Almost easier

I listen to classical, have something calming in the background to write, something so that I don’t have to hear the whistle of the train. It seems that no matter where I am, regardless of how faint it is, I always hear the train now, and take notice.

I repair the necklace that I made out of her teeth, the smile she always wore that now, I do.
Five years. It doesn’t so much get easier – there are still triggers; but it has found  a different place in my heart, one of warmth and fondness instead of pain. Now, a subtle smile crosses my face as I recall her beauty, an we again smile together.
Her ashes still rest by my bed, and the memories of those days in The Enchanted Forest, both extraordinarily beautiful and full of anguish, will remain in my heart.

I miss you, Bean.


I swear, they pulled more than just teeth…

So, they didn’t pull all of them out as planned.
I’m left with the teeth that remained on the bottom, and nothing on top – which seems to be as effective as no teeth at all.
I swear though – it felt like they were pulling a whole lot more than just teeth out of my head during the procedure.
I had a different dentist this time, an all-business Indian woman who just was not messing around.
It began normal enough, only a slight bit of trepidation, the usual, and then it was down to doing what I was there for – and MY FRIGGIN’ GODS, the pain was so far beyond what I was expecting that they almost had to hold me down.
As she rammed what felt like a 00 piercing needle up into my palate over and over again, feeling like the needle was going up through my sinuses, though my eyeball and into my brain itself, the muscles in my entire body contracted so much that I have little doubt that I was pretty much on my elbows & heels alone while laying in the chair. It was… indescribable. Indescribable, but thankfully short.
After the injections were over and they walked into another room to give the pain killer a chance to take effect, I lay there with what must have been a look of terror in my eyes, tears streaming out of my right eye, and… whimpering.
Ultimately I guess I’m grateful for the initial pain, because after that there were two instances where the dental assistant actually had to hold my head down as the dentist wrenched back & forth, ripping my teeth and who knows what else out of my skull.
There was one tooth, the canine I found out later, that apparently had some serious roots or something (like a small city) growing on it, as when she finally got that one out both the dental assistant and the no-nonsense, all-business dentist paused for a few seconds for a collective “whooooah!”
Gods, I wish I could have gotten pictures of whatever caused that, but speaking wasn;t much of an option from long before that.
Strangely enough, these extractions bled almost not at all, not even soaking half of the first wad of gauze with blood.
Strange, as they seemed so much more difficult than the first ones pulled…
It’s almost time to stop writing as my battery is getting low, but as promised – Here is The Blood.
After the first extractions I had clots the girth & size of two inch slugs of blood coming out of my mouth – first a bit would begin hanging down, reaching towards the back of my throat, then if I couldn’t “cut” it off with pressure between my tongue & roof of my mouth, then couldn’t even cut it with my fingers, I had to pull it out. There’s a shot of one of the much smaller ones in here… as well as random shots & some twisted fun with bloody gauze.
I won’t be done with all the extractions until the beginning of November, at which point there is another few weeks before I’m set up with my shiny new teeth. I must admit, the liquid diet is already getting old – but hey, at least I’ve lost the jowls!
With all the grotesque shots I’ve been throwing in here lately, I felt I should put a couple in to remind me of what I’m working working towards, as well.
One day, everything will be fixed again. I just need to have patience.
Okay, gotta post & shut down the computer…
Keri, Isa, thank you both for your wonderful comments on the previous post. I’ll respond to them soon, but in the meantime, Keri – you have always been special in my life, and I sincerely appreciate your words, more than you know – but I believe that anyone could be as strong as I have been, I just choose to take unknown roads that sometimes test me more than most. I know *you* can do absolutely anything you want and skate through it…
and Isa, no way in hell you’re getting my knees, punk. I still have a whole bunch of ass-kickin’ to do. (But I will build you some new legs if this ever happens again!)
And now, put away the food – it’s picture time.

Living Decomposition – & a release to move forward. (Warning- photos not for everyone.)

 
Around and around and around we go, where it stops…
 
It comes again, suddenly and with little warning.
I swell. I scratch. This time, I write to try to make it go away.
I Learn.
Close enough to the same time for the past three years to now be called a season – the legs swell, starting at the ankles, feet, calves – at first only a little, only enough so that you hope it might go away this time, pass me by because somewhere we did something right – but again it is here, and I only know enough about it now to be afraid.
The swelling, the flesh stretches,  dries, cracks, then a thin, yellowish clear (or clearish-yellow) fluid begins to seep out of almost the entire calf, behind the knees, at the ankles under the bone. It runs in rivulets down my legs or soaks like water through my pants.
It’s enough to drive me insane, if I wasn’t able to sometimes laugh, if I didn’t have something of a morbid humor & fascination that I can sometimes dredge out of the frustration and pain.
 
Hell, through all the crap it helps to figure out ways to smile, even if it’s by swearing at my legs and threatening to disown them. (Do they do leg transplants yet, or should I start building my little skate-kart now? I’ve got some wicked sharp knives and a low tolerance for this shit anymore, ye hear that, you traitorous bastards?)
 
The first two years I went with the words of the dermatologists – “Moisturize like crazy.” – but while that helped the dry skin & itching (as long as I kept them wrapped in a couple rolls of gauze then ace bandages so it wasn’t simply immediately caked on the inside of my pants or skirt – GODS, I miss wearing my skirts!) – while it helped with the dry skin, the second the rolls of saturated gauze were removed, my legs poofed up again and now – now, the skin was soft. Instead of only the dry flakes of skin falling off, my fingernails found no decent barrier between the outer layer of flesh stretched thin and regardless of how lightly I scratched, they cut, gouged past the only protection, digging into the white, soft flesh with no resistance. Down atrocity legs ran rivers of blood.
When I changed the dressing, I would soak through paper towel after paper towel to the point where they were dripping. Towards the end of last years season I finally realized that I could have some twisted fun “painting” with the blood, quickly setting a towel on my leg then taking it off. A couple pictures are below – though those certainly aren’t my best work.
 
I try to keep my spirits up. I try to remember that there is more to me than this.
 
I try to learn.
 
I try not to scratch, but that’s nearly impossible. (And of course you wouldn’t be thinking “Why doesn’t he just not scratch?” – would you? No, of course you wouldn’t be so completely idiotic or dim-witted as to have that cross your mind – but then again this automatically posts to Facebook & Twitter, so just in case…) Imagine a huge, unbearably itchy mosquito bite right in the middle of your back, the place you can’t reach. Now slap some Poison Ivy on it. That’s close. Now some poison Oak. Getting there.
Now imagine the insane relief when that spot is scratched. Get the picture?
That’s what it is like on both of my legs, with slightly less over much of the rest of my body, mostly my shoulders & arms, chest & lower & upper back.  One small place starts itching and it expands. I can usually only stop when the relief turns to pain, or close to it. There are times when I almost weep, times when I literally can’t stop to make it out the door to an appointment. I feel like I should be stronger than this, that I should be able to use my mind to control it, to at least be able to… I don;t know. Stop.
It feels like the itching is coming from deep inside, inside the bones. I have learned to keep my fingernails trimmed close, that sometimes rubbing violently with a rough terry-cloth towel will help.
I try.
I learn.
I sometimes scream in frustration.
 
My dry, powdered skin coats almost every surface. The larger pieces fall to the floor. The legs are an entity all their own, thick, moist scabs & chunks of flesh. I can pick those up with my fingers.
 
Alice wears my flesh.
 
I wipe almost all the surfaces down daily, sometimes twice, vacuum every couple of days. I’ll be damned if my home is dirty. A clean home helps keep my spirits as up as possible -(and you know, all those visitors I get.)
 
When dealing with this, my strength, my spirit, and my passion for life is all I have to keep me going –  through it all, these are the gifts I have been given.
 
Still however, at times these wane, and I don’t know what I would do without Val & John, my nurse & doctor. Our relationship goes far past patient-caregiver. They are my friends. The friends I have been needing since that call in 1985 but never had until them – and they know me well enough for me to trust that they are true. When all of the strength I have just doesn’t seem to be enough, I know that they will be there, and I know that they will understand.
It seems as if they see something special in me  – as if they see who I’ve always felt myself to be. Of course, there have been and are others, a few people who have come into my life and remained deep in my heart, but those have usually been lovers, whose heart I remain in, but whose life I couldn’t…
 
Just the other day John looked at me, straight in the eye, and told me that he is grateful that I’m a part of his life.
It’s because of him, because of Val, because I have so much left to do in this overwhelmingly beautiful world that I’m going to keep fighting. I am going to keep fighting and beat this. There is someone that I am becoming, and I would love to know who that person is.
 
These are words. Words that needed to be said, so that they can finally be released, discarded, taken out of my head. You now know a small amount of what my immediate life is like, where kSea has gone.
I’m busy doing whatever I can to kick the crap out of this.
I’ll be back, but different, and with one hell of a passion, one hell of a vengeance. You don’t go through shit like this without having it affect you in some way – learning, growing, becoming more appreciative of the smallest things. You see more, love more, and have an uncontrollable urge to smack life into the dull and mundane – (or maybe those are still the side effects of the Hep-C drugs…)
 
One last thing, please, I can’t ask you with enough  importance to me – if you choose to comment on this or any other post, do so here on my blog. Some comments I receive are beautiful, mean a lot to me – and I want to keep what you say regardless of what it is. I still have comments from years ago that lift my heart when I read them – but if you comment on Facebook, they will soon be lost forever.
I would hate to have that happen.
If you have an inkling to call, text, or email, my phone number & email address are everywhere.  Please. Really. In order to get or reply to messages on FB I need to use my computer battery, and these days fuel for the generator to charge it is very tight – and I have been tending to stay away from cafe’s since I’m supposed to keep my legs up – and yeah, the whole top of my mouth is gone too.
That post is coming soon…

 
 
And now, picture time!

Though I wish I would have taken many for my own morbid & grotesque entertainment (my hands were usually covered in blood), here are a few photos that I have, mostly in order – beginning with my first staph infection on my calf, then the next staph infection which sent me to the emergency room at Love Parade a couple years ago – and on. The second year of swelling when it was clearing up, at BM ’08, and some rather unexciting ones from the past week or so – oh, and of course, a couple of the paper towels.
 

A Revelation.

9-24-10
 
How long do I need to keep fighting this? How long can I?
It’s coming up on three years, three straight years of peeling away flesh, fingernails caked with blood – three years of almost getting better and then not. Three years of hope, of trying to figure out why this or that wasn’t working. Back and forth, always ending up with the same result – always ending up with the swelling coming back, the pain, the frustration of not seeming to move forward at all.
 
When it comes down to it, three years out of what… twenty-five, twenty six ago, when I first heard, was first diagnosed… when I got the surprise call at work in Berkeley from a Doctor in San Diego, telling me that I was by all rights dead. The inflection in his voice didn’t hide the gravity of the news well at all.
No one knew enough about it then to be able to promise any hope, so I pushed it away, ignored it, hid it in a place that only I knew of, but I couldn’t keep it from seeping through the cracks of the wall I built so meticulously around it.
If I denied it with enough strength, would it go away? This random call from hundreds of miles away, my parents had asked me if I wanted a general physical when I went to visit them, and had also, completely without my knowledge, scheduled the HIV test. I didn’t have the slightest that I was tested for the virus until I was surprised with the telephone call at work telling me that I had it.
Was it even true to begin with? Could it have somehow been a prank call?
Was it 1985, ’84,’86? Does it matter? Though death was thought of with every cold, every ailment, I decided to live…

 
Three years is nothing. Keep fighting. There’s a reason that I’m still here. Keep fighting.
 
So little said here. I don’t feel like writing. I don’t feel like writing but needed to, needed to talk to someone but there has never been anyone, anything but pen, paper, computer. The only best friend I have ever known or had.  Writing demands nothing from me except the courage to reach as deep as possible and find the purest honesty.
 
I am afraid. My body is decaying. The disease is no longer hiding.
 
It has been a good life, and I am grateful for every moment I have had. For every person I made smile, for all that I have learned and been able to share with others. I am so very thankful that I might have possibly made their lives just a little bit more beautiful… if even just for a moment.
 
So much more to say, but not now. Some things will never be said.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
9-24-10
 
I write about this. I write too much about this. Am I to blame? For over half of my life, it has controlled my life. Every love shadowed, every dream coming with the fine print. Sure, you can dream, but don’t dream too far into the future because you’ll probably be dead.
I turned from boy to man with the ever-present haunting of what I knew.

Am I the disease or the man?
This is the new question, the one that has come as a result of the past three years.
I have let it become me, have let it control my life – my actions, relationships, words, thoughts…
 
Am I to blame?
 
Only if I don’t do anything about it, now that I know.
 
It is time for a new fight; a new quest.
 
It is time to become the man.
 
There is still much to say, much to release & let go of. It will be a process, changing into who I am – and saying goodbye to so much of me…

The Beauty of Chaos…

There are some new things brewing in CultureFlux, things that open this crazy thing up to entire new worlds – worlds of Magick, Mayhem, and pretty much anything that is able to float across the imagination and be shared with others, in any way you choose.
The new section is called (at least temporarily) Mysteries & Marvels, and it was imagined, formed, & created in pure chaotic joy – a place that has no name, no structure, no agenda, and is welcoming you to add your bizarre & twisted take on the world. Come on in and enjoy, slide me some things to add to it, and entertain your whims. (Trust your Lust!)
Also adding to content, under the “Art & Photography” link you will find a piece on an amazing artist named Stephanie Bolton, who creates beautiful paintings focusing on a subject that is dear to her heart – Belly Dancing. Come on in & enjoy!
And now, The Absolutely Amazing, Truly Astounding, Please help Support CultureFlux

Advertising Special!

That’s Right! Until the end of September CultureFlux is offering a FANTASTIC advertising special to you!

It’s simple –

Purchase Three Months of advertising in any of the banner slots, and receive an extra one month, plus a spot in the Marketplace for no additional cost!

OR

Purchase Six Months of advertising in any of the banner slots, and you will receive and extra Two Months of advertising, as well as an ad spot in the Marketplace for the cost of only six months of adverdising – that’s EIGHT Months plus for the low cost of six months!

SO – Contact me at ksea@CultureFluxMagazine.com to get your ad started, or if you have any questions –

And in the meantime, swing on over & enjoy the ever-changing CultureFlux Magazine – I look forward to hearing froom you soon!

90 days of hell & hope…

Which have been stopped short. The meds weren’t working to their satisfaction, and at three months, that’s when they decide to continue them or not.
The decision was made.
After severe disappointment, the time invested, the pain that went with it, all seemingly for nothing, I switched things around & began to look at the positive aspects – the side-effects that were countless and nearly unbearable –  from increased, irrational loathing and irritability about everything to complete exhaustion at all times, and everything in-between, I won’t have to tolerate those anymore, and maybe even be less of a recluse. The possibility of a road trip that lasts more than a week. Many things, countless…
Everything happens for a reason.
Everything is decided from each moment, infinite ways to decide to go – and each moment decides the next. There are worlds out there, so many roads to take inside & out, making certain that I see what is offered on each side instead of the usual single tunnel vision we have…
…and I should be sleeping now. Thirteen teeth dug out of my skull in a few hours.
This will be something new – I wonder what it’s like not to have any teeth? (I wonder how much blood I can swallow and not vomit?) More pictures will be taken. For those with weak stomachs, this is your second warning. (Two inch long slimy clots of blood – blood-slugs!) Of course, I couldn’t help but dressing some of the shots up a bit – doll heads, dinner settings… and that was only eight teeth.
4am. Waking early to meditate, then off to the dentist. As I think I said previously, this is a blessing. I know exactly what the outcome will be… instead of three years and running of trying to figure out what the other mess is about.
If anyone has a desire to bring me a milkshake, please text – 504-261-1099 – I can’t see wanting to be sitting in a cafe drooling blood to charge my computer

Thirteen. The blood flows again…

Dead to the world exhausted. Feels like all life has been sucked out of me, but I get a booster to help my red blood cells tomorrow so that may do something – essentially my body is suffocating, as the cells that carry oxygen to it are killed due to the meds… and the blood loss from having my teeth pulled certainly didn’t help… it finally stopped after five days. Man, do I have pictures. First warning.
The past days were spent at Bobzilla’s. Gods, it was wonderful, needed, being able to clean, sleep, relax.
I counted. Thirteen more teeth on Wednesday,  the final thirteen. Will try to write, butthe energy – there is nothing in me, a shell containing nothing but a heart that needs to write, needs to work, but the body will not acknowledge the fire inside – my mind, my heart, they still work, still scream for life – but the shouts are lost in fading echos bouncing off the carcass of a man…
Thirteen. Then more to fix this, to fix that, bringing back the blinding light of the passion inside now shrouded, clouded by this silly thing that has wasted away.
It will come back. My heart & mind will do waht it needs to, as this insatiable thirst for life, beauty, and the purity of each perfect thing that makes the heart so full it explodes – there is always more out there to remind me that it is all in here as well, wrapped in fire, breath, and love.
…and I wonder where those words came from. I just wanted to write a couple lines, but kniew that would be almost too much to ask. It’s not always like this, just much of the time – but still, only a body, & it can be fixed good enough – it sure as hell wasn;t always like this, nor is anything forever.
Hell, look at me. I need to be in bed – but damn – even though I have no idea what I’m saying, it’s pretty exciting saying something… I’ve wanted to for days…….

There Will Be Blood (Stage one of mouth removal)

It began yesterday morning. With excitement built up from the first time I walked into the small, nondescript office tucked in back of a building in the Tenderloin and I sat down in the chair, from years of seeing it coming – and over the past year seeing it, feeling it not only physically, but deep in my psyche the process of removing my mouth was begun.
I don’t care how good of a person someone may think they are – there are times where we find it difficult not to judge, where what we’ve seen & been taught over our lives rears up and as much as we may fight it, it still sits in the background of our minds in some twisted little fashion – or at least to the degree that my teeth were looking. (In my “upbringing”, my parents  – mainly my mom –  judged absolutely everyone by appearance, so though I’ve come a long way, I still judge myself… and teeth, teeth are a big thing…)
Alas, due to absurd amounts of drug use over 20 years ago, then the way the meds I’m on now dry my mouth out and take away the natural cleansing of the saliva, my teeth finally began to revolt – falling out, snapping off at the gum-line when taking an over-enthusiastic bite of a bagel (“Ohhh, shit. That did not sound like it should have…”) and me, becoming more and more self-conscious & insecure to do something as natural to me & needed for my spirit as simply smile
I felt as if there should have been some illustrious ceremony to commemorate the event. I mean, it’s quite seldom when someone has something like eight or nine teeth dug out of their skull in a single sitting. Considering the small space in the room where it happened, however, perhaps just a short skit with your typical good & bad guys – with of course the good guys – the tools used to cut, dig, pry, grind, , and excavate the mess deep inside the bone of the jaw, being the outcasts of society, unappealing & unloved until the job itself is over. Alas, there was nothing like that –  just straight to the serious business of removing most of the left half of my mouth. I think the smartest thing I did was to not look over at the tray of torture devices, but occasionally, my lower lip was used as a fulcrum, and though thanks to what felt like about three gallons of anesthetic the pain in the area of tooth removal was manageable, (but gods, the sounds!!!) this felt as if someone had accidentally placed a truck on my lower lip & jaw as the dentist fought to remove the bad guys… I guess in the skit, he would be the money man, the controller of this band of misfits…
And now, with those teeth gone, it is just a matter of days until the rest are removed – this coming Monday at 9am and I will have a mouth where ALL the teeth have been, at least for a short time, replaced with blood.
Right now, I actually feel good – though of course the underlying terror of this coming Monday sits in the recesses of my mind… and then after that, after the healing, I will be set up with some wonderful new teeth – and again, I will be able to smile. Simply friggin’ smile, without feeling horribly embarrassed.
I’m hoping to be able to get a few different sets and have some fun with them – glue some beautiful Swarovski jewels to them to catch the glint of stage lights, OH – and MIRRORS, so people actually can see themselves in my smile! The possibilities are there…
Wish me luck this coming Monday – send out good healing energy, say a prayer – whatever your fancy – there’s still a lot to be done.
Yes, there are pictures. Of course there are pictures. We’ll have fun with that after I recover from the next appointment.

Ahhh. *Exactly* what I needed…

After a while, the frustration of trying to schedule interviews for CultureFlux builds to a point where I feel that I am doing no less than betraying myself, and what I want this to be for you. It seems as if the constant trips to the hospital and various other things that I’m doing in order to keep rolling suck the little energy that I do have out is a full time job in itself.

(Why, oh why, can’t there be a medication that instead of saying “May cause Drowsiness”, says “You may feel really good and have lots of energy after taking this; not only will it take the pain away, but the cause of the pain, and you just may feel human for the first time in years.”)

Thankfully, however, I’ve found something that not only will fill CultureFlux with content, but content that I don’t need to chase people down for, consistently battling with their near impossible schedules to graciously spend a little time with me…

And so, my dear friends, welcome to a new section of CultureFlux! It begins with rare video Joe Frank, and will continuously be updated with things of interest  – and meanwhile at the same time, I have little doubt that it will also inspire me to get my ass back in gear and get the other things I have had planned for CultureFlux – the interviews, video, audio going again – the creativity that fills my sails with life.

So, without further delay… Mysteries & Marvels – The Beauty of Pure Content Chaos

I hope that you enjoy this new feature.

Beauty of Blue

Saturday afternoon, 9-11-10.
Of course I remember where I was, each second. Michelle, the girlfriend
that I met in New York & later almost created an entirely different
life with in San Diego, called me, woke me up.
She was normally such a strong person, so when I heard the tears
on the other end of the line saying that the World Trade Center had
collapsed, I threw on my closest clothes, hopped on my Harley & rode,
rode like fire the few miles to her house.
"They're burning - they haven't fallen..."
What I didn't know is that I was seeing a replay, and seconds later,
I couldn't have held her tighter as the first tower fell...

But that was a different life. There have been many since. Most I am able to simply learn from, but Michelle – she is something different, and so was our life together. It waas filled with immeasurable beauty at times, dancing in the gay clubs with Dana & Tom – we all used to get so much enjoyment as I teased the gay men, and she was their Queen – but then, everything changed. Everything.

Three times pregnant in my denial, the third we had chosen to keep. We both knew it would have been a boy, named it Blue. Terrified & excited, got our hands on any books we could to help us… but there was one last thing we needed to do – and all the years of denial came back – but hell, there was a good chance, wasn’t there? A very good chance that she would be my wife, my lover, mother of our child and best friend.

She came out of the Dr’s office fine, I didn’t. A note – “I’m sorry…” and Blue was no longer able to be our flesh, our blood. Fuck everything else, this is the greatest weight in my heart.

Perhaps this is why I center on me – not in a way that is about me, but in a way that will let me grow – through the pain, sorrow, and joy; through all the incredible challenges that life decides that I’m strong enough for – but I still have my doubts, until I realize that Blue is now an Angel watching over me, that Bean is the same. That all the people that have struck a chord in my heart – all of the parts of my life where there was such an amazing love that it can never be forgotten, never qualified as “the Past” – and stays with me, as something I can reach to and realize that the life I have lived – the life I live has meant something to someone and perhaps continues to, when I think

know

that as ornery as I may get, as disgusted at the what Facebook & Twitter has made some brilliant people become in their idiotic posts,

I may still be understood, may still

be loved.

…or you’re not alive.”

“Look, I don’t want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if
you’re alive you’ve got to flap your arms and legs, you’ve got
to jump around a lot, for life is the very opposite of death,
and therefore you must at the very least think noisy and
colorfully, or you’re not alive.”

— Mel Brooks

Time to get my ass out into the world and flap my arms & legs. Unfortunately my travels don’t take me to 6th street today, where that is the norm.

Inside Alice

There are times when, due to all the crap they have me on to eventually make me better, that I just can’t bring myself to enter the outside world. As small as it is, I’m more than happy in my own little sanctuary and if I decide I want a different view, or light coming in different windows whenever I choose, well – I just drive there. Simple as that. My motorhome is the perfect cave for the occasional recluse.

Man, it's wild how a simple word can trigger a memory from so long ago - 
I was just brought waaay back to when I first came to Berkeley, and somehow 
got involved with a couple people who ran a cafe / independent movie house 
on Telegraph &... Dwight? - called the "Cave". 
I vaguely remember Farouk but I don't recall her name, though clearly remember
one time where we drove to a small, cliff lined beach in San Francisco,
 tripping balls on really good acid all through the night, talking 
philosophy, life, dreams... & other profound stuff 
that we thought we were supposed 
to talk about.
Ahhh, memories.

Back. Quite frequently in these reclusive fits I get possessed by small degrees of Martha Stewart & Tim Burton, and in order to feel like I’m at least doing something creative & constructive, I dredge up the energy from wherever I can find it inside & continue on the transformation of Alice; painting, adding or moving small touches, and this time thanks to a previous trip to (ahem) Ikea, where I found some table legs that would work perfectly for my purpose, I was finally able to hang my new bow instead of have her tucked up above the wheelhouse.

Mind you, these shots were taken while the place is a mess, but she cleans up nicely  in the times when I’m not throwing everything around wondering where it should go…

I need to figure out how to get the outside painted white. I’m thinking going at it with a roller & housepaint unless anyone else has a better way of doing it that I can afford – maybe like the way it’s supposed to be done, more or less. I also need someone who can weld a bracket to one of my hydraulic levelers for the spring that pulls it back up. Now that BM is over for the time being, that should be simple enough… I can’t believe I don’t know how to friggin’ weld. Well, not really. I can & have, but don’t know the “Official Proper Way of The Weld” – so if anyone wants to give me a hand there…

Today after yet another appointment at the hospital, I install the reverse camera I ordered for super cheap of eBay – though instead of plugging the power to the camera into the reverse lights (as the manufacturer recommends) so it only works when they’re on – ie. I’m going backwards, I need to find a constant power source that I can run to a toggle on the dash, so I can turn it on whenever I like to see what lurks behind me – and be able to see much more than the crappy mirrors allow.

In these shots, which don’t do Alice any justice at all, you can at least get a flavor for her.

She’s coming along…

Lots to do…

Quite honestly, I absolutely can’t stand Facebook. I only use it as a tool to keep in contact with people – but my distaste for it has grown to a degree where I need to fight to open it up on my computer.

As a result, I will begin using WordPress to say almost anything I need, save for the CultureFlux page. I’ve begun to get categories going, now just need to spend hours eding all the previous posts and putting then into those categories. Lots to do.

Facebook was not created for us – it was created for little college students with nothing or idiotic bullshit to say, and while it has become “the thing”, I;ve got a feeling that there is something around the corner that will be insanely better…

So while for the time being I will keep my account on FB, absolutely nothing will be posted there directly, though everything I post here will have a link posted to it on FB – for the time being.

If you have any strange inclination to keep up with the wanderings of my mind, you might want to subscribe – as it will all be here.

Things are changing, and changing for the better. Soon FB will be understood for what it is – outdated, pithy, adolescent.

In time…