All I have to give.

The minutes tick away and I lay here tossing, turning, finding comfort in body yet far from it in mind. This is no easy task I’ve taken on, and each moment I relive hammers that into my heart, my being.

I don’t do anything half-assed. I now wish that I could but that isn’t me. Honesty is a crippling and exquisite trait, but sometimes, MOST times it;s all I feel I have left. I can’t let you down in the maelstrom of what this beautiful life was, but now I know – it will be more than just one book. This life is more than anything I could ever have dreamed of.This life  of dreams, nightmares, and this life I have created out of nothing.

There is one person that doesn’t get mentioned much, but follows in my heart from a time when I needed her more than anything else from the Forest until a time, THE time when I can escape all of this in the future. Her name is Tea. She has a child with my name. I don’t know why I write this – I just need to, just in case. I need you to take care of her and her family as I always have wanted to but haven’t been able to – yet. Promise me this. Please.

I think I figured out how to make my story readable. I can’t make The Brigade smaller, can not make my time in The Enchanted Forest anything less than it was – but as I write and cross out the things that have made this life so exquisite, I realize that the most important things are the beginning and the end – and I think this end os the finding of my Mother, then Father.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I can physically measure the dissatisfaction around me. The need to be someone, somewhere else. the need to be no one with nothing but a shitty van and a road and life in front of me or a motorhome that held in it promise to one day be able to go anywhere – all I needed was money for fuel. I thinkg everything changed when I found myself dying and had to sell it to afford to survive.
I look around me, see a cheap electric guitar, a keyboard,  things that I pray to no god I believe in that I may create something on, someday. I’ve always wanted to lose myself in music, to create something I can feel and share, but even through it all I still don’t know better – my escape is in words and the road.

I should sell everything I have and buy a car, onee of those things like a RAV-4 that will allow me plenty of room to just fucking GO with Ruby, me, her food and a couple of bags of mine. And my laptop. Find a place in a forest by a lake where we can be alone, where I can be alone, and… and then I may be happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I set up another appointment with the surgeon who denied cutting away my umbilical hernia yesterday. Before, four months ago, I told him that it was taking the life I loved away, taking me away. To his credit, he didn’t say no – what I heard was that he was terrified, that I have less than a 1 in 4 chance of living due to possible infection, and at the time I realized that as much as was willing to try that, if I did die it was more than only me that would be affected. He’s a good person – this I felt from the moment I met him… but he also hasn’t any idea who *I* am.

He doesn’t know that I shold have been dead long ago but fought with all I had to survive, far beyond what Western Medicine could do for me. He doesn’t know that when I die, it will be y choice. He doesn’t know that each day I live with this – the pain, the way it takes me furthier and further away from who I was and who I AM that I lose my heart, my passion, my reason.
In mid-December, I will go to him yet again, and tell him that the only way I can die through this challenge is if *I* want to – and I don’t yet. My book will not be done then. I need to somehow make someone who doesn’t know me understand that he is released from all responsibility – that my life is in MY hands, not his.
But will that make me happy? If he agrees to the surgery, if I let him cut me open in the single place taht I loathed anyone touching and he fixes it to the best of his ability will taht solve anything?
I think it may be a start – a beginning of somethingthat will let me come back to me again. I will never forget what I went through – but at the very least I won;t have to live with the memory of it every single fucking day anymore. At the very least, I can move forward instead of being stuck here. I need to convince him. Maybe I should make a video of the highlights shere John & Val said I wasn’t a typical person, Maybe I should invite him to tald to any and all of the nurses that called me a miracle when I didn’t die.

I am not a miracle. I just didn’t want to die yet. I had things to do. I still do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I create my book, I go through every post I have written over the years, trying to figure out what stays in and what goes. It’s the most difficult thing I have EVER done… but it must be done. I’m closer now than I ever have been but it still will take time. Time and money for a content editor, a professional, hardcore someone who has only the need to let this book be good. For some reason I can’t explain, I feel that it will be only a woman who I trust to do that.  Just waht I’ve always imagined.

As I create my book, I find passages that I will soon begin sharing with others = small gifts for The Brigade and all that have been with me through the years. Small gifts for those who have only just met me.
Though they will be gifts of nostalgia for some, new undertsanding for others, there is an ulterior motive – in order for this pook to help anyone, it needs to be read – and I’m hoping to create a bit of interest in what is coming. THis monstrosity that I will give the world. I want to create hype.
And I’m hoping that anyone who enjoys my words will telll their friends, tell people to follow, tell others that there jsut may be something here.
All I can do is write the words… It’s the only thing that has ever brought me peace.

Within two days, I’ll give my first small gift of what’s to come.

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another day

Wednesday comes around again just as it always has & probably always will in my lifetime, gods willing. I wake up early and feel uncommonly refreshed from a good nights sleep with strange dreams I don’t remember enough to write down.

Give the pup a hug, crawl out of bed & make my way to my kitchen, make a small cup of coffee to warm me, take the herbs that sustain me, the first set always the ones I need to take on an empty stomach. Later, after I dig up something to eat, I’ll take the herbs that require something in my stomach. A daily process. I’m weary of it, but the alternative is far worse than a bit of inconvenience.

Adjusting the pillows I crawl back on my bed, put down a little more than 1600 words of a book that might get done but never finished and wonder at the futility. I try to push that thought from my head and bring it back to the passion of a dream.
I don’t succeed. Not this time. I haven’t been able to believe in my future since I was nineteen years old & was told I had contracted HIV. The book seems so horribly far away…

Today marks the twelfth day I didn’t take morphine in order to get out of bed, the sixth I didn’t desperately want to. Nine fucking years and at long last I’ve broken the chains that held me. Right now it feels wonderful, I feel like I’ve won another battle, but I know that eventually this will fade into the past like the others I’ve made it through.

It seems as if the more I go through, the less surviving and making it through the battles means to me, and I wonder if that’s a product of the life I’ve been living, where so little happens these days. It seems as if it should be the other way around, where things like this are lost in the excitement of life, but… perhaps it’s because this is my life.

Just as I don’t celebrate the ability to get out of bed anymore, just as I don’t think about the way that only a few years ago I couldn’t walk without aid to the bathroom or breathe without a tube down my throat.

I’m not ungrateful. Every night after I crawl into bed, before sleep, I thank the Universe for that day, for my life, for the amazing things that have happened since I walked out of the hospice – but I wonder where my life has gone.

So many years watching the world go by and not able to be a part of it, is it disdain for who I’ve had to become to survive? From working on CultureFlux ten or more hours a day directly to not doing anything but fighting for my life – and suddenly it was all about me. I don’t think that has ever sat well in my heart, and perhaps even now I carry it there.

I’m trying to figure this out.

There’s the oppressive frustration of feeling bound by income, of not being able to even earn the simplest things I require to survive – the herbs, nourishment, hydration – and beyond that. Trapped by my own needs this poverty, this impoverished life I’ve been living for so goddamn long has taken its toll on my psyche. The walls of the city constrict me, suck the wonder & light out of my eyes & spirit.

I’ve never been one to live a static life.

Regardless, I’m alive. Not living, but alive, and I still have the ability to change this life into whatever I want it to be – if I can find the way out of this. When I find my way out of this, and rediscover the passion I once felt.

It’s not up to anyone but me.

I just need to do it soon.

Right now, Wednesday is nothing but just another day that I need to make it through.

A life for a life

 

I look at this page & it stares back at me, a subtle, defiant edge to the font that would likely go without notice if I wasn’t looking for it – but oh, it’s there.

WriteGunPic

Some reading this may think that it’s my imagination, that I’m creating it in my mind, that the certain lean, the extra hint of teasing, judging serif in the font is something I’m making up so I can blame something other than myself for the distracted words that my fingers put on this page, but I know different, and besides, what you may think of my sanity has no consequence.
On with it.

I part the dense fog that has surrounded my mind ever since I began working on my Kickstarter campaign, the words listening for the passage that will allow them to avoid the sharp rocks in these treacherous waters & lead them safely to this page. From the tattered pages of past writings I tear away the tangents I had followed when the Sirens of Kickstarter took away my will & made the words whine and shove those in my ears, muting the songs of the campaign. I prepare my mind to find itself again, to write what’s been pushed back – but never forgotten. The thoughts still storm, and it’s time to dance in the rain again.

SingingRain

I will succeed. I will triumph. I’ll do a happy dance!

As profoundly important as the success of this campaign is to me & my life, as much as I know it can and will change the lives of others, I need to remember that somewhere not far behind the ever-present thoughts of dong all I can to make my campaign succeed, there is a soul, forgotten & forlorn, who still has things other than the thoughts necessitated and consumed by Kickstarter to say.

And that being said, there is only a little more than a week left of my campaign – and this book needs to be finished, published & given to the world!

Please – pledge, SHARE, and understand the profound importance that this dream holds for me – I have never done anything that has meant more, including saving my life.
The goal of writing & publishing this book is what kept  me alive – what gave me something to fight for.

NGG THUMBNAIL8.8

This book kept me alive – and now, it’s time to let my book live!

Click the link below, contribute & share – please – and thank you!

http://bit.ly/NGGKickass

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.

Jumping Into Dreams

Twenty Six Days. July 6th, 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!