Weaving the Warrior

I’ve been away from the words for a while, but my mind has been far from idle. Now, it’s time again to start writing. It’s the only place I find solace, comfort, answers, as if I was sitting outside on an old wooden porch talking with an old man or woman who offered their wisdom, who made me think. It’s the old black man sitting in his rocking chair that I created as a child – someone to go to in my mind all the times I had no one else…

I’ve been thinking about what I want, what I have *always* wanted, and realizing now that, for the first time in a life that has been spent looking for something secure and solid yet at the same time being afraid of anything that was – I now have that. At least, I have the possibility and option to make what I want in this life finally happen – a creative business that knows no end to growth, that can make people feel better about themselves and empowers them, and through my past experiences, I have something unique to offer that no one else can – the strength I found inside of me from fighting for my dreams to fighting for my life – and that strength goes into every piece of jewelry I design. Through my business and the direction I see it going, I want to empower women. I’ve seen far too often women trying to make themselves as small and unnoticeable as possible, walking as quickly as they can with their arms wrapped around their chest and head hanging down, doing as much as they can to get into a fetal position while still moving forward.

I want them to remember the strength they have inside of them, to understand how powerful they truly are. I want them to celebrate their beauty, and hold their heads high.
I want people to be afraid of the women I dress.

I’ve taken a long look at my life, what it has been and what it could be, and a decision has been made.

I know where I’m going, and I’m going to call upon the same will, determination, and courage that I found when I was fighting like hell for my life in the hospice to make this into what I know it could be. What it WILL be.

It’s time to make my dreams into reality again.

 

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coming true

This timing isn’t working. All I can do when I sit down to write in the morning is think about how quickly I can get it done. There are so many stories I want to write, so much life I’ve lived, but they don’t fit neatly into a few small paragraphs. Into a small pocket of time. There is so much more I need to be doing, and so much more time than I had intended to have this ready by has already passed. just a few more things and every bit of focus I can dredge up to get them done before I’m able to take my art and life to a place that has only been a vague dream with no knowledge of how to get there – like the whisper of a pirate’s buried treasure with no map of how to get there.
At least, up until now.

Suddenly this lifelong glassy-eyed, “wouldn’t it be nice if someday” dream has an incredibly good chance of  becoming real… and I’m having an insanely difficult time believing it. It’s as if David Bowie called you out of the blue to explain that his death was just a hoax, and not to intrude but he would love it if you could find a nice two bedroom apartment where you & he could live for a while, and just live quiet lives hanging out, chatting over pints at local dive bars on the nights when you two weren’t at the studio while he cut another album – and by the way, do sing or play an instrument?

Okay, so that may be a bit unbalanced on the level of disbelief in the possibility of it happening, but you get the picture. The life I’ve considered nearly impossible to ever be mine is now so close to becoming reality that I’m absolutely terrified. More than finding my birth mother, more than dying. This is being able to do what I want, to have the freedom to go anywhere, to simply treat a friend to a nice dinner on a whim as we walk past an interesting looking restaurant – I can’t even remember how many years it’s been since I’ve been able to do something as simple as that…
and to be able to help. Having a car when someone needs a ride or to move, money if they need that, donations to animal shelters & sanctuaries, and eventually even a yard large enough for Rubes to run around & plan in – with her new friends.

I see the steps, have carefully thought about how it’s going to grow, and am ready as I can be for the inevitable challenges along the way.
I’ve learned quite a bit about how to work through adversity over this life I’ve lived.
Maybe it – the good and bad – maybe all that I’ve lived through has been preparation for this new adventure. Maybe it has all been trying to teach me not to be afraid, that one way or another, it will all work out – just like it always has.

All I need to do is get my ass in gear & get the things I need to get done, done – and maybe, come this Friday – four days from now – this impossible dream will get its first taste of reality as I receive the first wholesale order for my jewelry.

Either that, or David Bowie will call.

making it all true again

Saturday morning. Returning from the dirt & grass “back yard” of my apartment building where I took Ruby down to do what she needed, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as I let the sunshine & cool breeze caress my face, thinking of nothing as well as I could but instead thinking more of what’s to come in my life. If I let it. I get wrapped up in the past, the life of a young man that I created & was so deeply in love with, and… and I miss him.

I wonder where the person I was has gone, or if he’s gone at all. The memories of the magic come flooding back & wash over me as they so frequently do, when I would allow nothing to stand in my way & had the courage & motivation, when I knew that everything was possible and proved it to myself.

What has changed? Where does this fear come from? Is it even real, or just an excuse I tell myself in order to remain where I am, and gods, why the fuck would I want to do that? It’s known, but not comfortable. Familiar, but so is the insanity of a life where I didn’t know what would happen from day to day, sometimes – often – not even knowing where I would sleep. What has changed? Where did that young man, full of dreams and excitement for the unknown go?

Perhaps I’ve become jaded. Not to life and its magic, but to people. I’ve known the ones who are called “friends” for far too long now, and it’s time for new ones – ones who challenge me, who I look up to and who look to me when they are uncertain about things. People I respect & who respect me.
It’s interesting. The friends I made when I was travelling, wandering from place to place, city to city, and meeting people at random where I went – even when only met briefly, those are the people who are still strongest in my heart, who have earned a place and love there that will never fade.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be who I’ve become, and it is weighing heavily enough on my soul to change my life into who I can be. I’m doing something I love – creating art that I put my heart into, making people happy, and it is a gift that can change my life into the life I’ve always dreamed of… so it’s time to quit whining, quit wondering what happened to the broke vagabond whose adventure & excitement was simply trying to survive & eat, and chip away at the stone until I find the life that has always been hidden inside. There is a freedom waiting for me, just on the other side of these dreams…

The thing is, my biggest obstacle is that in order to become who I want to be, I need to get past the idea that the greatest adventures I’ve had so far have come from being poor and needing to be incredibly creative just to eat. Now, it’s time for me to turn that creativity into being… rich. Hells, even the word sounds strange, almost dirty, when I admit that’s what I want to be…

But I need to help others, and in order to do that, I need to help myself.

There are few things that light up my heart like bringing joy to others, and the only way to do that on the level I want to is to take care of my SELF financially, and to take this business of my art as far as it will go. I can already see how I can, already have plans, and it’s more possible than anything I’ve ever done in my life before.

It’s time to start making a whole new level of dreams come true. After all, this is what I fought so hard to stay alive for, what I’ve always wanted – and this life, right now, the only chance I have.

I’ve created an entirely new me before, and that brought more amazing things into my life – and more amazing people – than I ever would have dreamed being possible.
It’s time, now, to re-create myself again – to rid myself of what I don’t want to be & become, again, the person – the Warrior – who makes his dreams come true.

To Go.

To live each day as if it has been stolen from death. To wake up every morning knowing that the possibilities are infinite, to release myself from the burden of “how” & the anguish that I encounter every day. To grab Ruby & drive to the Sea, to the mountains, to my mother. To raise my voice and shout at the sky “I am alive, I am wonderful, I am free. I AM.

To feel again the roads underneath me, always looking forward at what I can be, not what I was. The past always takes from the present. To again realize the physicality of the world has its boundaries only if my will is weak, only if I am afraid. To again accomplish the things that the normal person would think impossible.

To go. The wheel lightly held in my hands, the windows down & wind cleansing away the past. To wonder in anticipation and excitement what lies around the next corner, over the next crest. To keep going and discover where I end up. Always forward. For a driver, a wanderer, a dreamer, not having these things takes away part of the soul.

I wake up every morning and say “I wish.” I wish I could take myself and Ruby to the Sea, to the mountains. I wish I could get to events & trade shows to show people the things I can make when my hands meet my heart. I wish I could help people get to where they need to go, visit others who can’t go anywhere. I wish I could visit my Birth Mother, and finally get to know the woman who gave me this life. I wish I could make hers better. I wish I could get in my car and just go, leaving the unforgiving brutality of the sidewalks behind me and again follow the wind. Again follow my dreams.

I wish.

I will.

Messages Beyond Consciousness

I’ve never had dreams such as these before. For the past three evenings every time I closed my eyes and slept I went back to the same setting.
Back to her.

From the beginning, most of the dreams were set at a small outdoor party in a strange & beautiful place. In a way it reminded me of The Enchanted Forest, where I lived for four months in Austin. It had a similar energy, where you knew you were home, and everyone there was, in some way, a friend. Family.
As only dreams can be, however, it had its touches of the surreal. From the fire pits with twisted & colorful glass sculptures spiking out of them, channeling the flames & giving of an eerie yet warm & welcoming light, to snails the size of footballs & other odd yet harmless crawling creatures, to… to art, terrain, trees & plants I can’t recall enough to properly explain. I only remember it was beautiful, and she was there.

In each dream, the people were the same. I knew them only there, in this other world, but they were friends or became friends when I showed up to this place. It seemed – seems – like a meeting place in another reality much more than it does a series of dreams.

I seem to remember a first dream, somewhat like a prologue that led to these, where it was a large gathering of people for an outside performance, and peformers accomplishing things that even had the power to make me gasp… but then, every dream after that until the last, it was just us, these people I knew but don’t – perhaps something of an after-party.

And that’s where I met her.

Shoulder length dark hair somewhere in-between curly & wavy, she stood a few inches shorter than me, the top of her head reaching just above my nose. Kind, compassionate, caring & with an inner strength she didn’t need to display, but I could feel it was there. From the moment I appeared in this place, when we caught each other’s eyes, we knew…

We made a point of sitting side by side every chance we got – laughing, talking, wanting to know more about each other and someties just looking into each other’s eyes & feeling the whisper of yearning behind them, but the conversations and moments we had were short – as each time we began to talk I was literally pulled away from her by some force, as if I was attached to an invisible cable. She would try to hold onto me, keep me next to her, but even with both of us digging in our heels I would be yanked away, dragged over whatever terrain there was, trying desperately to grab onto things & fight it & either break what was ripping me away from her or at least hold to an anchor it couldn’t overcome, but everything I grabbed would be uprooted, torn, and and I would be dragged away from her – not out of sight, but out of reach.

The dream would end in frustration & I would wake up shortly after, but for three days, every time I drifted off to sleep for the night or a late nap, I found myself there again, in this other world, this place beyond the daily mundane consciousness we think we know, and we would find each other.

After one of these “dreams” I realized when I woke up that I had never had a chance to ask her name before I was pulled away. She was only a face, an energy that matched mine, and someone I knew I had loved far beyond the dreams or realities or time of what we think we know. I made a conscious note to myself that, if I could get back there, I would ask her what it is so I could hopefully carry it back with me in my mind the next time I woke up.

The last dream was in a futuristic setting – the space we had been in before was gone, and now I can’t recal enough to explain it, only that it didn’t have the peace of the other dreams. It seemed like most of the people in this place were lost or looking for something they couldn’t find, and that many of them were being pulled away as I had been in the four or five other dreams I found myself in, but still, somehow, I managed to find her – and this time, I wasn’t pulled away.
As we talked there was a sad look on her face as she told me that, for some reason she wasn’t certain of, it couldn’t work between us – and as I stood there with her, confused and wondering why, she started sliding away, a sorrowful & forlorn look in her eyes… and she was gone.

Her name is Constance Sebastian.

These weren’t “normal” dreams, by any means. I had never experieinced anything like these before, where I could take conscious thought into a dream and return to where I was before, continuing the story.

I have my own theories about the meaning of this, but I would also love to hear what other people think – and I think I need to. There is a somewhat obvious message that I can see, but I would sincerely appreciate other interpretations of it – ones not possibly (likely) clouded by my own judgements or insecurities, thoughts that aren’t veiled by my self’s uncertainties of my Self.

So whatcha got for me?

to deny my mind for its own good

I didn’t want to go out tonight. More because of habit than anything else I can see, where if I’m feeling a bit tired I knew it would get worse, to the point of dragging my weary body like a sack of dead meat, saying no farewells or ‘see you later’s. That’s easy when it’s a party or the occasional free show, but this was different. I bought the ticket with birthday money from a very old friend. She knows me and my situation well enough to insist that I spent it on living instead of survival.

So I bout this ticket, entrance paid to Odd Salon, a storytelling event. As reluctant as I was (yet try not to be), I had to go. Hells – I wasn’t feeling that horrible.
I was running late though, so after a quick walk with RuBeast and the quick decision on which hat I would wear, I was out the door, walking to the DNA Club.

The fresh air, the walking energized me. I took a different route – one I have walked many times but less frequently, enjoying the very small pieces of things I hadn’t seen before.

And then I was there.

I had no idea what to expect, this being my first time at this event, but I like it like that. I love going anywhere that surprises me in any way. It never has been bad – I can adjust to anything. Perhaps that is something I carry from my past – never knowing who i was, so I am able to become anyone. Is it a blessing?

It can be.

The stories were wonderful though much less personal for the speaker than I had thought they would be. I learned a lot. I have decided that Josephine Baker is my new hero. I don’t think I’ve ever had one before, but ultimately I knew I wasn’t there solely for the stories.

Raven, Joy, Bronica – people I see so seldom but still remain dear were there, and seeing them, talking with them was wonderful – especially the brief chat I had with Raven on dreams & art – and some big words that I can’t remember. She’s sending me the full notes from when she did her talk though, and I’m excited to read them…

I’m getting tired.

After the show, a good ‘how do ya do’ with Aaron (#SFSlim), and plans to meet up with Raven and he sometime soon.

The ending of this sucks. Sorry about that, but fuck it – I’m beat. I was before I began… but I needed to begin, and more importantly, finish.

Now, as I begin to fall asleep at my laptop, I give thanks to all the wonderful old friends I saw to night for making the night shine brighter.

And I give thanks to sleep, for it has eluded and tormented me for days. I only hope that this time it is serious, and means to let me find solace in the dreams I dream at night.

I’m having many more of them now that the false dream of morphine is gone. There’s some beautifully insane subconscious being awakened again…

but how insane is it really?

Good night. Make good dreams.

and I rejoice

The San Francisco heat wave, our yearly week of Summer, finally breaks & I quietly rejoice. I am not made for hot weather – or at least hot weather where there isn’t a clean ocean or river or lake or large puddle to go swimming or stomping in.

September is knocking on the door of October, and if I had to choose a favorite, I think October would be it. I remember the way some of the places I have lived changed their color, the reds & oranges & hints of stubborn green flooding the air & ground as if the world was on fire, sacrificing itself in some sacred way to become the stark, haunting & beautiful bare branches of Winter.

The energy of Change is in the air. It finds its way into my blood – and my memory.

Twelve years & four days ago I decided to follow my dreams, whatever they were & whatever it took. Shortly after I was working with The Dresden Dolls & my life changed forever.

It was on this day that my beloved Bean was hit by a train in Austin & killed, a few hours and eleven years ago.

Ten years less a week ago I received an email from Mike asking if I was interested in becoming a permanent part of the Vau De Vire family.

Six years & eight days ago I first stepped into the hospice, walking in easily enough but rapidly dying one week later as my body began to shut down.

Five years & a month ago I did what the doctors thought impossible, and walked out alive.

Four years & a month ago I talked with my Birth Mother for the first time in my life.

Nov. 23, 2013

Two years & a week ago I first spoke to my Birth Father, who until shortly before that had no idea I existed.

And now I feel the story of this man should – will – change again. I’ve already begun to kick a nine-year morphine addiction & plan to have that entirely behind me in less than a week… yet I feel that is far from enough. I want more. Monumental change. I thrive on the shit. It’s my lifeblood, my constant need. When life gets too comfortable, too predictable, I have a bad habit of stepping into a dangerous dance to bring back, to summon life’s music – and far too much is dangerous these days.

The dreams I still have, but the energy to reach for them is as scarred as my liver. I will keep moving forward, doing my best to rip through the barriers, the walls both inside & out. Both physical & mental.
The failed Kickstarter shook me. It hit hard and I fell.
It’s time to rise again. Dust myself off and move on.
I will keep moving forward.
I will live to make my dreams come true.

I see the sun shining outside, feel the sharp chill of the breeze that cuts through my window. Today will be cooler…

and I rejoice.

behind the smile

Where do you say what you can’t?

They tell you to be buoyant. They tell you to be enthusiastic, strong, confident in the words you write, the words you share and hope the world will see. When people visit or hear about my Kickstartercampaign, they don’t want to read my woes or worries.

For now, I put on a plastic smile like a McDonald’s server and don’t show the terror. For now I don’t say what I am truly feeling.
People don’t want their bubble popped. They want to feel confident in my project, to be lifted higher in the buoyancy of my words, as forced & manufactured as they may be at times.

I want to make them happy. I do care. I try to give them what they look for, and I hope by writing the words I will also be lifted.

I can’t write “If this campaign isn’t successful I’ll probably die before the book is finished”. As true as it is, threatening people to support my campaign probably wouldn’t go over too well, y’know?
Still, boiling in this head is the knowledge of what will happen if this campaign doesn’t succeed. The things that only I have known.

Until now.

THIS is where I can scream. Most the people I know on Facebook don’t take the time to read anything over a few sentences, regardless of what they say. Here I find a sanctuary, either real or imagined. On WordPress.
This is where we ALL can be real, be vulnerable. This is the shower we sing in.

My book is all I have anymore. All there is left in me to give. Due to the way this disease works and what it’s done to me I can’t really perform, can’t work. I don’t know the days I’ll be too exhausted or in too much pain to do more than pass the day in bed. Though those days are less, they still happen – and the rest are filled with such a growing hatred for the life I’ve been living since I was released from the hospice that I know with certainty that it’s something I can’t go on with.

The book is/was/will/would have given me a reason, a new breath, a purpose. To go back to living each day worried about getting herbs, to go back to each week with the only thing I can focus on is begging more friends for money to afford them is no life at all.

Every waking moment I’ve had the thought of how my life would change to keep me going, to soon be able to live a life that matters, to have a purpose for each breath.
To enjoy life. This is what the success of the campaign would offer me.

I have envisioned myself a thousand times or more waking up for the first time in years with the excitement of living, of having something I needed to do besides beg for more money. I would sit in random café’s writing, sipping coffee for the flavor and remembering with clarity the amazing life I have lived, smiling to myself as I lifted my head & turned to look out the window and knowing that I’m doing something good. That I once again had value.

I would sit at my Mother’s dining room table, facing the back yard wo I can watch Ruby play, run in and out of the door with the dog my mother and I would find for her in a rescue. She says she wants one and I could get it for her, help her take care of it. Help take care of my Mother. She would come home and ask me about my book, and I would share the stories I had written that day. She would get to know me and I her. We have 48 years to catch up on.

I would hold my head up, a smile glinting off the green in my eyes and hinting on my lips. People would know again. I would know myself again. This is why I am. This is me. I would be full and in love with life. It’s been so long, so long – but I woke, rang the bell above my grave and purpose came to dig me out. I sucked the fresh air into my lungs and this empty heart was filled.

They would read my stories, my life laid bare, naked for them to see and they would see themselves. They would find the parts, the lines that made them stop & look up with a sudden spark of understanding that it only took a decision, that the past didn’t matter and all the smallness they felt would be washed away in the ink of my words staining their face with a determined grin. They would mark the pages, underline sentences, read it again and maybe buy a copy for a friend or two. They would write to me and I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

This campaign needs to succeed. I need to write my life, give it away.

The heart inside of me is weary, vacant. I say I love people hoping that in the spoken words I will remember how. The smile on my face is an advance taken from when I can feel it again, when my heart fills with the knowledge that my life has changed from the barren desert it has become. Beg for money, get herbs. I’ve been kept alive by the possibility of the book, the knowledge that when the campaign succeeded it would be written. Take it away and I have nothing I need to live for and I need a reason.

I try to write with an empty heart and find all I can hear are the sucking noises like those a straw makes in a cup that’s been drained by a ravenous thirst.

Also haunting me is a thought.
In September 2010 I walked happy & full of energy into the hospice/respite that I was supposed to spend only three months in. Up until that moment I worked every day on my magazine, setting up interviews, making the site better, writing reviews and each morning stepping out of my motor-home with a smile. Even though my legs were bleeding, swollen, leaking the poisoned fluid my liver couldn’t process and in extreme pain, I still walked with purpose and pride to the café knowing there was something I was needed for.

I wasn’t able to work on CultureFlux in the hospice. I had been doing fine (relatively speaking) before I walked in, living in poor conditions with no money, food, and only enough water to wash my face in the morning – but I had a reason to go on. I loved being able to help other performers through the magazine and I loved giving them a voice.

Within a week my body began to shut down. My skin began falling off, hair coming out in clumps, and I was barely able to walk. One week.

What will happen if the campaign doesn’t succeed? When I don’t have the dream of writing & publishing the book to keep me alive anymore?

The herbs have kept me healthy, but it’s purpose that keeps me alive. From the edge of death in the hospice to the 4.5 years following, I had two things to live for: Finding my Birth Mother and giving this book to the world, hoping my life will inspire theirs.

I have found my Birth Mother.
For anyone who reads this, thank you for letting me vent, and don’t get me wrong – it’s not always like this inside my head. There are still many times when I realize it’s only the 6^th day with 5x that more to go, and anything can happen. Hell, Oprah could see it and announce it to the world! It could go viral on Youtube! Anything! The most important thing I need to remember is to NEVER GIVE UP, even as much as I want to and as hard as it can be to dredge up the energy to go on. WE DO NOT GIVE UP.

http://bit.ly/NGGKickASS

I’m going to keep on fighting like hell for the success of this campaign, to make this dream a reality and again have my heart filled with purpose and passion.

It IS possible, and I’ve come from behind to achieve my goal more times than I can count. I mean hell – isn’t that what we do with EVERY dream we realize? We are WARRIORS, and this is what we do!

For anyone interested what all the above is about, here’s a link to my Kickstarter campaign! I wouldn’t mind at ALL if you supported it by making a pledge and/or shared it as far & wide as you can – you would be my new favorite person!
Just – don’t include the above, okay? (winky face)

And when you go there, please take a second to check out the update – I was *amazed* with what people said and want the world to see it too!

To all out there in WordPress land – thank you for being here for me. And thank you for not charging for my therapy.
Any comments of support or suggestions on how

 

 

 

Through the Fear

There are times as the moment gets closer where the courage to go on vanishes.
I try to find it – on the pages of books I’ve marked, in things I’ve written before, in memories of who I was and what I had inside when I was laying in bed dying.

Sometimes I find it. Sometimes not.

Yet still I go on, even though I know full well what’s at stake. What the cost will be if I fail.
I go on because I can’t live like this anymore, with the only thing keeping me alive being the struggle to stay alive. The magick and enthusiasm I once had for that is long gone, and has now become little more than a chore wrapped in futile redundancy. If trying to stay alive is the only reason to live, where do I find the inspiration to go on?

I know what the answer is, and that’s why I’m terrified. The book, my book, is what I need to break me out of this prison. What I was meant to do, perhaps even why, against the most insane odds, I was kept alive.

I can help people. Inspire them, entertain them, make them laugh – maybe even cry. I might even be able to change their life, and in doing so, change mine, back to a life filled with purpose, filled with value. Filling my heart again.

And that is why I’m afraid. There’s always the chance that my Kickstarter campaign won’t reach its goal, and if it doesn’t – nothing happens. I hang my head & try to go on, not having what is needed to get the book done or published, instead going back to my main job being begging for money for the herbs I need… but I don’t think even the best of herbs will help without the enthusiasm to keep living.

I know I shouldn’t be writing this. I need to be cheerful, upbeat, inviting – not depressing – but this is me, and many years ago I promised that I wouldn’t sugar-coat anything I write, I won’t bend to try accommodate the increasingly fragile, absurdly easily offended people whose “individual” thoughts are only what everyone else is saying on Facebook.

Fuck that.

This is going to happen. I will succeed. I’ve never given up on a dream before…

and I’m not going to start now.

I will find the courage, or if I don’t – I’ll keep going without it. Life is far too short & valuable to forsake the person I am supposed to be – the person I lost in the 6 year fight to stay alive.

I’m tired of fighting. It’s time to instead let this happen, and again know that whatever happens is exactly what should happen.

It’s time to trust the Universe again.

We MUST keep moving forward.

Too Far to Fail Now

Twelve years ago I jumped off a cliff & gave up everything to follow my dreams. I lost my apartment, my car, slept on couches & went hungry – but refused to go back. (As long as my dog was fed!)
Then, my wings unfolded.

I did things. I had incredible adventures. I helped people overcome their self-doubt & perform in front of hundreds of people. Volunteered for Katrina refugees, was one of the first street performers in New Orleans after The Storm. Created an award-winning magazine, produced events, did more things. Met amazing people.
Fell in love.

Then my body decided to die. My unrealized dreams & I disagreed with it, & The Battle was on… and now I’m writing a book about ALL of it.

This book is going to rock your world. Hopefully, it’s going to rock THE world.

It won’t likely be like anything you’ve read before. It’s an authentic, raw, funny, honest, moving and inspiring story of my past twelve years, and how I turned a mundane, unremarkable existence into a beautiful, useful & helpful life. A life that I am finally proud of…

This book is about remembering how to dance with life. About not letting life happen to you anymore, but making it happen foryou. It’s for the dreamers, the believers, those that thrive on the hope of fulfilling the potential we’ve all been blessed with.
And it’s about love.

I just need to get it out to the world.

I’ve come too far to fail.

My Kickstarter launches in 13 DAYS. July 6th, Wednesday.
I’ve crunched numbers, & I fear that I don’t have contact with enough people to succeed in reaching my goal.

I’m going to need your help – not only to change my life, but most importantly inspire others to live theirs.

LET’S CHANGE THE WORLD!

Sign up on my new site – save time & get updates you would otherwise miss! (No flooding – promise.)

www.kseaflux.com

LOVE YOU.

A Valued Life

I move forward, taking care of things so I have the ability to do more.
It seems to be the way, at least in part, that this whole “Life” thing works – but as always, I’m just guessing.

I heard an interesting analogy once, which I try to carry with me so as to remember not to be afraid. It said that each person, if they drew a stick figure of themselves on a piece of paper, then a circle around it, that inside that circle could represent the experiences they’ve had, the challenges they’ve overcome, and the growth they have achieved. Frequently, there will be something that occurs outside of that circle, and that if they step up, reach out, and find a way to take care of that challenge as well, then their circle of experience grows to encompass that which was previously unknown as well.

This makes sense, as with each challenge, if approached well, causes us to grow in a way that is so much more than that one challenge, as we need to face all the doubts inside of us in order to reach out and take care of it and move on.

With that in mind, and the memories of the challenges I’ve met, makes me realize that I can do anything.

I just need to remember that as I wake up and look towards what each day may bring – the beauty, and the pain, there is nothing that can compare with what I’ve already experienced and stepped through. My life has been amazing, and has given me all the tools I need to progress further, to always grow, to let my goals & dreams come to fruition.

There is so much I want to do.

I want to give everything I am, and everything I will become, so that I can help in the way I’ve been helped before, and offer the wisdom I’ve had to find for myself – when there was no one around to offer me theirs.
I want to help soothe the people who hurt; to give them validation, and a way to look at it, find the strength inside themselves, and walk through it.

Like walking through a waterfall.

Dry off. Move on. There is a world waiting for you. A world that needs you.

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself but to your own estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any minute.” – Marcus Aurelius

I am focused on my book project so much lately because that is, in many ways, what will help me to achieve the dreams I have – to entertain, to inspire, to help, to live a life of value – and show others how to do the same.
To live a life they love.
It’s amazing how much easier life is when you simply change the way you look at it.

Help.
Create.
Travel.
Have an incredibly rich and even more satisfying life.
Kick ass, and
Be able to take care of my Mother.

These are the things I want in life.

Of course, I wouldn’t mind becoming a world famous author either…
But for the time being, I’ll be thrilled with just being able to afford to publish my book.

Jumping Into Dreams

Twenty Six Days. July 6^th, 2016. Wednesday.

It’s time.

It’s time for me to stop looking over the edge, stepping back, taking a deep breath & counting down then “waitwaitwait that isn’t perfect, what if-how do I- the words aren’t working!”…

and Finally. Just. JUMP!

I’ve been working towards this for such an agonizingly stupid long time, digging up every little bit of information I could find on how to do it “right”, and filling my poor little head with more information than I could ever use, while simultaneously giving me plenty of time to brew up an Olympic-sized pool of self-doubt as well.

It’s been a productive time – just in the wrong direction, at least for the most part. I mean – there *has* been forward movement, it was just kind of like hacking my way through a jungle with a spoon.
I’m weary of the doubt. Tired of beating myself up. It’s time to make this dream – the largest dream I have *ever* reached for – into reality.
One way or another, I will make this happen.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ( <wavy sitcom flashback things )

I remember when I started my magazine in 2007. I was performing with the premier local “circus”,  The Vau de Vire Society ( vaudeviresociety.com ) pretty frequently, breathing fire, stilt walking, character parts here & there, but wanted to do more – something that an old man like me could do.
One week I was looking around for circus & performance themed magazines to learn, get ideas & steal concepts from, and when I didn’t find any anywhere, I decided to create one – and the week after that I was teaching myself how to build a website & learning how to interview people – by actually interviewing people.

I didn’t care that I didn’t know how to do *anything* that I needed to know to create an online magazine. It was something that could bring people together, give them ideas, inspire them, and show anyone that was interested but uncertain that it was alright to go ahead and do it.

Back then, I knew how to jump. It was the ONLY way I could do things – otherwise I would always be far to terrified, and instead of so many dreams made into reality – I would have nothing but an unbearable load of “someday” weighing down my heart.

As each day passes, as the countdown continues, I’ll happily admit – that even though I’m absolutely *terrified* of not reaching my goal, the thrill & excitement of this massive new adventure far surpasses and cancels the terror out – for the most part.

I spent most of last night with my thoughts bouncing around like popcorn instead of sleeping, and for the first time in a while was able to squash the worry and concern that was fighting for control with thoughts of what it will feel like to reach my project goal; how it will feel to be able to dive into writing my story with all my heart, how it will feel to be able to stop having to ask for help to afford the herbs to keep me alive – and how it will feel, if it happens, to again help & inspire people who need it – but this time on a much larger scale.
I imagine the beauty of talking with each one who might reach out to me, of sharing what I have learned through living the improbable life I have – and again feeling like I’m doing something besides just surviving… that I’m being of value to others.

There’s no turning back this time – it’s happening, ready or not – and I’m praying to ALL the gods & goddesses, to coffee, to my health, to my dog and to Tom Waits, David Bowie, Vonnegut, Prince & Bukowski – that this project – the largest dream that I have EVER reached for – will be everything I see in my mind it can be. It’s going to be FAR more than just a book…
…and it’s Time To Jump.

Join me. Check out www.kseaflux.com for more of the story and much more cool stuff – and please, sign up for the mailing list! I promise I’ll only send the coolest & most important stuff to you & won’t flood your inbox.

ALSO – I *love* hearing what you think, what you’re doing, knowing more about *you*. I adore getting comments, connecting, or just saying “HI, nice to “meet” you!”
I’m a bit too busy right now to spend time anywhere but where I really *should* be spending it, on the web, but if you comment here or email me through my site, I promise  that I’ll get back to you as soon as possible – even if it’s just to say thanks for letting me know you’re reading.
And please – this is going to take a LOT of support – please share, repost, make fliers, hire those skywriting airplanes, send ALL your ravens, and get the word out there! I would be eternally grateful, and maybe even skywrite my thanks to *you* in the sky!

This thing is HAPPENING, so sign up on the site to make certain you know about it – and let’s show them the importance of the dreamers!

 

out of my head

I sit up in my bed, comforter pulled up to just above my stomach, drinking the tea that I just made. Ruby sleeps beside me, snoring gently off & on. It’s just after 6:00am & there is a rare serene quiet to the Tenderloin neighborhood of San Francisco – no sirens, yelling, horns honking… even the crow’s abrasive caw-shout isn’t heard.

I adore the solitude of this part of the day, & try to be a part of it if the night before has been kind enough to allow me to. Of course, sometimes it isn’t, especially these days with all the physical crap I have to deal with, sometimes enough to wake me up, sometimes enough to prevent me from sleeping when I intend to in the first place – but today, this morning, is mine.

I’ve been thinking a lot about perfectionism. It’s something that I’m cursed with, and has for a large part of my life really screwed with things I wanted to do, going so far as to prevent them from happening altogether.
Without question it’s why this whole book project has taken so long to come to fruition, with me (aka “this asshole”) ripping things apart, re-doing & incessantly re-writing the copy for the site & never being satisfied – and it can’t go on like this. Not if I want to continue, and SURE as hell not if I ever want to finish my book.

I look further into the need for everything to be perfect & find that it could be based – most liely IS based – in fear. If I keep on changing things, I never have to show it to the public and am still able to say that “I’m working on it”.

I need to work on that. I need to change that.
If I don’t, then my life & all I want to do will be entombed in frustration, ripping away the joy I remember when I *did* finish things whether they were perfect or not in my eyes – performances, my magazine – hell, even my Living Statue garb when I began. I still can’t believe I started doing it without the frock coat & in my Dr. Martens – tattooed arms bare, black boots, poorly done makeup – but I DID it. I got out there. I was appreciated, tipped well, and hells- it worked.

I need to remember that lesson.

Things will never be as perfect as I want them to be, so I need to stop needing them to be. I need to remember that it is only a foolish fear that I created inside my mind to help avoid the time when it will need to be shown to the world.

Some people will like it, others won’t – whatever it is. Whatever it is, even the smallest dream that I make happen is worth FAR more than the largest dream that I never attempt.

That last part is from a quote I read somewhere, and it fits perfectly into this… but there’s also one of *my* quotes that may work well in this case: “Never let logic stand in the way of your dreams.”

My life began when I started making my dreams come true. The first time it happened & many times after that, they were small dreams (if there actually *is* such a thing) – they took little effort or fear – but the feeling that washed over me when I made them into a reality was – and will ALWAYS be – incomparable in the sensation of strength & accomplishment it gave me, and each one reinforced me with the confidence to reach for more…

 

…but then I got sick. Somehow, although it was the greatest & most difficult thing I have *ever* done, coming out of that – saving my life when no one else could, and literally dancing out of the front door of the Hospice (which admittedly was more of a stylish shuffle aided by my cane) – for some reason I don’t see that as an accomplishment.

Sitting here thinking about why… perhaps part of the reason is because although I did what many people believed unlikely or even impossible, I focus on more of how the sickness ripped my life apart – the exquisite life I had built, full of excitement, love, adventure & value – and in many ways continues to cage it as only a ghost of what it was.

I whine about how much it took away from me, instead of how much it gave and allows me to give to others… I had never thought of that until now; not even the idea that it didn’t feel like something good I did – and as a result was likely at least partially responsible for breaking the habit I had built of fearlessly realizing my goals & dreams.

unconscious for nearly two weeks. Hooked up to All of the fancy machines, and the one that goes “BEEP!”

Great. Something else I need to work on – but at least now it has a name, and the beginning of an understanding. That is pretty damn cool. I know where I should be looking now – instead of before when it was like trying to fix the brakes on a motorcycle by adjusting the throttle.

It’s now just flipping a few switches in my head from self-pity to gratitude that I’m still alive. Shouldn’t be that difficult, right?

It’s LONG past time to start making dreams come true again.
And simply through writing it out of my head, I just may have found the reason why it’s been so godsdamned difficult for me.

ON   WITH   THE   SHOW!