusty plains a year ago and roamed his estate dressed in a musty uniform adorned with metals which he assured the gang was received from trying exercises.  His secret, though is that those metal were won with the blood of innocents from a forgotten genocide.  When his mind snapped, so too did his will to live with his guilt and off he disappeared into the land of Don Epezil’s forbearers, on the dusty plains.  Don Epezil himself revealed none to his compatriots admitting forgetfulness of something that must have been great to make him feel this heroic.  Galanta mused perhaps it was because Don Epezil had no glory, merely insane charisma to lead a bunch of geezers on a quest into a well deserved death and in the process create the glory he never had.  Galanta, for a man who believed in something like nonexistent aliens, had insight into others outside of himself.  But as long as Don Epezil’s full tooth mouth gleamed white and gabbed with assured enthusiasm, Galanta kept his mouth shut and let the others believe in what this old man had to offer.  Don Epezil had a lot to offer and nothing at all, and that was enough.  Over 300 years between the four of them, a little adventuring at the end of their lives based on the premise of lies and delusions would harm no one.  

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The Vale of Anguish

A short story. Kind of silly. Some highly sexual scenes thus NC-17 (needs some edits):

So enter our protagonist the sandy headed hero of many a tale.  In the Vale of Anguish, a peaceful fruit tree studded picturesque wood full of wild flowers, our hero stumbles upon a bubbling spring and a nude.  Heated sensations fill his loins and he stands there in the brush with bated breath hoping not to disturb this stumbled upon scene.  Months of adventuring with nary a wench to sate the lust fire in his soul, a curse the Banshee of Tea afflicted him with in his troublesome teens, had left him feeling as though perhaps he'd finally best the curse with an extended dry spell.  No.  

The nude looks up in his direction and grins.  Past journeys have taught our hero that the shining grinning teeth of a beauty could only mean trouble and magic - a terrible combination, especially when that troublesome magic waved ample breasts and beckoning neither regions in his general direction as well.  He gripped his sword and steeled himself to the impending trouble ... Only the grin he thought meant for him instead was directed at the flying creature that had been perched in the tree above him and had now flown down to the nude.  It was scaly with green and purple bat-like wings and a body like a naked cat, if a cat loved a dragon enough to produce this wryde beastie.  It coos and whistles at her and she returns the attention, stroking it with quick deft hands.  Our hero's mind loses itself in those movements.  An audible moan escapes his lips before he could stop himself.  This time she did look in his direction but there was no grin.  

She made a series of coos and whistles at the cat beast and it flew at him.  In an instant his sword was out ...  Not that sword!  The metal shiny type of typical adventurers ... So sword out he barges into the clearing and waves it menacingly at the creature and the nude.  She gathers herself up full length and then looks down toward his crotch.  He realizes that he managed to wield both his weapons.  A musical laugh escapes her lips and her eyes begin to burn red ... Or were they always red ...  And was he always naked too?  His clothes were gone, sword as well ... Not that sword! The metal shiny one of adventurers.   No his other sword he was still wielding and it was quite mighty at this moment.  He was laying on the forest floor and she was straddling him.  She truly was the magic troublesome sort.  The Vale of Anguish ... Why was he sent here again ...? Our sandy-headed hero suddenly realizes confusion has cluttered his mind the moment he entered this vale.  And when she slides down and impales herself on his sword, confusion begins to edge back into his mind ... And pleasure ... Oh the pleasure ... 

But only momentarily.  Her face contorts in pain and she grips her abdomen and flies off him in a rage.  Her nude body instantly transforms into something reminiscent of the cat creature, only human female shaped - one of those mad combinations of insane things whoever designs magical creatures like to mix with human shape.  She screams and hisses her fanged mouth at him as her cat creature companion circles overhead.  She then gives him a bitter, lusty scornful look, jumps into the sky and flies away, her hand still gripping her abdomen.  

In the next instance, the fog over our hero's mind clears.  Yes.  He remembers as memory returns.  He was sent to this Vale to clear a succubus that had been draining the life force of people who haplessly wandered into the area.  The local wizards placed a piercing on his shaft, not an easy task to submit to, that would break the she-beast's spell and wound her enough for him to take his sword ... Not that sword!  The shiny metal kind of adventurers ... And kill her.  It was suppose to be made from the bone of an abstinence saint or something ludicrous.  They had promised it would break the lust fire in his soul.  It, by the way had not.  He gathers up his clothes with thoughts cluttering his head.  His first was wondering how he would tell the wizards that he had merely cleared the Vale but had not killed the succubus.  His next was perhaps finding that succubus and maybe instead of killing her, perhaps take her out to dinner and show her a good time making her promise to quit with all of the confusion spells.  He did have a lust curse and that should qualify him for dating a succubus. 

 He decides to follow the direction she traveled instead of heading back to the wizards and tosses the piercing into the spring, which it accepts with a quiet bubbling burp.  He wasn't going to need that the next time he encountered her.  

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Mantra for the Contalateral Soul in a Medical School Environ

Elevating, elevating, elevating, elevating, elevating ... Exploding ... Watch me go nova in your eye. Refracted into your optic nerve an illusion of bull. Got this feeling and it aint pure. Gonna yell, shout, expel filth and see how well this insanity carries me. Gonna taste that decay; let it leave a spot of decadent nasty on tongue and go cry alone, die alone memory of your smell irritating my nose. See. This. Is. How. I'm gonna end. Im gonna grab you tight, dive into the abyss, hit the ground and enjoy the crunch of bones, exploding organs as we crash together into hard reality. This sort of love is what I only know - messy, gorey, leave your dead behind, Imma leave dirty-blood tracks. Taste your still breathing remains and grin bloody with crooked teeth. Baby if you only knew. Baby if you only knew ... This monster. You dont, which is why im f&cking you up, while you f%ck me up. Let's do that f^ckwarp again! God and a deep fried biscuit. De-elevating, de-elevating, de-elevating ... Imploding ... In your pants. Guts all ischemic, mind liquifactively necrotic, erotic, and soupy goop seeping out my ears, staining my trousers foul, giving me something to be alive for.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

After a tiring week

Matter does not suit me very well it appears.

Spirals of madness dwell within this husk that is "being". Paranoia eats at periphery and tangental diatribes slip from clumsy lips. Comprehension is heavy, the tongue doth speak so low, forgetfulness drains the rest leading to the manifest of demented anger and a tiredness who glares around wickedly. There is something off with the right hemisection. There is something wrong and it aint right. The disconnect manifests in disconnect and a "psychic off" that people taste and spit out in distaste, or drink up until bare bones lay washed up on the sand, salt encrusted and brittle. Tiredness inspiring longing to be the ethereal being one's past self did long for. To ethereally blend into the background noise of the universe and observe undisturbed by sentient others for all time. Heavy is the iron rusty soul that dwells among man.