Category Archives: society

The Fear of Cancer

Not often I have ‘fear‘.

I have it now. I fear that I may not beat this cancer.

I was diagnosed on October 22nd, 2018, with Pharyngeal and Squamous Cell Carcinoma. Stage four.

I was past the ability to be treated via chemotherapy and conventional radiation. My only three options were let nature take her course or surgery to remove my complete tongue and lymph nodes (leaving me with zero quality of life) or receive radical aggressive radiation.

I chose the latter. Receiving a double session twice per day for twenty days. The actual treatment was easy. Just lay down, strapped in a cage and a mere fifteen minutes listening to Pink Floyd as the machine’s robotic arms did their task.

I was pleased when on March the first I completed the therapy and was told it had succeeded in killing all the tumors.

What I didn’t understand at that time was the worse part comes after the therapy. As the tumors diminished the damage from the radiation and cancer surfaces. This, apparently, can go on for up to two years.

My throat swelled and on the exterior turned purple. A side affect of the radiation burn and dying tissues within.

I had a few complications during the course of treatment. I developed a huge abscess in my lower abdominal cavity, possibly from the feeding g-tube implant. It required minor surgery to remove and drain. This was followed by a major battle with septicemia. A battle I thankfully won.

I was released from the Princess Margaret Cancer Center on January 31, 2019. After being hospitalized for twenty seven days. I was glad to be home.

At four in the morning of February the 2nd my spleen exploded. I bled out and have only survived because I live blocks from the Michael Garron Hospital. I was revived. Received four pints of blood, rapid infusion of Ringers lactate, a litre of iron sucrose and twenty nine staples on my abdomen. Complete removal of my spleen.

I spent all of February and half of March in Princess Margaret. My weight dropped down to ninety seven pounds. A far cry from my average one hundred and seventy.

I look like a survivor from a Nazi Death Camp.

I was sent home mid March to complete my treatment as an out-patient.

Things were well at first. I could not swallow most food so I was dependant on six cans of condensed Isosource nutrients to feed my body. I managed to get my weight up to one hundred and twenty-two pounds.

But, a big but, the damage from the tumors and radiation was surfacing more and more. The pain of swallowing increasingly getting worse. To the point I feared swallowing even my saliva.

This I am still plagued with as I write.

My weight loss increased and depression tried to take over my logic. I feared that I would definitely die. I have that fear still, as do my caregivers.

No longer able to function properly I resigned myself to the reality of coming back into the hospital.

Presently, I am hospitalized in the magnificent Toronto General Hospital. A Blessing of living in Toronto with the world class treatment of Toronto General and the adjoined Princess Margaret Cancer Center. Two of the best hospitals worldwide.

If I lived anywhere else I am positive I would not be authoring this blog on this foggy Sunday morning.

I am not sure what is to happen to me next. Neither are my team of doctors.

I have been here a mere few days, having been admitted on the twenty four of May. So, I am awaiting the results of my MRI, CT Scan and numerous other tests.

Tomorrow I have to have minor surgery to re-implant a gastric feeding tube and biopsy of my tongue and throat.

So far my diagnosis is as follows:

1) as my body absorbed the dead tumors it left behind holes, like potholes in a road. These ‘holes‘ have developed ulcers.

2) The ulcers can be one of three types. (A) non-cancerous, (B) Cancerous but treatable and (C) Cancerous non-treatable

3) I am severely malnourished and dehydrated.

Hopefully, by tomorrow evening I will know for sure what battle lays before me.

I am a ‘realist’. Hence, I take things in stride. It is what it is and I will deal with whatever falls my way with logic over emotions.

I also trained myself to always expect the worse possible scenarios. Reason being if I am expecting the worse no matter what my diagnosis is to be it shall be better than what I expected. A small comfort in such a serious situation.

I am not being unrealistic in my expectations. I am in a serious situation.

After many discussions with all my treatment team and my beloved family, I made the difficult decision to put in place a DNR, (Do Not Resuscitate), on my medical record.

This is justified and many tears were shed coming to the decision. It is the best avenue to take considering the condition of my physical form. My bone density is very low which means that if I were to receive CPR my ribs would shatter. Greater risk is that my heart and poor physical condition makes it ninety nine percent positive I will slip into a coma – a coma I will not recover from.

I pray no one ever has to have this discussion with their family. It was/is the most heartbreaking talk I have ever imagined having to have.

Saddest part being the reaction of my family and friends. I, being the patient, fully have accepted that I am knocking on the gates of Valhalla. I did not wish to accept it, but it is what it is.

I also have refused any major surgery that will disfigure and disable me. I refuse wholeheartedly to have my love ones suffer the anguish of watching me whither away, perhaps for weeks or months. That would scar their very souls for life. It would be selfish of me to put them through such.

They understand. They don’t like accepting it, but, once again, it is what it is.

I am not, by far, a ‘religious’ man. I am a man of faith. I believe in a higher, supreme power. Over the past 15 years I have been brought back to life 9 times so far. I wrote about these times previously. It’s suffice to say my life has been full of numerous ups and downs. Often down. It strengthened my personality and outlook on life. To most they would say my life was tragic. I see it as just ‘my life’. Sixty-one and a half years of learning and growth.

So, as it stands today, I have a battle to win. And I shall win because I am surrounded by true caring and love. I have a large group of beautiful souls who have formed a ‘Prayer Army’ on my behalf. Believe or not, but there is a power in prayers. They don’t have to be church indoctrinated chants, but rather sincere and positive praise to whoever you perceive as your Creator.

I am anxious to get the results of the tests tomorrow. The waiting and the fear of what may be is far more disheartening than the cancers themselves. The fear of the unknown instills an anxiety that clouds judgement.

I prefer sunny days over cloudy ones.

So, I will leave you now and I will blog whatever happens next in my wonderful life as soon as I know.

Until then, I remain ‘Dann, just as I am – – – The Original Urban Viking’.

NAMASTE’ MY FRIENDS

And remember to ……

ALWAYS PRAY IT FORWARD

BLESS

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Winds of Change, Tides of Emotions

It is very windy tonight. The serene howl of the steady gusts plays nic nac on my back.

This takes my mind off the physical pain.

Yet, I am still tormented by the nagging burn through out my neck.

A mere price to pay for a longer life.

Speaking of which …..

I am having trouble dealing with both ‘life’ and ‘death’.

To be honest, I am not ‘dealing’ with them well at all.

I am an angry, emotional wreck of a once funny man.

I used to laugh as much as possible. Always was able to find the ‘other side of life’ Now, I am not able to find much to laugh about.

It is unfair what the PTSD of a cancer diagnosis does to you and everyone in your life. I believe it is an actual part of the actual desease.

Many of the days and nights that I lay in the hospital bed, I would cry and, often, wish for Death’s Kiss.

Is this world that the we are in worth going through this therapy?”

I will not agree to any surgery that will leave me disfigured or immobile.

Being alone 24 hours a day, in an isolation room, for eleven weeks and on high doses of opiates is NOT good. It steals the ‘Light’ from your soul and replaces it with conspiracy theories and self-destruction.

I am not sure how I survived these past six months. The stroke, the abscess, the septicemia, the exploded spleen all on top of the two cancers.

Doctors only explanation is “a miracle“.

That I do believe as truth.

I have been out of Princess Margaret Cancer Hospital two months today. Seems like years.

The after shocks of the radical radiation treatment are attacking me strongly. The pain is often unbearable.

If I don’t bear it, who shall?

None of this is fair to my loved ones and my dearest friends.

I see the sorrow in their hearts and eyes when they glance at me.

My ex-wife tries her best to hide her tears. My sons are constantly reminding me how greatly they love me.

I am full of self hatred for my allowing cancer into my life. No man wishes such pain and anguish on his family.

In some ways I guess you could say that cancer is a family affliction. For the whole family suffers from it’s demonic stranglehold.

I will die feeling the guilt of bringing pain and sadness to my family.

The girlfriend couldn’t handle it. She chose to believe that I am a liar and am not going to pass.

That was heartbreaking. Yet, she seems to think that I have done this on purpose. An attention grab.

That is sad. For her attitude has assured me that not one single “I love you” that escaped her lips was spoken with truth.

I fear it is more her loss than mine.

My love was honest and true.

I am beginning the second stage of this horrific battle.

Many, many upcoming tests and procedures. Numerous more appointments.

Tons more mind debilitating pain.

I pray.

Often.

I place all my woes in the hands of my Creator.

And I pray.

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

Tears are the measurement of emotional pain.

Love teaches various hurts via the trials and tribulations of a new and advancing relationship

Deeply, madly and truly.

I have been alive 61 years, 6 months and 12 days. I have had my heart demolished and my soul spilt into the gutter more times than any person could withstand.

One of the top priorities in my daily prayer sessions is my six plus decades of begging the Creator for a day, one meager 24 hour time slot, where I do not hurt or cause hurt to someone else.

The two cancer diagnosis,

the stroke,

the abscess from Hell,

the following septicemia battle.

Top that off with an exploded spleen and by the Lords of Donegul I swear you will have a uniquely, traumatic story to tell.

By estimate I can safely say I have cried an Imperial gallon of heartbroken tears in the past 5 months. Or so it seems. Either way it’s suffice to say I cried an enormous quantity of tears.

Of which, ninety-nine percent I have no knowledge why they come.

This causes me to lose a little more of my already drained genetic interpretation of manhood.

I am trapped in the gray brink of Darkness. As I try to get into the Beacon of Light I slide increasingly deeper into the Dark.

I am afraid of THAT darkness. Nothing good can come from within it’s demonic fog.

Definitely not the tears. They are tears of a 61 year old man. One who lived a tragic but full life.

My being raised in the latter 50’s and 60’s gifted me with a learned, but unwanted red neck rampage attitude towards a relationship.

Sprinkle that with the chauvinistic and bigoted attitudes of that era and you will see how it did my young pubescent self no good.

I left my father’s home at the age of 12. I have never slept in my Father’s, nor my Mother’s, home since. This alone should show testimony as to the dancing pool of hormones and rebellions in my mind.

I didn’t cry then.

I never cried.

No.

Not through the beatings.

The tortures.

Nor the loveless foster homes.

I definitely was that boy. The one who WON’T cry.

I am crying now, though. I do not know why.

I am just crying (again).

I was lonely most of my life. The “Stranger in a Strange Land“. The boy who refused to cry. No matter what was hurting him.

To put it in layman’s lingo:

“I have been lonely since October 5th, 1957. I will be even more lonely come October 5th, this year.”

I have been battling personal demons all my live long days. I have never shed as many tears in a few week period as I have shed these past five weeks.

This causes me grief. Greatly.

I developed insomnia – seems to have patterned itself into four days of being wide awake and one day of rest. Leaving my mind to ask,

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?”

I am a starving author – (literally)

That calls for a weakened physical state and a mind full of swirling emotions. All of which give the Dark entranceway to the control room of my LightHouse. The demon tries his best to win, but each prayer are bullets of Light.

Especially since I have had to fight the Demon of Suicide 24 hours each day since my beloved spleen exploded and left me crying in the rain.

My last few posts show how I have crawled backwards.

I am trying to bounce back. It’s hard. I am not sure I want to be here.

I fear not Death. Not in the least.

Sad to actually say that.

I would not try suicide. Since my brother committing such I was quickly schooled on being a survivor.

Also, August 22, 2002 I succeeded in killing myself. After a four hour battle in my basement to revive and to stabilize my body, I now sit here before you.

Poring out my inner thoughts and my broken moments. My soul with all it’s hidden secrets would lay before you.

A guess would be that one who cries this many tears is depressed beyond depression. Sad beyond sadness.

Yet, it’s a truth.

I cry still.

I wish I knew the real reason.

I am tired. So very tired.

Physically.

Mentally.

Emotionally I am the sinking of the Bismark.

I am done venting on you.

I am too old to be crying.

Yet …….. I am crying once again and even still shall I cry forever more.

My only regret is I know not THE REAL REASON I have this half full bucket of silent tears.

Perhaps the 2 stage 4 cancers?

Maybe because I am single.

Or maybe my loneliness.

Or because I am realizing that I am not considered as Maria’s “man“. That we aren’t on any channel.

To be officially known as her “man” would be an honor. I would be the happiest man ever.

But, the Darkness has prevented that.

It may very well be that I am dying.

Any how …

I am crying real tears.

Perhaps even the tears of a clown.

The Original Hippie or Perhaps, “Has Anyone Seen My Prophet? “

This blog I originally published 10 years ago.

My views and beliefs are still somewhat the same.

Since what I have been through in the last three months my Faith has grown much stronger.

What I am trying to convey here is that how do we identify a “prophet”?

A false prophet is easily discovered, but how in today’s society would we be able to recognize a true prophet. For all we know we may have the real one locked up in an institution with the numerous false ones.

Or he/her cold be hiding their identity until society learns to stop killing each other in the name of “religion”.

I truly believe that Jesus existed and was somehow able to communicate with the Creator. I believe he was very intelligent and far ahead of his time .

You have to keep in mind that in his time ninety percent of man were uneducated, illiterate and still worshipping false idols.

Could a charismatic, educated man be capable of influencing followers? Hell, yes most certainly.

Jesus could have been an alien or the last brilliant mind to come from Atlantis for all we really know.

Why we’re the first 14 books of the Bible removed by “religious” leaders of the day?

There is a great difference between being a religious follower and a true believer of faith.

All the “Holy Books” of that time had to be written in simple language form so as the average citizen could understand the messages.

Our genetic need to be the best and only one who knows what is truth has misconstrued what Jesus was sent to teach us.

But, we murdered him because, firstly, he was right and secondly, he was far too charismatic and thereby a threat to all religions .

So, here we had this poor soul traveling the world trying to enlighten society on the ten Commandments and teach us how to live peaceful and meaningful lives.

We returned the favor by killing him in the name of religion .

There have been many more “true prophets” since Jesus. But, modern day “religion” has been able to make us disbelievers of truth so as Faith does not interfere with the big money game we have labeled “Religion”.

Because we have not evolved much since Jesus’s time .

Which leaves us wondering, as I state below, “Who is the Jesus of this time period?

Originally published in July 2009 in my http://dannverner.blogspot.ca site ……….

The Original Hippie

I was recently asked if I believed in Jesus Christ.

What anxiety this raised within me – it was though I had been waiting for some soul to ask me this deep question.

Here is my mindset on this controversial topic.

I definitely believe in Jesus.

I believe he walked upon this big blue marble.

I believe he spread the words of the Creators.

I believe he was a man who was ahead of his time in the area’s of logic, societal disposition and culture.

Jesus was a man.

I do NOT believe he was the SON OF GOD. (Where is Mrs. God?)

Whoa, now I have stepped into it……..so, here I go…………..

Jesus was a Prophet.

Jesus was a peaceful, gentle scholar who wished only to make an immature society overstand the reality of spiritualism and human reality.

Jesus was the original Hippie.

Jesus was born at the wrong time.

Jesus was persecuted for his overstanding of what this plain of existence was, is and shall be.

In the rock opera, “Jesus Christ Superstar”, the title song asks the question, “Why did you choose such a backward time in such a backward land?”. Did he choose? Or was that what the Creators decided was necessary for the plain of space/time continuum in this particular multiverse?

Jesus was a soul man.

Through all time, through all plains of reality and through all seven multi-universes there has been Prophets. Be it Jesus, Siddhartha, Gandhi, Aristotle or John Lennon, makes no nevermind – they are just the vessel. The message is always the same. To quote Led Zeppelin, “The Song Remains The Same”.

Jesus was the father of the peace, love, forgiveness and unity movements.

LEAVES ONE TO WONDER, “WHO IS THE JESUS OF NOW?

D-day 4 Dann

I have cancer on my mind.

Literally ….. true story.

As I previously wrote, I have been diagnosed with ‘oropharyngeal cancer’ in the neck and my cranium.

Which has migrated into my skull proper.

Hence soon, if not already, ‘brain cancer‘.

So,

Deja Vu.

Once again it’s 4:20AM and here I sit, awake. Day 4 without sleep.

The physical pain is insane.

Yet, my broken ‘heart’ & ‘spirit’ are far worse.

I cried all last night over a personal matter and the stress of waiting for the upcoming news.

And, Deja Vu.

Here I sit crying like a pussy once again.

The second night in a row.

Mostly over the personal matter of learning that I am being perceived as ‘dishonest’ and a liar regarding my vows of love & of friendship.

I am or have been a murderer, a robber, a gangster, a thief and an idiot.

BUT a dishonest lover I am not, nor could I ever be.

I was self-raised on these streets since the age of 12.

I learned young that your ‘Love’ for your partner MUST be true and definitely sincere. You cannot say that you love someone and then cheat or lie to them.

I take pride in my loyalty, my love, my devotion and most of all my ‘HONESTY’. These are the cornerstones of any couple.

Anyone who knows me well knows I am not dishonest. I do not, have not, nor would I ever ‘cheat’.

I know the pain that inflicts all too well.

I am not dishonest in love.

I don’t lie about my emotions.

Nor would I play with the heart of anyone – friend or foe.

Who would want to claim a false love as real love” ?

No soul has the right to do such an evil thing. No person should ever damage another person in such a sadistic manner.

Many people contort the definition of “love”.

I learned very young that if you say something it should be sincere and honest.

I love my ‘Queen’.

The love I have for her cannot be shared with anyone else. I have given her all my heart. As you are supposed to when you swear your love.

She is my true soul mate, my lover, she’s my best friend. She is “mi Corazon“.

And one Corazon is all you get.

I have many friends.

The majority being females. Guys are idiots. My circle is a triangle.

I tell them both, male or female, that I love them all the time. I do love them. They are my friends.

But, not the way I “love” mi Corazon.

Definitely not in a sexual way.

It is not that type of “love”. It’s the love you show a ‘true friend’.

A completely different type of love.

Secondly,

My tears also have been falling as I am coming to the realization that I may have to face that ‘final‘ ….

Walk With Dann” .

That torturous, downward spiral of pain ending in the horrific death of cancer eating my brain like an invisible zombie.

61 years of hurt I endured so far.

The majority via a broken heart. Time after time. Over and over.

I don’t fear loving just because I have been a victim of dishonesty.

You cannot punish your future for what your past ‘has’ done. (Key word being ‘HAS’).

I am tired. Very, very tired.

Not sure if I should try to battle this battle or succumb to the depression and sadness perched upon my shoulders.

Death would be so relaxing. I know first hand.

You can’t cry over being perceived as a dishonest person when you are dead.

For to live and share your honest, deepest feelings to people who do not believe a word you speak is a real ‘Hell’.

Read my ‘Walk With Dann Collection’. I explain how your perception of ‘Heaven & Helheim’ are not as you are taught or even perceive them to be.

I am tired of adult life.

I am very, very, very tired.

And now it is D DAY 4 Dann

Later today I will receive either the worse news anyone would wish to hear,

or, perhaps the medium bad news stating a long list of parts to be removed,

or, good news saying that they can remove all the cancer and I shall live lonely ever after.

Yahoo!!!!!!

Good news for some people … not so much me.

I am tired.

Very tired.

I am all alone in a crowded room.

That room called ‘life‘.

And I am tired.

As we say in Nazarim, “Hineni”

“I’m ready my Lord”.

Life‘ number 8 was far more painful the my 7 times ‘dead‘.

I have mixed emotions over the cancer and what course of action I should follow.

Right now 70% of me is saying to refuse all and every treatment, come home, sit on my favourite chair and wait for death.

I want to.

I am not ‘living‘ – I am merely ‘existing’.

I am tired of existing.

30% of me hopes everything will workout and I will be happy.

But, how can a man perceived by his truest love as a liar and dishonest man find reasoning to fight has third battle with the demon desease?

And I am tired, very tired.

I guess I will find the answer to that question in exactly five hours and sixteen minutes.

Life has to have meaning. My dictionary of life is completely used up.

I honestly do not wish to go on existing without meaning.

No matter what, I have had a 61 year wild Nantucket Sleigh ride through every walk of life there is.

And now …….

I am tired.

I look forward to Valhalla or Helheim.

Be it sooner or much later.

I will smile as I enter either.

For then my heart will no longer hurt, nor my eyes bleed tears of heart ache.

I am an honest man. I believe strongly I am.

And I would never cheat on a soul I pledged my heart to.

I have a huge decision to make today.

It’s a literal ‘life or death‘ choice I must make.

At this time I am leaning towards ‘no treatment’.

We will see what happens at the hospital.

I am tired and I want to go home.

Plus, I ain’t looking so well …

Deja vu – IRRITATED Nipple syndrome once again

I post this every Fall or in this case winter as here in Canada Irritated Nipple Syndrome is a reality. Mostly caused by our Northern winds and our lust for cheap polyester t-shirts. 

I have been plagued with this horrifying disease for nigh on 61 years now.

As fall has arrived I am once again plagued with the horrible INS, so, I am re-publishing a blog I wrote in November 2007


It seems to my contorted malformed outlook towards this self labeled existence your homo sapient species declare as humanity that as “Atomic Mother Earth” has another one of her annual menopausal temperature episodes, you are dancing in cohesion to her moods and wants.

If my memory does not fail me, then, I recall that not just twenty-four hours ago I was strolling the Danforth in a T-shirt and blue jeans. I recall my endocentric annoyance at the sweat gathering in the furrow of my brow as I glinted from the warm brightness of the summer comparable sunlight.

Yet, on this bright Thursday morn, “Atomic Mother Earth” has decided to plague me with the dreaded “Irritated Nipple Syndrome”. My whole life I suffered from “INS”. The symptoms of which is a debilitating and very sensitive soreness of the good old human teats.

There is nothing ever so painful as the abrasiveness of cheap blended polyester brushing to and fro upon the super-sensitive, and, often amusing to play with, human nipple. Specially on a day as such where the cold bitter bite of lakefront wind has made my twin pleasure buttons stand hard and tall like two minute penises and declare their existence.

I would give most anything at this moment for the feel of warm dressed cotton or, perhaps, even the sweet caress of perhaps ‘Cashmere’.

If you happen to discover that you indeed have a spare ‘real’ T-shirt, my nipples would greatly appreciate a donation of such. I fear the coming vengeance of the Arctic wind inspired season of Canada’s winter and her cold crippling affect on my self inflicted, physical abused ‘too-many years of heavy lifting’. humanoid form. (I take a size man’s small, because “The Cosmic Muffin” puts great things in very petite packages,

So, where was I headed before my nipples got in the way……………………….Oh Yes! I remember now. As “Mother Earth” begins her seasonal transformation also do they, you or whoever I may be referring to.

I diligently trucked out into the public domains yesterday afternoon to record to memory the strange rites and rituals of you humanoid robotic clones of a greater being, so as, when the Mothership returns, I shall have gathered enough intelligence as to please the supreme powers that be, and, thusly, I may rightfully be receiving the ever patronizing pat on my head and the salutary equation of “Dann is a good boy!”. Of which I will reply the ever grateful “Thank you” and sheepishly grin and drool.

There you were, dancing your rhythms of daily disclosure and bartering your extensively earned numerical bank notes called “The Paycheque” to purchase licorice strands of candied sugars to ensure the quietness of the distressed two year old as he struggles to gain freedom from the stroller so as he may run rampant and yet again test your patience quota.

If so howled the crisp breeze from Lake Ontario, then, immediately your upper limbs clutch to protect the ever sensitive nipples. Nipples appear to me as a large factor in your everyday lives This is something that with my outlook and learning’s of culture I find very interesting. How such a little pair of budded human tissue can hold such a great importance in daily routines is absolutely amazing.

If “Mother Earth” decides that today is too be a chilled one then instinctively your arms cover them. If “She” decides that, perhaps, tomorrow shall be warm then – again – you may choose to wrap your arms across your breast plate so as your nipples are not visible through your choosing to dress in light clothing due to the heated air of the day.

On a warm summer’s day at the beach, the young females readily douse their feline bodies with the refreshing and cool lake water, but then they must protect their nipples from the wanton eyes of juvenile males who are hoping and praying that “The Hairy Thunderer” will grant them the blessing of a visual aid only comparable to that of a “Wet T-shirt Contest”.

Winter brings the crossing of arms and the multi-layering of various sweaters purchased through the Bay, or, maybe, even Walmart. Oh, but the constrictions of layer upon layer of artificial body coverings and the labourious way the wearing of such creates many lost minutes of most precious time, time better spent with our nipples.

If, in your wonderment of life, you are to have such a thought as, “Does this happen to the male of the species?” I can assure your curiosity with a definite affirmation. Males do in fact suffer the same fate, although, due to infantile imbedded social lessons they must bravely and with no sign of pain appear invincible to the effects of exposing their nipples to us all.

I, alone, may be the only exception to the rule. For I, without modesty, bravely announce to you all that “I have Irritated Nipple Syndrome” and I have no decent, and neither can I afford to purchase, a ‘real’ T-shirt.

I embarrassingly admit that I may in fact need of your charity in order that I may have a cotton T-shirt to keep me warm through out the coming all out attack of winter. (again I hint that I take a size man’s small, because “The Cosmic Muffin” puts great things in very petite packages, inbox me for my address, lol.

If perchance you have a spare appropriate t-shirt I would be forever grateful if you were to donate them. You may send them in care of:

D. Verner, 608 Dawes Road, Suite 610, East York, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M4B 2G6

All of the above mentioned observations have made me realize that by looking out my window and watching these humanoid lifeforms conduct their daily routines and dances, I can accurately determine the weather by how greatly the female Homo Sapient is clutching her breastplate. Such a simple but relatively accurate method of predetermining the weather. On the Mothership we are forced to depend on the science of meteorology and our daily session watching the universal weather channel on our installed satellite dish.

I bid you all a warm day in the emotional sense. I offer to you a simple concept to imbed into your daily routine – I offer that when your eyes are next to focus on your fellow man that your brain immediately sends forth but one word………..PEACE!

Good day to you and yours – Guter Tag zu Ihnen und zu Ihrem – Хороший день к вам и твоему – Bonne journée à toi et au vôtre – Buen día a usted y el suyo

My Largest Battle To Date

I have been diagnosed with cancer in my neck and my head.

I am awaiting surgery any day now.

Many of my medications are not covered by my drug plan and I cannot afford the extra cost of traveling back and forth.

I cannot eat solid food and depend on friends to buy me Ensure meal replacements.

This has added extra stress and strain on my already weakened body.

And I know not what to do or where to turn.

As embarrassing as it is, I have turned to social media, Facebook, to ask for help.

I am also exploring a crowd funding program to hopefully get more advertising and exposure for my published books which will help by bringing in a minor supplementary income.

I will beat this demon cancer once again. I have already battled it twice now – most is in the attitude. Positivity creates positive results.

Valhalla is not ready for me, nor am I ready for it.

http://amazon.com/author/lighthouseverner

16 Signs That You Are An INFJ, The World’s Rarest Personality Type

https://wakeupyourmind.net/life/16-signs-that-you-are-an-infj-the-worlds-rarest-personality-type/

In 1972, when first incarcerated in a Federal Penitentiary, I did the Myers-Briggs test and rated 16/16.

Apparently only two percent of society has this type of personality labeled as “INFJ”.

I did not understand at that time that I was an INFJ personality. I overstand now.

Rasputin was beyond a doubt an INFJ.

Months before reading the article in the above link, my Lighthouse side has, through a series of analytical evaluations, came to the conclusion that in another space/time continuum I was Rasputin.

I am definitely a true 2% and a classic INFJ person.

Am I Rasputin’s re-incarnate?

#AmIRasputin #LighthouseDannVerner #TheLastCanadianCosmonaut #TheOriginalUrbanViking #amazonauthorlighthouseverner #MiFuegoDeMiCorazon

LOCK THESE GANGSTERS UP!!!!

What the frack is wrong with these modern day, so-called “gangsters”?

Guns solve nothing!!!! Believe me, I know.

Shooting at another low life with ill regard of children or innocent people just makes you all GOOFS.

Banning guns and restricting ammo sales will do SHIT!

Bring a three strike law with an automatic life sentence into play.

Stop passing out bails and “multiple” bails for serious offences.

By needing a “second” bail, have you not violated the “first” bail? Are you not suppose to be keeping the peace and be of good behavior?

Fucking lock all these gang members up, once and for all.

BUT STOP CALLING THEM ORGANIZED GANGS – THEY ARE NOT. THEY ARE JUST A BUNCH OF ILLERTERATE, GREEDY GOOFS THAT THINK THEY ARE ALL THAT AND WATCH TOO MUCH YOUTUBE.

GOOFS

#LighthouseDannVerner #amazonauthorlighthouseverner #TheLastCanadianCosmonaut #TheOriginalUrbanViking #walkingondawescollection

Which One Of Us Is ‘Different”?

Many people do not understand what they call “Mental Health“.

How do you explain the battle with your demons to someone that has been trained to believe that ‘different‘ is wrong?

Is ‘different‘ wrong?

Because to we who suffer through the constant battle of ‘personality disorders‘ YOU are the ‘different‘ one.

I do not believe in any of the labels society has placed on people.

I DO believe we all suffer from personality ‘conflicts’.

Every soul on this planet suffers the same stresses and have the same emotions as everyone else. We all live in the same space/time continuum. We all eat, drink and breathe the same.

We are all homo sapiens living on the same Big Blue Marble.

I have many demons who are constantly looking to diminish my everyday life. They do their best to bring anger, tears, sorrow and carelessness to the forefront.

I do get tired of battling them. I do give up on occasions.

I don’t want to, but, I get tired.

Damn, I get tired.

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Real tired! I am tired now.

I have no fight left in me.

Which leaves me in a quandary.

Do I wear myself out and try to stay “LightHouse“?

Or do I walk backwards and become “Shake“?

Or do I escape into my mind and live life as “Dann“?

Or should I allow my mind to burst and revert to the infant “Boo Boo“?

Boo Boo works, spend the rest of my years as a parentless child with a shitty diaper and speaking only gibberish.

Dann presents problems because he is fake as can be. The smiling face society says is ‘proper‘.

LightHouse is who I strived to be.  He is a nice man. Educated, loyal and truthful.

Unfortunately.

LightHouse gets hurt often.

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His smile is real. The reason he smiles is because society shuns those who do not wear the mask of the sheep.

But, I am no “sheep“.

Yes, I am having what you perceive as “psychological” disorders.

The disorders being that I refuse to be fake and I will not be commanded, I will not be controlled and I definitely will not let my life go on without a little help from my soul.

I will go on – maybe – maybe not.

I have published the fourth and closing chapter of my life – “Unkz, A Canadian Cosmonaut”.

My ‘Walk With Dann Collection‘ shows well the battles I have fought trying to conform to the sheepdom of society life.

Now, if I were to die tomorrow, and no one were to remember me, there lays a permanent record of my lives and my seven previous deaths.

Forever out there in paper form and the evil virtual reality of the unrealistic internet.

We need to stop labelling.

We need to stop being clones of each others perceptions.

Simple as that.

Namaste’

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Unkz - A Canadian Cosmonaut