Fast & Slow Food

Middle of the night, March 11, 2026.I woke up again after the second day of refeeding. I’m deep in detective mode right now, trying to hack my way out of this lingering imbalance caused by chemo poisoning, prolonged water fasting, and the accumulated pressures I’ve been placing on my body. That includes the added detail to my protocol: two intense HBOT sessions per compression arc — one on the second day of fasting, the day before starting chemotherapy, and another on the day of or the day after removing the chemotherapy infusion.During this secondary treatment cycle — total cycle 11 — I scheduled the post-infusion HBOT session in the afternoon immediately after removing the pump. That might have nudged things one inch too far. I have a feeling that was the final drop that pushed my system into further disruption.What’s interesting is that I noticed something else tonight: physiological sighs. That wasn’t happening a few days ago. Even last night, at most, there might have been one short, meek sigh. Tonight was different. A full, involuntary release. And as I lay there reflecting on that, I had another realization.I need to start using these logbook-style diary entries not just for myself, but as my primary way of communicating with the world.Long form suits me better. It’s more true to who I am. I need nuance. When communication gets compressed into bite-sized, shareable fragments, something essential gets lost. The more people you try to reach, the more you abstract. The quicker the message, the more you simplify. The more “snackable” it becomes, the thinner it gets.I don’t like that.To me, communication is like cooking. Even though I strength train and need a lot of calories, I would never sacrifice the quality of what I’m eating just to fill my stomach. I’m a gourmand and gourmet at the same time. I want the texture, the flavor, the micronutrients — but I also need the quantity. I need the full extraction of nourishment.That’s how I feel about expression. I want both depth and amplitude.Right now, my life feels like a roller coaster. Mentally, I am trained not to be afraid — but I also know I need steadiness. Even through the ups and downs, there must be a stable axis. Physically, however, this journey is undeniably volatile. With aggressive water fasting, aggressive systemic treatment, and what at least for now appears to be spiraling disease progression, I am constantly trying to recover ground.I need to initiate supercompensation within short windows. I need to catch back up to where I was before the last setback. That requires depth of understanding and reflection — not clickbait.And I’m done with clickbait.In today’s world, if you want a message to spread on social media, you almost have to sensationalize it. With the rise of AI-generated sludge, even honest messages start resembling clickbait. It feels empty. I don’t want to be part of that.So long form it is.Maybe I’ll still post the occasional Viking berserker warrior carousel — those images weren’t meaningless. That warrior spirit has been crucial in sustaining momentum throughout this ordeal. I was diagnosed in June 2024. It’s now March 2026. Almost one year and nine months.That warrior energy has carried me through storms. Without it, I would have been a sinking ship — gripping ropes in hail, patching torn sails, scavenging for materials to repair broken oars. The warrior stands in the storm.But if all you have is the warrior, you only have a gas pedal. No brake. No gearbox. Just raw combustion. Fire consuming everything — wood, metal, air — melting resources in order to move forward.War analogies helped me metabolize this crisis in the beginning. They were essential. But they are not the whole story.Alongside the warrior stands the General — cooler, strategic, calculating. The General studies formations, supply lines, weather patterns. He doesn’t charge blindly. He plans.And even beyond those two, there are more archetypes at play.There is the Joker and the Dancer — necessary for emotional release. The Shaman and Mystic — guarding spiritual integrity and reconnection with nature. The Monk — maintaining inner coherence amidst chaos. The Poet, the Painter, the Cook, the Psychologist — each representing a vital dimension of the human tribe.I want to show all of them.This journey is an expedition into unknown terrain. Not a casual hike — more like cave exploration. Speleology. Descending into the earth’s crust, navigating darkness, molten edges, unpredictable chambers. You cannot convey that in short captions. It requires logbook entries. Raw, detailed accounts of twists and turns.I am not moving mountains physically — though I try in the gym — but I am moving mountains internally. Miles of effort. Miles of suffering. Continuous cycles of breakdown and rebuilding. Repairing subsystems. Reinforcing weak points. That process deserves space.There’s another metaphor that fits too: imprisonment.Physically, my life is extremely constrained. Systemic therapy binds you to a narrow geographical radius. For days at a time, I’m stationary — first upright in a hospital chair during infusion, then battling waves of nausea and bile, then lying still to conserve energy. Even in recovery phases, I limit movement to preserve resources.For months, my world was a tiny triangle: home, hospital a few hundred meters north, gym slightly northwest. Sometimes it felt like a straight line. Walking to the gym, I could see the hospital looming in the background. I might need to switch gyms just to shift that psychological vector.But the broader point remains: I am both explorer and prisoner.And what do prisoners often do to preserve sanity?They write.They document their thoughts to prove that their internal world still matters. If no human can sit with every thought in such intensity, the page becomes witness. Many prison diaries eventually became books. There’s an entire literary genre born from confinement.That’s another reason for this shift.Long form is truth.Summarized experience is diluted experience. If you want the raw human reality of navigating illness, suffering, resilience, doubt, and rebuilding — you need the uncompressed version.I’ve always preferred one-to-one conversations over group talk. Group conversations tend to flatten into lowest-common-denominator exchanges. I’m not interested in that. I want the deep flavors of life. That’s when life force rises in me.And I need life force.I need it to feed the furnace, to power the steam engine pushing toward an ever-shifting horizon. Some days the horizon looks bright. Some days it’s storm-dark. Without the long view, you miss the weather patterns.You don’t have to read everything. I doubt anyone could keep up with every stream of thought that runs through me. I’ve already rehearsed many of these ideas internally hundreds of times. But this format — raw and expansive — feels honest.I want to show all sides of myself, not just the warrior.This life situation demands more than one archetype. And maybe, if you stay with me, this can serve as a guide — mentally or physically — for some of you navigating your own unknown terrains.Love you all.Bless the life force in you.May the life force in me resonate with the life force in you.Namaste. This is a public episode. 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