I’ve an implant in my head. He’s a man with a baseball bat. He has only one function: when I’m prey of a poetry fit or start to think too much about something odd he must swing it hitting me on the back of my skull. The effect is like the one an electric shock has on a fibrillating heart. Rhythm begins to regularize and without permanent damages I come back on earth.
Venice 11/10/06 a nearly fatal poetry fit.
I really care for this man. He’s the friend who taught me how to fish from the kayak so I could survive during the trek around Cres  so my hearth sunk when I saw him seriously ill having a poetry fit ‘bout nautical trekking just at the beginning of winter when there’s no real chances for the exanthema to burst out due to adverse clima and ephemeres.
. This GoodAtNothing,  a prince among them,  exposed him to the contagion one month ago in Capraia and now  organized a week end in Venice.
As a scientific experiment it’s intriguing and here you can see in detail it’s phases.
You can easily replicate it ( better in late spring or early autumn )   
..........................