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Excerpt from Today Cancer Tomorrow The World: Primer Coat

March 22, 2013



Today Cancer Tomorrow The World can be purchased at or send $17.95 (includes shipping and receiving) for a signed copy to Fred Reiss, PO Box 733, Mount Hermon, CA. 95041




This is the short introduction to the book.



Nobody knows where the aliens came from or how the various strains of these self-destructive beings invade the soft tissues of their future victims. They’ve been here since the ancient Greeks and Romans. Some believe this unknown malignant mass over the centuries is evolving mutations within the living in a quest to become immortal. This alien preys upon every living thing. It has no organs. It has no nervous system. It has no mouth–yet swallows its victims whole. It takes the lives of millions. None are safe. It devours pre-med and premees, hedge-fund managers and caregivers, soccer moms and deadbeat dads, Oscar winners and community-house players, Black Labs and Siamese cats, CEOs and janitors, Olympic runners and toll collectors, investigative journalists and public-relation hacks, mob bosses and district attorneys,junk-food addicts and health-food freaks, breasts and testicles. Once the inimical alien infiltrates its host, the creature’s growth invasively expands its malignant helix-like fingerlings that latch, twist, entwine and engorge the blood supply from its victim’s lungs, stomach, liver, spinal cord, pancreas, brain, colon, even tonsils–this mutant has no tongue so all organs tastes the same. Its thriving imperfect storm robustly spreads like malignant pollen and blossoms insatiable cluster bombs of clear cells throughout its prey’s body, multiplying and dividing in a pincer movement, ravenously advancing and feeding at its self-catered all-you-can-eat cellular buffet. As the alien swarm robustly teems within its human habitat, their afflicted victim withers, fades away and dies. Without a life-support system to nourish the embedded alien with nutrients and a sugar rush, the mutated tumorous mass dries up, cracks open, dissolves and completes its messianic suicide mission by becoming one with its unforgiving and forever silenced host. This repellent invader has no feelings. No family. No love or hate. No fear or remorse. No reasoning. And it’s inside me — again.

“I could never go through chemo and lose my hair,” inconspicuous people vapidly comment about themselves while I endure my cancer treatments in their presence.
You couldn’t lose your hair. You really think so, huh? And you could never go through chemo? Or go through what I’m going through. Have catheters plugged in your back. Walk with urine bags strapped to your legs. Lose so much weight you see your skull and your belt is on its last loop and your pants are still falling off and even your feet are loose in your shoes. And you still think you could never go through what I’m going through? Well, when The Big C cold cocks you from behind, flips you over, crawls on top of you, presses one of your shoulders on the mat, and starts leaning its full weight on the other shoulder, and you’re a quarter-inch away from being pinned to surrender what little you know of your life — it’s then, when The Big C monstrously smiles and its foul death-knell breath is upon you–then and only then, will you know if you have what it takes to go through what all cancer patients go through. Some people easily go down for the count, but cancer isn’t what defeats them. They respond to the malignant foe the same way they face any adversity. Without any resistance, they’d drop their last shoulder with relief if they get fired from a job, if they lose retirement in their 401K, if a spouse dumps them for another, if their home is foreclosed, whatever–and they have an endless supply of whatevers they’ll surrender to without firing a single shot in anger. They easily relent, drifting into the comforting blank muggy haze of oblivion and welcome death because they believe there’s a better life somewhere else. They betray themselves. Their life-support system is outside their heart. They were dead to begin with. During my treatment, I was told about a guy diagnosed with cancer. He had a wife and kid. He refused chemo because he didn’t want to lose hair and get thin, and weak. He allowed cancer to fill in the blank. He ended up thin and bald and weak–but, without hope. I’m not him. I can’t drop my other shoulder. That’s not in me. And The Thing filling my body and trying to pin me from the inside out is going down first. Not me! I’m in no hurry to leave. Eternity can wait a while longer–a lot longer.
What is the triumphant core of light that pushes out the beam that illuminates the power of my soul and prevents the darkness from pinning me down for the count? It’s not faith. It’s not fear. It’s the spark that lights up my smile with a sense of humor. It’s what puts the special bounce in my dance step to the thumping call of a universal beat. It’s what cried out of me when I was born and the doctor smacked my ass. It’s the reflection that glistens when my eyes meet the eyes of someone I love. And I will kill for it.
Death is inevitable but that doesn’t mean it’s necessary.

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