March 31st. 13 Days. The Final (& first) Step….

About This Project

This book has been hard fought for. It was first requested over 7 years ago, but I knew then it was far from what it could become.

I had NO idea that it could become this.
From nearly dying twice during an 18 month hospital stay to finding my Birth Mother & Father after a 25 year search, ALONG with all the amazing (& sometimes hilarious) adventures along the way, its time has now come. It’s time to gather my 100’s of pages of blog entries and create something beautiful. Something that I have every intention of changing the world through.

Understandably, I’m incredibly excited to finally be able to write it for you – but it isn’t just a book. It’s a story for anyone, like me, who wants to change things.

It’s an unapologetic, pull-no-punches, honest, moving and inspiring story about taking control of your life and living YOUR dreams. If that involves making the reader a bit uncomfortable, so be it.

Though the specific journey written about in this story is solely mine, there is something for anyone who has ever questioned their direction in life, who has ever felt confused or defeated, and who has had to completely and undeniably trust their heart – because sometimes when you find yourself on the edge, the best thing you can do is just jump – and watch your wings unfold.

It is written for those who want to stop talking and start doing. People who want to CHOOSE, create their own story & feel the power they have over their lives.

This book will be my gift to those who believed in me when I forgot how to believe in myself.
It is my gift to those I have not yet met, reminding them that I believe in them.

This book is the incredible story of the amazing adventures over the past ten years of my life, and how I turned a mundane, unremarkable existence into a beautiful, useful & helpful life. A life that I am proud of… and the really cool thing is that I show YOU how to change your life, too.

I’m writing this book because I know it can help others. Because I know that it can change the world and there is no better feeling than helping someone else become the hero of their own story… and because it’s also the next dream on the list.

This isn’t going to be your normal “Let me tell you how it’s done” book – there are enough of those. This is going to be a friggin’ awe-inspiring, almost unbelievable story that comes with a boatload of inspiration to encourage YOU to look at your story, realize what’s possible, and decide to make YOUR dreams come true.

Stories. Our lives are constructed by countless stories, and the ones we choose literally create our world. How we look at ourselves, how we see others, how we make sense of this exquisite madness.

Stories remind of us what’s bigger – who we CAN be, and what we can do.

They give us the gift of wonder – something that far too many of us have forgotten. And stories are our pathways to change. This is nothing that you don’t already know. You just need to be reminded that it’s not only possible, but incredibly simple to start making your dreams come true.
After all – if
I can to it…

About Me!

Raw from the brink, his permeable life has affected me in such a way that I sometimes don’t believe kSea is fully human. He surpasses incomprehensible trials & discoveries to awaken us to how thin the veil sometimes is & what to do with it: origin, purpose, life & death itself. To be so aligned in spirit to tell the tales of unfathomable experiences is an inspiring gift to us all. This is a book that needs to be written, read, made into film. One can only guess at the darkest pages, the twists & turns as he finds illumination within.”

Pixie Spindel Photographer, PixieVision.com

 

kSea is what happens when you decide to live your dreams. His unstoppable passion to live is breathtaking, & I consider myself lucky to have shared the stage with such a passionate and beautiful soul. Every single rare second I spend with him is something I cherish.”
Wenzdai Atom-Morgan,Photographer

 

“kSea walks the walk, talks the talk, and is more amazing in ten seconds than most people are in a lifetime.”

Clara LaFrance co-performer, aerial dancer and instructor. Boston, MA / Oakland, CA

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I wasn’t happy.

I mean, things weren’t “horrible” by any means, but my life certainly wasn’t heading anywhere amazing. I looked as far forward as I could, and couldn’t see anything changing. I couldn’t see living the life I wanted to live, not if I kept going the way I was – and the only way I saw that happening was if I made some changes… so I did.

Hey there! My name is Casey Porter. I’ll be writing this book for you.

This is the story of what happened when I decided to change things, and how my life exploded in pure amazing after that. I’m writing it because I’m absolutely certain that yours can, too.

Ten years ago, where this story begins, I was living an okay life. Not bad, not great, but like so many of us I felt like I could be doing something more. I SHOULD be doing something more.
The thing was that I wasn’t doing anything to make it happen. I was waiting for it to happen, and so far except for a few cool things that just became fond memories, it was pretty ordinary.
So I decided to do something about it. I decided to actually create my life, and honestly, I was terrified that my parents and the world were going to all get together and sing a chorus of “I Told You So”, but – I at least had to try.

Then something weird happened. My life started falling into place, and dreams started coming true. This is the story of not only what happened, but how I MADE it happen.

I’ve lived an incredible life from that time, beginning with working with Amanda Palmer & her band The Dresden Dolls, lived in a tent for four months helping Hurricane Katrina refugees, been a street performer, circus performer, award winning online magazine publisher, event producer and had achieved nearly ever dream I set out to make real. It wasn’t all roses & glory, but I was HAPPY, and for the very first time in my life, I was living a life I was proud of, and I was helping people.

I was making a difference, and although it was small, it had value.

Then four years ago, I suddenly found myself dying.

The Hep-C decided to wake up, and when it did, it meant business. My Dr. put me into a Hospice/Respite facility, and strangely it even got worse. I was dying, and all of their medicines and amazing care weren’t helping. I was watching myself decompose, and it was really messing with the dream I had to not die before I found my Birth Mother.

 

So I decided to live. 18 months later, after being called a ‘miracle’ by more than a few of the awesome crew who had watched & cared for me during that time, I did what I swore to myself I would do if I lived, and danced out of the front doors. On my feet… and a cane. Actually it was more of a shuffle than a dance, but I wasn’t too picky at the time, ya know?

 

So now, I’m writing an AWESOME book!

A book I truly believe will not only entertain you and make you laugh, but HELP, as well. A book that will change the world.

 

Although the details are my own, this is a story that will resonate with anyone who has felt a longing for something more, or who has faced fear of change. It will inspire, and most importantly – it will help.

Besides – isn’t it time to shake things up a bit?

And when the book is published?

That’s when it all begins.

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remembering: how it feels

It was 28 years ago. While much of that time is hazy save for a few of little consequence, there is one single moment that is cut into my memory – a deep jagged scar that will never go away.

I was living with Aleph, Rip & Jennifer at New Method Warehouse, heaven and haven, some time before moving there from my first home in Berkeley, the YMCA on Allston Way. I had run away to the Bay Area at 17, knowing absolutely no-one but eventually met some of the better people. People who are still my friends.

This isn’t about them.

After two years, I had begun talking to my adopted parents again, and they proposed coming back down to San Diego to visit. They would pay for the flight, everything – just a brief time to say hi, maybe try to mend some things between us.

Missing the beach and feeling as nostalgic as a kid can feel for certain things – the Pannikin Cafe, where I spent most of my days alone & wishing I wasn’t so insecure & withdrawn, sitting at the corner table of their outside patio watching people, writing & drawing in my journals, pretending to be all adult & doing my best to figure out life – and the abandoned building on Pearl St, the only abandoned building in La Jolla, which I found my way into one night and called home for a few months after I left my parents house.

Memories. Sure, I would come visit.

While there for those few days, they suggested that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a physical – just a routine thing at our family doctor to make sure I’m healthy and doing alright. Eager to show them that I’m fine, flourishing, rosy-cheeked & flourishing, eager to show them that they can please stop worrying about me, I agreed. I don’t recall much more of the visit, but I suspect that it went mostly fine, or as fine as it could. Back to Berkeley, back to New Method and playing on all of Rip’s music equipment, back to work at Tower Video on Telegraph, back to free time at Cafe International, coffee and writing, still trying to figure out life and taking most of my instruction from ‘Barfly’. Back to just watching the days pass, one by one, an inconsequential life.

Life was simple, good. Me & my ’68 Dart, rolling with Aleph blasting Public Enemy & the Chili Peppers on the boombox that sat between us, changing the words to “Me & My Friends” to include each other, singing at the top of our lungs & making stupid faces…

A few weeks after I returned from San Diego, the memory of the visit already fading into the place where ‘things that happened and don’t matter’ resides in the mind, I was at work ringing up video rentals and putting boxes on shelves, when Chase, a girl who I worked with, called me over. Someone called and actually asked for me. That was rare, but whatever. I waled behind the counter, pressed the blinking line button, and confirmed “Yeah, this is Casey, what can I do for you?” As I listened to the unknown guy on the other end of the line, his voice grew dim but it was still the only thing I could hear. I felt the blood draining from my face, my knees buckling. Many years later I would experience the exact same feeling again when Baruzula told me that my Bean had been hit and killed by the train…

What the person – Dr. whoever on the other end of the line told me didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t have it… could I? Yeah, I had experimented, played around, but only a few times. It was fun, I had fun but it wasn’t really for me, I liked girls, women, more. I mean fuck, I didn’t even know what it was, no one really did at that time, besides a brand, a curse, a stigma and a near guarantee that anyone who had it would soon die a slow, agonizing death. I was healthy. I felt great. How could I have it? How was I supposed to feel? How could I possibly be HIV+? I wasn’t even TESTED! This is a fucking lame joke, asshole. How was I, when was I… oh……. wait.

Without my knowledge or consent, my adopted parents had requested an extra test during my physical.

In the time it took for the doctor on the other end of the line to say four words, my entire world changed. My story was rewritten.

Some things were obvious effects; I wasn’t concerned about trying to live anymore, not worried about if I took too much of this or that drug I would die. As long as I didn’t end up a burden to someone, as long as it was clean, whatever…

But there was one thing that in looking back now, I truly appreciate; Without question, this knowledge insisted that I looked far deeper inside of myself than most have reason to. It has forced upon and blessed me with a wisdom that I can offer to others and help people with. In the strangest of ways, it has become a gift.
Nearly every decision I made and continue to make comes with necessary introspection, a conscious decision, from deciding where I want my life to go to what may become of the most innocent flirtation. Little can be done without first reaching deep inside of myself and looking at it from every view I can consider.

While that may seem oppressive and prohibiting – and sometimes is, it has also granted not only a profound self-knowledge, but an absolute lust and appreciation for the things in life that don’t require me to do anything more than simply choose to say, with enthusiasm and joy: “Fuck YES”… then unfold my wings, and remember how it feels to fly.

A strange separation


vlcsnap-2014-12-04-21h38m30s235I look at old videos that I took while in Maitri. Things I haven’t seen since recording them, “footage” that no one else has seen, nor likely ever will unless you ask – and I don’t think you want to.
Better to hide behind the hint of truth that you already know.

These are the things I need to remember when I see other friends going through the hells that they do – so few of us tell the whole story. We’re afraid to.
We aren’t looking for sympathy, not looking for “oh, you poor thing…” We know. We know how you feel because we feel it more. We feel it more because we have that badge sewn into our flesh. Trust me, this is nothing against you… in fact, I hope you never do understand. I hope that you never have the capacity to empathize on that level. Your well wishes *are appreciated…

But what we truly seek is understanding. A person to cry *with* – not someone who cries for us. Only in those (thankfully) few people can we find some sort of twisted kinship.

Please don’t get me wrong – I love you. GODS, how I love you, for your caring, for your support, for the way that you *don’t* understand…

But I watch the videos, and even I, who have lived through that time, am disgusted at what I see… the decomposing flesh, the blood, the “fluid” that stained everything I slept in or wore, frequently soaking through the three layers of gauze & bandages to the pants Nd dripping on the floor of the cafe… And for the greater part of five years (the decomposition began *long* before I went into the hospice) – that was just another part of daily life. Brush my hair & remaining teeth, splash water on my face, peel the dressing and flesh from my legs try not to scratch because GODS they itched from the poison seeping out… and what do I need to do with CultureFlux that day?

THis seems like an entirely different life, the one I am living now… an entirely different person – finding my Birth Mother, being solid and “stable” enough to at least let a dog “think” that everything is wonderful… – even to the point of daring to offer my heart to another…

And remembering how wonderful that feels, even in the pain that it has brought.

Recently a friend said to let go of the past and focus on the future. I understood what was meant, and in many situations the person woulld be right – *IF* my past – this *particular* past were holding me back from myself and who I continue to become – but as I said to the person after a bit of thought – “In order to see where I am going, I cannot be blind to where I’ve been.”

We all go through what we need to, so we can give the lessons we have learned…

and I think I pretty much lost my train of thought… if there was one to begin with.

Perhaps the most important thing however – as grim as it may look to others, keep fucking smiling – and to everyone who *can’t* understand… please keep it that way.

You’ll find out enough about it in my book. That’s as close as I *EVER* want you to get…

I love you.

 

MomMe3

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…