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.

Only a small piece of it all…

I understand now how people in my position are pushed to become thieves.
Believe me, I’ve considered it – but almost never seriously.
Almost.
But it comes down to this: Money is such a minuscule piece of the whole.
Yesterday I deposited my disability check of $434.70 – what I am supposed to somehow survive on for the entire month after rent is paid. (The service takes out rent & hands me a check for the balance.) The next few days are usually the best- the “adulting” I feel in being able to pay bills, get food & treats for Ruby, order herbs I’m almost out of, do laundry – and look at all the amazing events happening, fantasizing about actually going out and seeing people.
And sometimes, I get to go to a cafe. I stand in line, look up at the board for something that sounds good but isn’t stupid expensive ($4.50 is my limit – until now an unconscious one) – and as I wait for the coffee to be made look for a small table, just for me & my laptop. Preferably somewhere in a corner, where I can look at people, not be noticed, and in sacred anonymity, write. 

The money goes quickly. I’m always behind in my PG&E bill, always short on herbs. I do my best to make sure I have the most important ones. I know exactly what happens when I run out and have the blood stains on my sheets & clothes to remind me.

This is why I ask for help. How I am able to tear down all that I have believed myself to be, push the weight of pride and the determination to do it myself aside, and find a shaking voice that is able to speak up.
I can’t describe how amazed and grateful I am that you’ve stuck with me for this long. You have not only helped me stay healthy physically, but *mentally* as well.

But this is where I have no choice but to ask for help again. I’ve been doing well and getting noticeably BETTER over the months with your support, and I simply can *not* get well without it. After bills & a small order of dog food & herbs, I now have .59 cents to last me for the ENTIRE month. PLEASE, help if you can – in any way.
Paypal – ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com.
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We CAN win this. I can not do it without you.
Paypal addy is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com
It’s a terrifying & sickening vulnerability, as every time I ask for you to help prevent me from going back into the hospital again, you always have the option to say “no” – or to rip my heart to pieces, ignoring these words completely.
Looking out through my eyes, it’s hard not to see the absence of financial support the same as taking away emotional support as well – as since I almost never see any of you, and the only times you say anything to me are in the messages in Paypal or GoFundMe. It usually is all I ever see that shows you still care.
I know how pitiful that sounds and I hate it.

Your support extends FAR beyond only financial gifts, and each time it lessens the weight of this daily struggle. It lightens *my* spirit.
Paypal addy – ksea@cultureflumagaxine.com
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After picking up the check & depositing it in my bank, I took Rubes to Civic Center so she could run around & we could play in the *gorgeous* sunny day (as much as my bruised back let me), then we went to Walgreen’s so I could pick up Epsom salts for my back & more Band-Aid’s. When I don’t have the proper herbs, my legs itch like hell & I scratch the paper-thin flesh off in parts. The band-aid’s help prevent infection a little…

Then home to pay as many bills as possible, order a couple weeks of the most important herbs (as well as dog food) – and that left me with just a little under $100 for the month for nutritious food for me, herbs to help itching (less important but still needed) and the always essential coconut water. Normal water doesn’t hydrate or process, making legs & abdomen bloat & swell.

Today Chuck was kind enough to pick me up at the hospital & we made stops to pick up liver & fruit at the cheap Mission groceria – but at that stop I checked my account balance.
Expecting to have around $60-$70 still, my heart sank when I saw that my total balance was $5.70, and $6 cash in pocket.

I had no choice to put all the good fruit back & keep only the liver, so I would have enough to get wet food for Rubes & a few liters of coconut water at Trader Joe’s to last 4 days – if I don’t drink as much as I should.

Okay – Im fighting to keep my eyes open, and losing. I’m frustrated, & going to sleep. PLEASE help in any way you can. This isn’t a frivolous request, & what you do when you support this fight is nothing less than help keep me out of the hospitals – and quite simply, keep the spirit of this warrior fighting to stay alive.

You guys are incredible. Please keep believing in me.

Love love love,
~ Casey

PS – PLEASE don’t hesitate to share, like, and keep bumping this around so it can be seen.
Thank you!

Enough is Enough/The Scourge

(PLEASE take a minute & read to the end to realize how far we’ve come. Thank you! ~ C)

I would much rather be talking about something like my book sales (soon!), amount of people the book has helped, or Bernie’s lead in the polls when I say “It just keeps getting bigger!” – and I have little doubt that soon I will be able to say it about those things, but unfortunately in this case, I’m not. I’m talking about something so revolting, so unnecessary, and something that could either continue to be the scourge of my existence, haunting my every moment with it’s curse & making every possible romantic interest run away screaming in revulsion – or simply be fixed in a couple hours, letting me live the life I (we) have fought so hard for over the past years.

Yeah, I’m talking about my godsdamned umbilical hernia. It grows. It laughs at me. Even the old beat up truss I use can’t contain it anymore. (It keeps slipping down.)

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It now has a new addition – a permanent “band aid”. Due to the constant chafing on my shirt, regardless of how tight I make the truss each morning, I have an open wound the size of a dime that simply refuses to heal… but there MAY be good news, just around the corner.

In 6 days, I FINALLY go in for a surgery consultation, and this is the point where they decide if they will perform the surgery necessary to make everything right again.

It’s absurd how (I’ve let) something as dumb as this has taken so much control over my enjoyment of life.

There are a few reasons that they wouldn’t agree to perform the surgery as far as I know, which are too much fluid in my abdomen, platelets so low that they would be afraid that I’ll never stop bleeding until the pump shuts down, or they’re curious to see what it looks like when a person’s guts come popping out of his belly like one of those “party popper” things with the streamers that we shoot in people’s hair.
I’m pretty sure we can cancel out the later though, as hell – this is SFGH, and I’m SURE they’ve seen their fair share of guts not neatly tucked into the body where they belong.

In order to have the best chance of not having either of the other two make them deny my surgery however (brief pause for AWWWwww! Ruby’s having a tail-wagging dream right now!)

Anyway, as I was saying, in order to have the best chance of getting my intestines back where they belong so I don’t have to deal with the daily physical pain & all the other stuff – I need your help. Again.

I’ve been taking over twice the dose of the herbs that will help (due to my poorly functioning liver & mal-absorption of everything, it’s necessary) and ran out, just a couple days ago. Already, the fluid is building up, my abdomen & legs are beginning to swell, and the pain and pressure builds.

As I’m sure you can imagine, even if you’re on of the few who haven’t been there, it’s horribly demeaning to still have to ask for help. Through most of my life, as broke as I’ve been, I’ve almost always – ALWAYS found a way to make it work out, save for a few past emergencies. Even though each time I feel like I take every bit of my dignity & throw it out the window – I have no choice other than to plead for you to help me in this fight again.

My paypal addy is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com

The good news is that we ARE winning! There are quite a number of herbs that I’ve been able to cut down on or quit altogether, and the physical difference in me from just a couple of months ago is incredible. I have more energy, can put my shoes & socks on without needing to contort myself in strange ways just to reach my feet, and no more pools of blood or fluid from scratching off the tiniest scab. You ARE making a HUGE difference in my life, and for that, I will be eternally grateful.

So please, if you can, I need your financial support to get rid of this damned hernia! We’re getting so incredibly close to what you’ve all been helping me reach for – let’s keep on making this dream come true – and THANK YOU!

That address once again – ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com

Love love love,

~ Casey

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To do it right…

I’ve been playing a dangerous game. Cutting corners, taking far less than I know I should in order to stretch it all just a little bit further, keeping a close eye on it all, noticing everything that was okay or about to go wrong, and hoping it wasn’t too late to fix.

I watched my legs begin to swell, and instead of taking more herbs to fix it I opened them up, draining the fluid that way. A tiny hole in each ankle a couple hours before I went to sleep, that’s all – but the fluid that was built up continued to flow all through the night, saturating the towels I had stacked underneath. Even when I was woken up with my legs cramping I let them continue until the morning, when I finally put a small drop of super-glue on each to staunch the flow. It’s the only thing that works, when the skin begins to dry & wrinkle & feel thin as paper.

It’s a foolish way to achieve what I needed to, I know that – but it kept me from needing to ask for help at least a little bit longer.

Now, I need to. Nearly ALL of my herbs are down to the last, and I have no money to get the foods I need or more coconut water for effective hydration.

Again, I need help – but hey, even though I did it the wrong way, at least it’s been over a month since I last asked!

Meanwhile, I’m continuing to work diligently on what I can give you – my book. Right now, it’s the only way I can repay the energy you share with me – but I AM getting better, and as I continue to – as I continue to work on getting my strength & health back, there will be more & more things I will be able to offer…

So if you can, please help. That leaky-leg crap – well, I’d like to avoid it in the future & do this *RIGHT.

I can’t thank you enough for all of your help – but I’m sure as hell trying, even if it’s simply passing it forward by giving old clothes & boots & blankets to the people who need them in my neighborhood… I do what *I can.

My paypal addy is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com – and whether you can or can’t help, that doesn’t matter – I’m still going to love you.
To your health! (& mine),

~ Casey (kSea flux)

Four Years Later I Again Meet Death at the Table – and Laugh.

So incredibly thankful EVERY day, *for* every day. Not just when they tell me to be on this gluttonous holiday farce.
So overwhelmingly grateful for *you*…

I have a tremendous amount to be thankful for, and each day – each *breath*, it grows.
I must admit though – at this very moment, there is a bit of apprehension sticking it’s fingers into the sockets of my synapses, as with the recent change from the prescription poison diuretics to purely herbs, I’m going through the herbs VERY quickly, don’t have $ for more *or* the specific foods I need that help – and they will take at (usually) a couple weeks to catch up to full force.

(I stopped the prescriptions because my promise to take them during the hep-c drug was fulfilled, but during that time they ripped iron from my anemic blood, gave me the gift of all the cramping & hellish sleepless nights, and jus generally – not good stuff.)

Getting Back into the Swing of Things & wiping the nervous sweat from my brow…

Since 11/17, I’ve gained 19.4lbs in fluid, mostly in my abdomen, and though I *do* have some milder herbs I was taking with the script pills – I need to get the things that will help me step the hell up.
This is what I was talking about in all of those overly verbose posts that I can’t blame you for not reading – lack of stability. This is the time when it is the most fragile. Where every single action I take – or don’t – could either bring it out on the other side healthy, shining, & ready to take back the world… or end it.

Thumbing my nose at Death

Soon, the FurBeast & I are off to Victoria’s (Cowboygirl) sis’s house for a semi-small gathering, and if her sister is anything like her – I suspect a huge, “take care of everyone” feasting.
In the front of my mind is the last time I spent TG with Vic, at her house. Four years ago.

On November 27th, 2011, the very next day, I was in the ER, intubated,  & on partial life support, jacked with a chemical paralytic … and unconscious for a week or more.

It’s completely foolish to even toy with the idea of it happening again, but with the sudden weight gain & fluid retention, swelling, and need for new abdominal truss’s/binders (my old ones served me well, but have hit their “planned obsolescence” point, I guess) – there is a lot that can go wrong… but just because I’m doing nearly the exact same thing doesn’t mean that it will, of course.

Still, I’m frightened… but I think it’s time to walk through it & laugh it off – after all, the more I focus on being *sick* instead of getting better…

I still need your help – PLEASE, if you can. Getting past this is, I believe, the final *known* hurdle – there won’t be any more drugs started or stopped, and I just need the herbs & overpriced tools to keep my insides from falling out.

My Paypal addy is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com – and once again, I really need you. A 20 POUND GAIN in 9 days is not good, and I KNOW how to get it off – I just need the things to do it with.

It’s going to be an OUTSTANDING evening, and I’m going to stop entertaining such absurd fears NOW. (But ya gotta admit – it *does* fit far too well for a repeat!)

To each and every one of you – I LOVE YOU, and that gratitude I feel for having you in my life… is purely overwhelming at times.
Most of the time.
In so many ways, you *continue* to keep me alive… though I must admit, I do a bit of work along those lines as well. wink emoticon

Paypal: ksea@culturefluxmagaxine.com – *or* you can help fight through the link to the GoFundMe campaign that a friend set up if you wish, but that takes longer & they take *much* more out.

I love you, dearly.
Thank you.

consequences

In the past week alone, I’ve heard of three separate people who have recently passed from Hep-C complications. Without you, I would have been one of them four years ago. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m in the clear. It’s still a daily battle, closely monitoring everything about my body, doing special exercises, tending to wounds and doing what I need to to keep from getting sick again.

I don’t just “get sick”. If I neglect to do anything & my health goes south, I end up in the hospital, to face an even harder fight if I get out.

But I also need to think of the consequences. The swollen legs & splitting skin, the distended abdomen, the crippling pain – you think just the thought of that would be enough for me to push aside my fear that you’ll end up despising me, or at the very worst, ignoring me. Scorning me, my words…

 

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Every single day I fight like hell to never go back to this...

Every single day I fight like hell to never go back to this…

But your financial help is the ONLY way that I can get the various herbs, foods, and other things I need to avoid being hospitalized and fighting to stay alive. Especially because right now, thanks to you, I AM getting better, and feeling more of the person I was before all of this… but I’m out of money, and a few days away from being out of some of the herbs I need.

Because I was afraid of what you might think of me, I got myself into a somewhat terrifying bind.

There is no other option I have, and as much as I loathe having to keep doing it – I’m the guy who goes through complete hell if, like last time, I don’t try every option I can think of, and there aren’t too many.

Therefore I ask again, and will until we either have won the fight, or I end up in the hospital again, wondering if just returning to the same fight is worth it.

And thank you, for everything. With all of my heart, with all of my hope & spirit, thank you. 

I love you.

~ Casey


the fight inside

It’s been quite a while.
Many things have happened, and are happening.
The book – MY book, is still in the forefront on the priority list – and it’s right up there with staying alive.

I have no desire to literally  be a ghost writer… let me get known just for writing while alive, first. Then, we’ll see what I can pull off when the time comes.

This is my latest update on the page that is helping to save my  life in this battle – please share it, spread it around, let people know that they can REALLY rock my world. It’s at a critical point right now, and I need people joining me in my fight to stay alive.

Thank you.

~ Casey


There are bad days, & still worse nights – but generally my health & the way I feel are improving, getting close to what I was before I ran out of scratch & herbs the last time & ended up in the hospital.

This is when the fear creeps in; when I begin to feel the stress I know that trying to cheer myself up and hope that it may not happen this time is futile. I’ve been there. I know this place.
The money runs out, then the herbs, and my body begins to fall apart… again. Again, and each time it is more difficult, takes longer & a much harder fight to come back – and I don’t know if I have the strength to anymore. I don’t know if I want to.
I don’t want to have to wait until I end up in the hospital for the help to come, but when there isn’t an emergency, when it just seems to be daily maintenance, maybe you believe that your help in this fight is less appreciated, less needed – when in fact, it’s the exact opposite.

I need you the most when I am getting better. When things are less dramatic, when it doesn’t “appear” that I’m fighting for my life – just taking my herbs like someone else a bit more fortunate takes their 1-A-Day vitamin…

But EVERY day is a fight. I take 15 different herbs, document how much of each & play with the quantities. I write how I’m feeling each day, if there is a noticeable change, try to determine if it’s because of the herbs or just the day. Meditation, physical exercise, focusing & visualization, breathing exercises, wound cleaning & dressing from where I gouged myself due to the insane subcataneous itching (which drinking Aloe I just discovered helps a LOT) – but by far, the herbs are the most important.

That’s why the terror sets in when I’m broke & running low. I still need to eat as well.

Right now all I feel is dread. I’ve ended up in the hospital too many times, have fought far too long & hard, have endured more than enough pain – and I don’t want to have to go through this fight again for such a stupid reason as not having the funds to purchase what I need.

Though I am getting better, I still desperately need the herbs & teas & everything else that I take everyday to win this fight – as without them, it all goes to hell – and I’m so dreadfully weary of going there.
I just want to write my book, and not fight back the tears that come as they try to right now, when I don’t have enough money for the herbs I need because I need to purchase coconut water to fight the cramps.

I’m getting weary of asking, but right now, YOU are all that I have to keep me out of the hospitals, and I need you in this fight. NOW is the most important time – not after I’ve ended up in the hospital… as by then, it just may be too late. Too much work to come back, just because I ran out of what I need now.

Please. I need you in this fight, I need you in this battle for a life that I DON’T have to fight for every single day, and I need your support now. Now.
Please give, PLEASE share this *everywhere* and continue to share it, because apparently there are a lot of people who aren’t online 24/7.
***Another way to support the fight besides the campaign is my Paypal Account – ksea@CultureFluxMagazine.com – they don’t take the 9% of everything that GoFundMe does, so that’s really nice.***


It rips me apart to say this, to admit it, to ask over & over – but I really, really need all the help you can offer.

I mean hell – we’ve come this far, and I’ve been busting my ass – (the herbs are only a *small* part of the daily regimen) – so lets keep going, please?
I’ve decided that I really don’t like hospitals – at least not spending months in them.

FIGHT with me, SHARE this campaign – and from the bottom of my heart – THANK YOU!

I live for…

I met T. in Austin in 2005, during the four months I lived in a tent in the Austin Enchanted Forest. It was during Katrina, and that’s why I was there. To help.

T was kind, warm, comforting, and we became friends quickly, easily. There were many nights she stopped by my tent when I was writing, and quickly learned that I meant no harm when I told her to shut up for a little bit. I liked that.
We sometimes cuddled, often held each other. She was everything for me when Bean was killed, just letting me cry as I held her and not saying anything, because there was nothing and certainly no words that could make it better.
At least, that’s how I remember her during those months.

We’ve seen each other once since I left Austin, in a beautiful home I was staying at in New Orleans a few years later. I xzerbited her belly as I taught her to stiltwalk, desperately trying to maintain her grip on the rafters while I did nearly everything to distract her, both of us laughing hysterically while she tried not to fall & I made sure I was ready to catch her if she did.
She let go of her fears, held onto the rafters.

Some time after that, she sent me a message saying she was pregnant & was going to name her child, whether boy or girl, after me.

It’s difficult to render me speechless, but that certainly did it.

the amount of gratitude & love I feel for not only her, but so many other people I have met along the road, as well as the incredible family of friends I have here is truly overwhelming – and it’s because of all of you that I fight the way I do when things turn scary and I need to remember the Warrior inside of me to keep going – to keep creating, keep changing, keep dreaming – and making my dreams come true.

I will never be able to thank you enough, any of you – but I *can* show you ho grateful I am for having all of you in my life, and you better fucking believe I will – and gloriously.
I’ve had difficulty with getting past certain points with my book and the campaign for publishing, but figured out why now. IT’s also the reason I’ve been getting sick. Stay tuned for an apartment purge as soon as I get out of here – most everything will be for free, others I’ll need either trade or scratch – but we’ll cross that bridge in about a week when I escape this place.

This is what I found this morning in my PM’s, and the reason for this entire post.
I just couldn’t help but share it with you, because I like sharing the things that make me feel amazing with people…

“…Just wanted to check in on you, and am sad to see you are a mess right now. I hope you are getting proper veggies and such from your local friends.

Nico Ksea **** is 5 years old now, and a big sister!

I keep a little picture of you I stole from the interwebs in a frame, and recently she asked about it.
I said, “this is the man who taught me how important it is to write, and use beautiful words, even for ugly things. He is one of the most amazing, most special people in the world, so that’s why I gave you his name.”
And she stole the picture to hang on her wall. Little stinker.

I love you, big time! Even though I have been away and under a rock raising my little goblins, I keep you in my heart all the time, every day.”

This is what keeps me alive, what I live for.
I live to be all I possibly can be – for you.

Thank you for letting me.

I fucking love you.

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.

This is still happening, and we need it.

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/ruby-needs-your-help-and-mine-i-do-this-for-her/x/451145

You can do direct help through Paypal, if you don’t want to read about hos beautiful a pup Ruby is. kSea@culturefluxmagazine.com is my paypal addy.

Ruby in her favorite place, after playing in the park.

Ruby in her favorite place, after playing in the park.

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coming back to me

6:34am. Peet’s Coffee, a couple blocks away is the street I once lived on in my motorhome. A cup here today as I didn’t have time to have one in my apartment, just throw on my clothes, grab what I want for a couple hours and fly out the door. It could be an easy rush when I just needed to avoid the street sweeper, but now I have a puppy and those eyes looking at me, depending on me. I tell her I’m hurrying but she doesn’t understand, and we all know that feeling – every second an hour when you need to contort every muscle to hold it, just a minute longer. I knew I wanted to write today so the laptop was already packed up.

Is it possible to be homesick for the streets? The tight space in my RV, the sound and the way the motorhome rocked a little as cars went by a little faster, a little closer than they should?

Is it possible to be homesick for the uncertainty of it all, the adventure, the way every day changed?

It must be, because I am.

Because all of that is *who* I am – or at least who I was happy being. There’s a strange sense of freedom that I feel like I’m missing living in an apartment.

 

There is little peace inside of me these days. An insistent feeling that I didn’t fight so hard to live for a life like this; a mind that not that long ago – only a few years – was quite active and pleased with the constant challenges, even through a fog of constantly being drunk. Hell, maybe that’s what made it fun; trying to keep the gears turning and coming out with new things to entertain myself and others when the oil was so thinned with cheap whiskey… Alas, I sure as hell can’t go back to the three liter plus a week habit that I had – at least not until I’m done with all this and *really* want to write down the story of this life with no holds barred and the brutal honesty that is so under-appreciated and misunderstood by so many these days.

Fucking Facebook & Twitter. Fucking texting. Fucking lazy people (myself certainly included) that don’t bother to use creativity to make the twist of the blade more pleasurable to the people who feel it, instead accenting every idiotic thing they say with emoticons or the ‘lol’ and it’s cousins that have poisoned the English language. Fucking swearing when it’s not absolutely fucking necessary.

I feel that there should be a test before people are allowed to use social networks, and everything else mentioned above. That is the only thing that might save us; save people like me from being so disgusted with what passes as language that they go off on rants like this when I was thinking of something else entirely… jeezus.

Let’s get back to where I was, yes?

I need to break out of this haze. I need to start creating again, getting my mind back from its little decay vacation. Amazing what almost a couple years in a hospital & hospice can do to a person. It doesn’t matter what you go in there with, if you are strong enough to get out, it seems like that’s where the fight really begins…

the fight to remain human. The fight to bring back the person you were when you went in. It’s lost somewhere if you aren’t meticulously careful, watchful, aware. Lost with having every tiny freedom, every small responsibility taken from you, making you feel over and over and over like they don’t believe that you can take care of yourself.

Lost in the way the time fucked with your head, lost with saying goodbye to each friend you made that didn’t make it. For every candle lit by a book that has a few memories and farewells in it, for every room or bed that is empty when you wake the next day.

I am not who I was.

I’m angry. I’m tired. I’m bored as hell – but now I see it, now I know it, & now I am aware of what I need to do.

 

I just need to figure out where to start again.

…and still, the tests come…

Please. $449 left to go. Need a car while my legs heal…

I thought things had changed, that I had learned my lesson…
Actually, they did, and I did, but I was given misinformation regarding the handicapped placard that I received yesterday. I was told by my social worker at Laguna Honda that I could park in a yellow meter zone without worrying about the time limit with one, so, well, I *did*, because I had no problems yesterday doing it after I received the placard with my appointment at SF general. With my left leg swollen to burst from two days of appointment after appointment after appointment & not having enough money to get the herbs I need, I needed to park as close to my new home as possible, which I did – at a seemingly innocent yellow meter.
Apparently all yellow meters are not the same.

I just found out when I went to the corner store and looked across the street… that my car was gone. Towed. Not because of tickets. Not because of registration; Because of my own negligence in believing what my social worker said about the handicap parking placard.

I’m not going to pretend that it’s not my fault – the DMV handed me a pamphlet yesterday when I got the placard, but I was far too exhausted when I got home to read it. And I thought that I knew the rules. Apparently, I didn’t.

So right now I’m in a strange position. If I give the car up, I’m not losing everything, but I am losing the mobility that I so loved, & putting my legs & health in danger again due to standing & waiting for the bus, and losing both of my archery bows, all of my arrows and gear – which I won’t have any money to replace anytime soon, or later, considering I have less than $300 a month to my name after I pay for this damn apartment.

You’ve all been so amazingly loving and generous through this whole ordeal, and I know that I wouldn’t be alive without you – so I loathe asking for your help again in getting my car out of jail, but… right now the towing and storage is $493, tomorrow it goes up another $63, and so on.
I wouldn’t give a damn if it weren’t my freedom & my bows, but it is.

I had wanted this post to tell you how good I am doing – broke, but good, and getting used to having a beautiful home that doesn’t have wheels – but things worked out differently. Another test. (C’mon now, Universe – haven’t I shown my strength *yet*???!!)

I’m going to leave it at that. If you can, please help. I am still selling my camera if you want it (posted earlier on my Facebook page – and my PayPal account is still kSea@culturefluxmagazine.com.

Gods, I feel like such a f’ing idiot.

Be HEALED! (Thwack!)

UBER AWESOME: Today the nurse who checks my legs when I change my dressings said that she doesn’t remember seeing anyone heal so quickly from the condition my legs were in. My social worker (who rocks) just left my room in tears, commending me on essentially saying “screw everyone else, I’m going to do this my way” – and sticking to it. Right now I’m in tears as well; as there is absolutely no way I could have done it without the financial help & love I have received from many of you over these past hellish months.

It has been no small effort. Countless hours of research, reading, testing, trial & error went into this achievement, and though I loathe admitting it I share the same sentiments of my social worker who felt free enough today to express (through even more tears) that there were times where she was uncertain about me making it through this.

I told her that I am a warrior, and she didn’t hesitate to agree; I also told her about all of you, and how blessed I am.

For two or three weeks longer I still need to put on the dressings to let the new flesh grow stronger and thicker, as though there are no more open exuding wounds just scratching it opens it up due to how thin and tender it is, and I will always need to take the herbs, just less of them, eat properly, and drown myself in certain mixtures of teas…

So what very well be the final time, I ask for help, and this time I *really* need financial assistance, as I needed to get an internet loan last month due to Burning Man & everyone being away or needing the money for that. I will have only about $160  for the entire month and all I need in October, a little more than ¼ of what I usually have before your help.

I still have the juicer, jewelry and awesome video camera for sale, and the video camera I’m selling for nearly 50% off, even though it’s in brand-new condition & comes with extras. If you don’t need any of these things please consider a gift of a belated birthday present or just simply a celebration that I’m still alive – because if ya ask me, that’s a damn good reason to celebrate! (But perhaps I’m biased.)

My paypal addy is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com, & you can find details on the items for sale on a previous post this month on Facebook. *PLEASE* help if you can, as this is the most financially screwed month I’ve ever had – and most important one to keep up on all the herbs, food, teas & last of the dressings.

Thank you for everything you’ve done to get me this far!

Love love love,

~ kSea