It’s SCIENCE! (kind of.)

Sunday afternoon, vending FLUX MetalWear at the ‘Costume & Magical Treasure Sale’ hosted by Professor Violet (Scott Levkoff), I was called into the position of caretaker for a friend who had a little bit too much of this, that, and the other, and was feeling the excess in a bad way. After Scott directed this person (who shall remain name & gender-less to protect them from even more embarrassment) to his bathroom, I was called to go keep an eye on them, making sure they were alright while Scott kept an eye on my jewelry. What followed was a few different, purely accidental, science experiments.
Results of experiment #1 – The adjustment of eyes from sunlight to a dark basement: Not as fast as I would have hoped.
Results of experiment #2 – Walking on air with no preparation: Complete failure. Due to experiment #1, I didn’t see that there were two steps that went down, and I missed them both. It’s quite a surprise when you expect solid ground to be there to stop your foot, but instead your whole 180ish pounds just kind of falls forward and doesn’t stop until there is ground, far further down than you had expected. After everything including me stopped moving and falling in this cluttered space (which, by the way, made me completely change the opinion that my apartment was cluttered), I performed a quick mental check: Bones, okay. Wrists, hands, just a little sore, but nothing that would prevent me from working. Outside left upper thigh – Ow, FUCK! I’d hit it on something, but at most I figured it would be yet another epic bruise and some swelling. I can live with that.

I get up and go check on my friend in the bathroom, who now, thankfully, seems to be doing much better. As I’m asking them questions about what they need to have done, I had rubbed my ouchie on my thigh just to see how it was doing, and pulling my hand away, noticed that it was a bit stickier than it should have been, and rubbing my thumb and fingers together, noticed a viscosity that I am far too familiar with. I think – it’s been about two or three minutes since the fall, and already soaked through my tights, skirt lining and outer lace. Right about then I notice something dripping down my leg. Oh, hell.
I can’t dwell on that right now – I’ll find out what the damage is to me after I take care of my friend.
With my right hand I pull my phone out of my left breast pocket of my tails coat to call someone to pick them up, trying to get the number right but because this person would not SHUT UP with their apologies and such it took me three times to finally get the right number. I hand them my phone, they leave a voice mail, and then keeping my left hand mostly hidden I send a text. They’re on the toilet and messages have been sent, For the moment, that’s all that can be done for them. Finally, I look at my left hand.
Crap. That’s not a little bit of blood.
I walk the few steps away from the bathroom to the place where gravity and I had our disagreement, and find what must have been the culprit – the corner of an innocent looking mini-amp, just sitting there as if nothing has happened, the bastard. When I turn back around I notice that I’m bleeding a bit more than I originally thought. Where I stood by the bathroom there’s a literal pool of blood, and full left footprints of my Docs all the way to where I’m standing now, creating another pool. I lift up my skirt and pull down my tights (which would sound kinda sexy in a different scenario) to get a read on what’s happened and make sure that no arteries have been harmed in the making of this science experiment. I need to know if it’s straight to the ICU, or I can dress it at home.

At this point I notice that my entire leg is saturated with my blood, and where the tights are tucked into my boot there is a doughnut of blood that hasn’t leaked out. From past experience, I figure that this is where some of it has congealed. Fun fun fun!
In a strange semi-contortion so I can see the back of my thigh, I realize what has happened: I hit the amp with enough force that it ripped back the epidermis in a triangular shape, like the skin peeling off of an over-ripe peach, exposing the raw muscle below. So this is what it’s like to be flayed! Ya learn something new every day – though honestly, I could have been happy not knowing what it actually felt like. Okay, I don’t need to go to the emergency room – from my time in hospice, I still have a bit of ultra high-tech dressings, absorbent pads, and these weird pads that turn into a type of gelatinous skin – enough to get me by for the time. If I went to the ER, it would take them 5 hours to do what I can do at home, and besides – I need to get back to my dog. Trying to find someone to get my keys, take care of and feed her and get my keys back to me would be a logistical nightmare, and I don’t even know who I could call to ask.
I try to help Scott clean me off the floor, but everywhere I step I leave another foot print and it doesn’t seem to be slowing down. Thankfully almost everything I’m wearing is black, and my boots are good ol’ Doc Marten oxblood. I can pack up without people noticing and get out of there. I don’t like people fussing over me.

Getting home, I pull off my boots, skirt and tights, starting in my living/bed room then realizing how stupid that is, going to stand in the tub. The amount of blood is impressive! I wash the wound, spray some wound cleaner on it, then put on an absorbent pad, wrap it tightly in gauze, and wash as much blood as I can out of my clothes. Ten minutes later it finally begins to thin and the water going down the drain is pink instead of a deep crimson.


It’s time for some sleep. I set the alarm for intervals of three hours because I’m still bleeding and a bit concerned about not waking up again – but we’ll just have to see. Making sure I cover everything that matters most, I write an email to a friend I can depend on and set it so it gets sent in 9 hours, saying that if he receives this to call my building manager to be let in and check on me – and if worse comes to worse, find someone to take care of Ruby. I give a few names of people I trust to find a good home for her. I then set a reminder to cancel the email if it isn’t necessary.
I really hope it isn’t. I drink as much coconut water as I can, eat the rest of my spinach and take a bunch of my “Blood Builder” herbal pills, much more than I should under normal circumstances – but these are far from normal. I dig around and try to find things to eat that might help my body, and lacking most anything really helpful, make myself some oatmeal. Need to do what I can to help my body produce at least a little energy…
Over the bandages I put on my sweats, fold a bath towel in quarters, lay down and read until I fall asleep. It’s been quite a day.

Waking up I notice that the left leg of my sweats are saturated, and getting up see that all four layers of the towel have been bled through to the comforter. Standing up I take a read on how I’m feeling: Still doing alright it seems, not light-headed, thinking doesn’t seem to be any worse than usual. My leg isn’t cold, only some pain at the wound. I change into my other pair of sweats and fold up a new towel and lay down again. Still, even with all I’ve been through in past years, I’ve never seen this much blood coming out of a person. At least not one that lived.

The next morning, Monday, the bleeding has slowed but not yet stopped. I stand up – and now, it’s there. I’m lightheaded and a tiny bit nauseous. My brain isn’t getting enough blood. No good. I leave a message for my primary care doc and he gets back to me quickly. He’s been my doctor for about 13 years now, and has seen, more than anyone, what I am capable of. He worries, but he knows that I know my body, am not stupid – and am one hell of a warrior.
So tomorrow after 1pm, I go to urgent care in *my* hospital building, not the main one. Somewhere I feel comfortable, and will likely know a couple of the people – and most importantly, they’ll know me.
I’ll let you know what happens.

Results of accidental blood loss experiment: After three saturated legs of clothing, two saturated quarter-folded towels, pools of blood on the floor and some soaked into my car seat as well as an unknown quantity washed down the bathtub drain, I finally feel light-headed.
WARNING: DO NOT TRY TO DUPLICATE THIS AT HOME.


Lifeblood

Sooo… yeah.
I guess it’s about that time, isn’t it? I’ve been bad at keeping up in my online journal for the past… amount of time. I should do that/this before it gets out of hand, and there’s so much to say that nothing is said at all. Gots to feed the veuyerlits. (Hmm… Vueyerlits? Nope, not a word – or, at least wasn’t until now. Vueyerlit {n} def: One who more or less kinda closely follows (when they have time) the life of another through their writing.

But I digress. Things & stuffs. They’ve been happening. First, lets get that health crap out of the way. In two (TWO!) days I go in to get my bloodwork done – and this is the one I’ve been busting my ass to make right. Eating all the proper foods, staying away from detrimental ones, taking twice the dose of the herbs I need that will help (have to – since my liver is pretty much one big internal scar, I don’t absorb things the way I “should”. (and this is perhaps one of the VERY few times I would be happy to conform to what I “should” do.)

I’ve done all I could, spent nearly every dollar (except the $10 for Bernie & a bit for Isa A Shisha) on things that would help raise my platelets, red & white cells, & iron. All for surgery on my navel, which I have a CRAZY irrational phobia of other people touching – much less hacking away at. (What the HELL am I thinking? Just give me the manual and a scalpel. I’ll do this shit myself! Step away from my belly button, and no one gets hurt – got it?)

So now – money is gone, a few days left on food & the herbs – and countdown to 0:00, which is actually at 9:30am this Thursday, begins. There’s no reason to be nervous – at this point it’s either a pass or fail, essentially – and thanks to all of you, I’ve done all that I could. I’m sure as fuck going to HOPE, though – for whatever that’s worth… and continue with the mind/body meditations that got me out of the hospice, because I KNOW that helps – and hey, if any of you could slide some good energy my way, it sure would be appreciated… min’s running a tad low.

Oh, yeah. One other thing happens on that day, with the same bloodwork. It marks the 3 month limit they set… soooo, if the Hep-C virus is STILL undetectable, I am “officially” CURED OF FUCKING HEP-C!

Man. Talk about a fucking day – and I’m usually just barely getting out of bed at that time.

So, you may ask – what does being cured of Hep-C mean? Answer: Besides having the weight of possibly infecting someone else lifted off of my shoulders after fucking YEARS – not a damn thing, really. Well – the disease won’t progress, but fuck – at this point, where the hell does it have left to go? The damage – that’s been long, long since done.

BUT – NOW, I’m on a mission to figure out what herbs & concoctions can actually reverse cirrhosis. Western med can’t do it – but I’ll bet you my life (literally – haha?) that I can.

Aaaand – as if all of that wasn’t enough – there’s MORE! This is the good shit though – it’s easy, and short.
Three weeks after pulling the surprise attack on my Mother – she finally fucking called. Just to say hi, say she’s feeling better, getting around easier, and how am I?
After 10-11 months of not hearing a word from her, even through my birthday, the visit worked – and I owe it all to Kitty, who drove all the way from Sacramento to pick me up and take me another 3 hours North.

I put her pictures up again.

And yeah, there’s more – there always is, isn’t there? Even, at the rare times, where the outside is relatively calm – the mind never rests.
I fucking love it for that… but that’s for another time.

Maybe tomorrow.
Until again, I love you – and thank you for keeping me alive for all of this.

One last: and strangely enough, it’s actually an original kSea quote – I looked!

“Never let logic get in the way of your dreams.”

I fucking love you.

 

in silent screams

I leave one message for her, then another after a few days, a week… then twenty, thirty over the months. After a short while I find I’m talking to her answering machine, having almost conversations, telling it what I’ve been up to, how my day was, my week. It’s silent as I tell it that I think I’m getting better, that I wish she could meet some of the amazing people who are helping to keep me alive…

but it’s never her.

It must be around eight months now, maybe nine since I’ve heard my Mother’s voice – or heard from her at all. There’s been some amazing news that I told her answering machine; I’ve met my Blood Father with whom, on that fated New Years Eve of ’66/’67, she created me. The last time we talked, when he & I were only barely beginning to plan it, I asked her how she felt about me meeting him, & she said she was completely cool with it – “He’s a really sweet man.”, She said. He is… I was in & out of the hospital, been cured of Hep-C.
My Birthday has long since come & gone. The day she watched as I took my first breath… the day that only after we met meant anything to me slid by without a word from her.

I went to a small party which only by coincidence was the same day – dusted off & put on the well-practiced smile that hides everything else churning & twisting beneath the surface so that no one knew & it didn’t dampen the moods of my friends.
Hell, over this lifetime its gotten to the point where even I believe the mask I wear for those moments,,, until I get home, check the mailbox and again find it empty.

Maybe everything is broken, and she’s not getting any of my messages. Maybe she doesn’t check them. Maybe it is just too much for her and she has left me with nothing but silence, confusion, – and far too few beautiful memories of the times we had together… just like the others.
Maybe I did something wrong.

Maybe… this was a mistake. Maybe there was something past the smile that I never saw, the few times I was able to get up there to see her. An uncertainty, a fear…
Maybe I planted myself in her life too quickly and grew up too fast in the 47 years since she last saw me, one day a baby fresh from her womb, and the next, a man who has already lived a full life that she wasn’t allowed to be a part of.
Maybe, I did something wrong.

Maybe… I’m broken.

I’ve sent two letters now, another one will arrive for her shortly after thanksgiving. I’m thinking of sending a stamped & addressed envelope in this one. Maybe with a note to me with multiple choice answers.

Hi Casey!
Great to get your letters. I’m doing a)great b)pretty good c) busy, and I/I’m a)VERY sorry b) insanely busy with work c) have been feeling kind of down, but/and meant to write/call…

My ½ sister – her daughter, who I talk to about mom every month or so when we go to the archery range or dog park says not to worry; that maybe mom is feeling bad because she wasn’t able to be here for me, and she’s been a bit depressed lately anyways, not really being able to get around due to her recent hip transplants, or….or….

If I had a car I would have been up there long ago – maybe.
Probably. I understand the need & desire to be alone, but this has gotten to the point where it has just fucking become selfish.

It’s been 2 years & 6 days since the first time in my life I saw my Mother’s face. Could hold her in my arms. Could, at last, after 46 years… feel wanted. I found the heart that I belonged in.

I think of her every day, miss her – especially now, with the holidays here & looming, a time when we should be together – if even only through a phone call.

She always seemed so excited to see me in the few times I’ve been able to get up there.
Maybe she had a change of heart, and closed the part where I seemed to fit so perfectly before.
Maybe there will be a beautiful letter in a plain white envelope waiting for me in my mailbox tomorrow.

I don’t know.
Her answering machine ain’t talking.

THe Mind is a Dangerous Thing…

I left a message for my Father on Sunday – the first Father’s Day since we first spoke in either of our lives.

Since a few weekends ago when we first met, I haven’t heard from him. I sent a couple emails but received nothing back… and I had begun to assume that maybe he just wasn’t ready – or willing – to have a new son, a complete stranger, enter his world & life.
He already has a family.

Dutts (Dad) & me, 1st photo EVER!

Dutts (Dad) & me, 1st photo EVER!

Only a deafening silence from him since the message I left on Father’s Day, each day that passed, each hour, adding to the idea that maybe just the onemeeting was enough – that somehow I didn’t stand up to what he was expecting or hoping for, and wondering what if I did that differently, said or didn’t say that? How could I have been better for him? Did I not make him proud, or even interested?

What did I do wrong, or… what is wrong with me this time? Even the ones who paid for me don’t seem to want me in their lives, but that I am fine with.

I had just hoped for a new start, a new beginning with someone whose life wasn’t mutually torn apart in past actions… I was just hoping.
Still, at least I had a chance to meet him, to like him, to see where I came from – and am truly blessed to have found a Mother that truly seems overjoyed to see me in the rare times I can make it to her house – and I don’t have words to express how grateful I am for that, for her.

Besides, I can’t expect him to just open up and welcome a 46 year old son into his life out of the sky.

I left a message for my Father on Sunday. This afternoon I received an email from him, asking if I’m doing okay and wanting me to let him know if I end up in the hospital again – and again asking about my book & campaign.

This was also the first email he has signed “Love…”

Gods, the places my head goes sometimes…

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.

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…….

stronger than

The appetite is still there. I feel it haunting me, taunting me, poking its head out of the shadows now and again to either laugh at this thing that I’ve let myself become or look at me with sad eyes and wonder where the man with such a passion to play the game has gone.

I know where. It is in the flesh and blood under my fingernails every night, the poisoned blood dripping down my legs, my back, my arms, spreading. It is in the fear that brings, the morphine I need to take, the energy I don’t have.

the fear.

Somehow I need to beat this, as it has taken away who I remember being.

Who I still am – the part of me that is not flesh, or blood, or anything that this sickness can take away. In the mirror, if I look close, there is still a shine in my eyes, behind everything else. I’m still here, and I’m still strong as hell, as strong as I’ve ever been – nevertheless, I need to be stronger.

but it’s fucking hard.

I need to keep going. Need to somehow find the energy to continue with CultureFlux, beat this whateverthefuckitis down and let it know that my will is much stronger than it could ever be. I’ve got things to do, roads to travel, people to meet, know & share. I have thousands upon thousands of words that are waiting to be written, and I have hundreds of stages that I still need to be on…

Yeah, I miss performing like crazy. It’s time to do something about that as well – so many ideas, so many characters that I have floating in my imagination, straining to be let loose…

Gods, so much to fucking DO! …

Tomorrow I go for my first acupuncture treatment since those beautiful, tragic times with Michelle, which I’m looking forward to – I know I must have shitloads of energy blocked, so it should be pretty crazy… then Shadow Circus, and either directly after that or very early in the morning, heading out to Ocean Beach & the archery range. SO nice to have my bow back… hells, maybe after all this time she deserves a name. Why the hell not…

It will be a good weekend.

Maybe I’ll even remember how to write when I get to the Ocean again – it’s been far, far too long…

I’ll need to remember how to do that before I get back on the road, as well.