There's one thing cancer can't do--it's the disease's character flaw: doesn't have feelings. Chemo is like having indigestion from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. But what reduced this discomfort: the feelings others have for me. Those feelings for others and from others have a power that is greater than its effects--that's all it has is effects, and those are tricks. They can fascinate from the stage, but when you see the magician's uniform and props with secret pockets there are no secrets just tricks, the magician and merely a plumber of the mind but lacks spirit.
Feelings...the feeling people have who have brought me soup, or a book they thought I'd like, or giving me more money for the CDs than they costs out of generosity, or rides to the hospital, or some information about the disease that might help mer. Feelings. Man, how they build a corral reef at low tide, building it against the dryness. Feelings...that remind me the pain is less than the love to stop it. Feelings--cancer can't feel, and so outside of gathering cells just like them, there is no connection, feelings that force me to give up seeking warmth and rest, which you can get too much of, and try to put together a run of lines and jokes, or simply write.
Feeling that melt the ice, feelings that unclogged the gutters, and chunks of ice rattle down and come out the drainpipe and melt--and that's where cancer is going when I urinate, out of me, dying with the waste, achieving its oneness with nothing
Feeling, stretching the hand out to the sun. Feelings, digging into the water to catch a wave, feelings before a kiss. The first danced step before the music tells you what to do next.