Wherever The Roads Take Me

“You’ve never been to Burning Man? Darlin’, you belong there. I wasn’t sure if I was going this year, wasn’t even planning on it – but now, I guess I am. I’ll give you a ride.”

New Orleans, 2006. I had recently moved there about five months before, the first time I had ever stepped foot in the city. Though I had seen it on the news a lot recently, nothing prepared me for what I was in person, stepping on the ground, smelling the decay and rot – but still, underneath that, there was something else it took me a while to put my finger on, a feeling… and then I realized what it was. There was a strength to the city, a spirit that even The Storm couldn’t take away. I fell in love with it instantly.

It was a strange path that led me there. My work with The Dresden Dolls had ended in Colorado, and with it the move to Boston. In thinking back all of these years later, I think it may have been a combination of a couple of things that prompted the email from Amanda. The first two were that The DD were going a slightly different direction, and also – I think The Brigade – what we called, and still call ourselves, were perhaps getting too big, too strong, especially the Boston chapter. Hell, we were even working on making it into its own entity, looking into becoming a 501(c)(3) performance group, renting a building where we could inspire & teach others.
And without question, one was my drinking. Though my work with them had never faltered for it, I was again trying to escape something dark & wrong inside of me by numbing it however I could. Still, I helped inspire hundreds of young people across the world to reach beyond themselves, to walk through their fears, to realize how beautiful they are. It was the first time I had ever, in my life, actually felt needed, felt appreciated. The first time I had ever felt loved.
Then everything I loved was ripped away from me.
Such is life. The Universe had other plans. I needed to pick myself up, to try to find the strength to keep moving forward.
In Colorado I found a good place to busk, saving up money I would need for gas. I would listen to the radio in my van at night, stretching out as much as I could in the back seat with Bean, my beautiful dog, caressing her as she rested her head on my chest and hoping sleep would come soon. It was then that I heard about Katrina and the devastation it left in its wake. It was September 5th, my birthday. I was alone with Bean, in our van, crying.

The next morning I started emailing people, and I connected with an old lover who was now living in New Orleans with her family, asking if there was anything I could do to help them. They were fine; she was safe with her family and out of the city. I asked if there was anywhere or anyone she knew of that needed help, and she gave me the contact information to a place in Austin.
“We need people. Show up anytime.”
I smiled for the first time in a week. Within the hour Bean and I were back on The Road.

Going through Kansas & Oklahoma, driving hard, Bean asleep on the throne I had built for her in the back seat. In the black of night there was nothing but the hypnotizing dashed lines on the highway, as if nothing else existed after the reach of my headlights. No signs, no horizon, no hills or turns. Only every few hours would another vehicle pass going the opposite way. 80mph and I would close my eyes, seeing how long I could keep them shut before opening them again in sheer panic. The rapid pumping of my heart helped keep me awake. I knew how stupid I was being, but only when I thought of Bean did I decide to pull over to the side of the road and rest for a bit. The morning brought sunshine and a beautiful view that stretched for an eternity.

19 hours later I was finally in Austin.

It was an amazing place. The “Austin Enchanted Forest”, a private 3 acre wild forest in the middle of Austin, art everywhere. They had set it up with donated tents, blankets, and everything else people who had to leave their home with next to nothing might need. I was “in charge” of welcoming people, showing them around, making sure they had everything they needed.
Bean was in absolute heaven. She had an entire forest to run around in and sniff, other dogs to play with, and every night she would sleep just outside of my tent. In the morning she would poke her head inside the flap if she thought I was sleeping too late and do this kind of “rrrroooowwrr?” thing, a cross between a growl, bark, and asking me to get the hell out of bed because it was time to play, to go on our morning walk in The Forest.

I lived there for four months in a 10’x10’ tent, going from volunteering for a couple months to helping set up and performing for their yearly “Austin Haunted Forest” through the month of October. The time I spent in Austin is another story, though.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Burning Man was coming up fast. Raven, the kickass woman I had promised a ride to and I started preparing. We bought our tickets, figured out the route – there was just one thing we needed.
A van.
The van I drove there in had only made it that far because I needed it to, and it had done its job. Shortly after I got to NOLA when I needed to move it for parking and found that it had a flat tire and no spare, I decided it was time to let it go to the city. Considering that it was breathing its dying breaths, I wouldn’t have felt right selling her to someone who might depend on it. The next day it was gone.

My work was busking, doing street performance as a Living Statue. I was making good money, saving every penny I could for a van to get Raven & I the 2,200 miles to the Black Rock Desert. Once I had saved $800, I started looking…

Coming from the West Coast where vans & large vehicles are plentiful and cheap, I was surprised at how few there were for sale here, and how expensive even the crappy ones were. I couldn’t figure it out – and then it hit me. I understood.
This is hurricane country. People here need to regularly throw everything they can grab into a car and bug-out, and the bigger the vehicle, the more space for family & things.
I hadn’t thought of that. Time was getting close to our planned departure.


I worked extra hours, every day forcing my body to the limits of what it could stand, standing perfectly still. I took the suggestion that a nurse whispered to me one day and started taking aspirin to hopefully prevent blood clots from forming. At night I would look on craigslist for a van, widening the search, increasing the amount I could pay by working the extra hours.

It was grueling, painful, exhausting, but I had given her my word. I wasn’t going to let her down. Far too many people are so full of empty fucking promises, and I won’t be one of them. Hell, if I couldn’t find a van I was ready to buy her a flight to Reno – but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

Every night as I laid in bed and every morning, I would do a manifestation meditation. I would picture Raven & I driving up the road to the front gate of Burning Man, blasting music and singing along in a plain white van. In the visualization my window would be down all the way, arm resting on the door as we laughed triumphantly.

The days continued. Still no van. I refused to worry, and just *know* that it would work out.
Well, maybe I worried a little bit. I mean, c’mon, I’m at least *somewhat* human.

Then, finally. Less than a week before we were planning to leave, I found a van for sale in Baton Rouge, at just a tiny bit under what I had saved – and get this: It was the exact van I saw in my mind; white, plain, even a Ford. And it didn’t have a driver’s side window at all. I guess that when I saw it in my mind, every time with the window all the way down – maybe I should have visualized at least a little of the window there. Still, the Universe had given me *exactly* what I was asking for. It likes having fun with me, I’ve found over the years.

The van wouldn’t idle, the driver’s seat felt like it was one of those things in kids’ playgrounds – the animals with the big springs under then that you sat on and leaned every which way, then sprung back up headed in the opposite direction. It felt like the seat was trying to throw me out the window with every right turn I took.
I managed, with the help of a friend following me, to limp the thing home, then spent the next three days making it not only stay running, but idle smooth and strong. I ripped out the driver’s seat and fixed the base of it, checked lights, brakes, tires, fluids, everything. It would get us there. We had a van. It didn’t have a license plate, so I made one out of cardboard that looked almost real, if you didn’t look *too* close.

Then, something unexpected. An email from the seller, a nice lady when I met her. She told me of her uncle – Conrad, or “Uncle Connie”. He had lived as a homeless drunk in New Orleans, and after most of his life spent that way had finally gotten sober. He had bought the van to fulfill a dream he had – of driving West to see the ocean for the first time. Unfortunately, he had died before he could make the trip. Before he could make this dream of his – his only dream – come true.

In her email, she said that when we were talking and I was telling her my plans with the van, she felt something in me that reminded her of her Uncle Connie. She said he had a wonderful heart, a warmth and kindness to him – and she told me how much she had adored him, feeling so fortunate that they at least had a little time to spend together after he got sober. He would have loved something like Burning Man, she said, after I explained it as best as I could to her.

“This is going to sound really strange, but… would you mind helping him realize his dream? Would you take his ashes with you? Take him to the Ocean?”

As Raven & I made our way across the country, we took the time to enjoy it, pulling off to sit in silence and look out over beautiful, expansive views – and I would leave some of Connie there. In kitschy tourist spots, I would leave Connie. Native American craft shops, roadside diners, places that felt, in their way, sacred. Connie was on the road with us, living his dream.

Well, not really “living” it, being as dehydrated as he was – but at least doing it.

That year at the Temple of Hope, I left two silk bags of ashes – and then finally, on a cold overcast afternoon in San Francisco, I again poured two different piles of ashes on the sand, just a little bit below the tide line.

One, of course, was Uncle Connie’s. The other ashes were of the best friend I have ever had.

I stood there for a while, alone and holding my coat tight around me and silently crying, as I watched Bean’s ashes being taken out into the heart of the Sea.
She had always loved running in the ocean.


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!

Bones: The moment that I became

Wandering through my writing from the day that turned everything around – the moment I made the decision not to wait and hope for my dreams to come true, but actively make them.

I clearly remember when I was offered the choice. I had been laid of from my job a few weeks before and was overwhelmed with stress & worry – about how I would pay rent, how I would feed Bean, how I, myself, would eat.
Somewhere in the background of my mind & spirit I was happy to lose that job, as it had turned into everything I was anymore. I couldn’t have a simple conversation with *anyone* without looking solely for that moment I could turn the conversation in a direction that was focused on finding an “in” with their building manager at work…
I wasn’t paying the game anymore. I had become it. I dressed in $700 Donna Karen suits (costumes) –  and damn, I looked good in them – but regardless of how good the outside appeared, the inside was vacant, save for every day and sleepless, stress filled night, thoughts of how to become better at my job… a job I no longer wanted, but was too afraid to leave.

Too afraid to give up even that small bit of security…

In a moment of clarity, I listened to what was being suggested. This is what I wrote at the time. A couple short weeks later I was working with The Dresden Dolls in a position that seemed to be designed entirely for me, and head-over-heels in absolute love with life. Now, as I look back & see how everything from that moment has fallen so perfectly into place to get me where I am today, writing the story of an incredible life that began at the very moment written about below, I can’t help but smile at how beautiful everything is.
And I am still completely in love with this life.

November. 2004

Oh, the things we suppress. What is squirming around inside of us? What do we have that could completely stand the world on end if we let it loose – gave it breath – acknowledged its life?


No. Can’t do that.


Everyone resume the game they’re playing. Everyone pretend that nothing is happening, go about your business, and roll your dice. If you work at it hard and long enough, really put your nose to the grindstone, follow the rules, get to work on time, deny the pain and the madness and the ennui and completely lose all that you are in search of the “American Dream” that they told you to dream, you just might die with the most toys. You just might win.


Fuck, I’m in a strange mood.


I like it.



Shit. I’ll never find a job this way…



But see, there’s a catch.

(There’s always a catch.)


The things I want to do. Learn, travel, experience, grow, give, help, inspire…




It comes with a price. It all comes with a price. Many things don’t necessitate one in a monetary sense, but still, many do. It’s a matter of survival. We’re caught,


but not defeated.


All there is, is to shine as brightly as we can, never losing sight of what we need to evolve. Never giving in, never handing our lives and our own dreams over wrapped in our soul in order to make it one step further to a lovely little retirement in geriatricville. Never succumbing to the temptation of personal drama in order to feel substantiated or validated – or just in order to feel. Maybe that’s what happens. We lose ourselves so completely in trying to be a “success” that we need to create situations around us simply to bring us back to life, to remind us that we’re human.


Fuck that.


Love. Breathe. Wonder. Explore. Dream. Go back to the eyes of a child. Look around and, again, and see how much beauty there is in everything with this remembered knowledge. You’ll see how everything shines so incredibly brightly, and how it’s all a part of you. You’ll walk down the street with a warmth and subtle smile, knowing that this is the only thing that truly matters. Try to remember it, because if you aren’t careful, it will be taken away again, suffocated in the mundane. Do everything you can to keep it, and give it away at each and every opportunity. Eventually, you will know. The language of your story will become true, you will repair your wings with paste and bandages, and learn to fly again.


That is success.

It is time to follow my dreams, regardless of how terrifying it may be at times, or the false sense of security that I must give up to do walk this path. I have lived far too long as someone else’s pawn.
It is time to live for me, to remember who I am and do what I can to help, to give, to remember how to love myself – and in doing so, perhaps inspire others to do the same.

My Book Support launch is LIVE! Tell the WORLD!



(More details about the book in here, but just skip to the bottom if you wish to get straight to the special Early-Bird Supporter Rewards & details.)


Fire-breather, stilt walker, street performer, traveler. Harley-Davidson technician, Hazardous material controller, Hurricane Katrina volunteer, artist, writer, published poet, online magazine creator, event producer… I have lived many amazing lives, realized many dreams – but the story came terrifyingly close to ending before I had a chance to make my most important dream come true…


“kSea flux [Casey Porter] is a living embodiment of artistic spirit. He throws himself completely into his work and fears nothing but the chance to gain access to new and more bizarre talents.”
~ Amanda Palmer,
Author, singer & songwriter, TED Speaker, etc. ‘The Dresden Dolls’, AFP


On October 6th, 2010, at the recommendation of my doctor, I was accepted and admitted to a private, 15 room hospice/respite in San Francisco called Maitri. What was scheduled was a 3 month stay to offer me rest & care to get my fight with Hepatitis-C under control.

A couple weeks after I sauntered through the front door, my life took a grim & completely unexpected twist.

My body began to shut down, and it meant business. What was supposed to be only 90 days of care & healing was re-scheduled a bit – and became 18 months of fighting for my life.

Western medicine has its limitations, and unfortunately I was no match for them. When I saw that not even my doctors or nurses expected me to live and had generally resigned themselves to making my last days as comfortable as possible – it was then I knew I had to take things into my own hands, because I sure as hell wasn’t ready to die. Screw going gently into that good night – I was going to rage. (Thanks, Dylan Thomas!)

There was also one thing that I still needed to do. The largest thing I had ever dared dream, & I had already invested over 25 years of my life into – finding my Birth Mother, and the Father that didn’t know I existed.

Dying was not an option I gave myself. I fought it with everything I had inside of me, and  there was a daily battle I faced at times to not only believe that I could live, but questioning whether I wanted to.  It would have been so much easier to give up, let nature take its course, and quietly fade from this life. I had stashed away enough morphine to make it easy… but every single time, something made me put the pills back in the bottle, hidden for perhaps another day.

This will not be an easy story to voice, but it needs to be. I must go back to what I was thinking & feeling at the time (which, at times, wasn’t pretty) in order to say what needs to be said – but I didn’t go through the hell I did to selfishly keep this story & all I’ve learned from it locked inside.

It can help people, & it needs to be told. I have not only survived, but I am living. I am thriving, and continuing to chase down my dreams.

By the way – I have found my Birth Mother(!), and she’s awesome. We’re getting to know each other, and I’ve even been able to see her a few times.

I also, just a month ago at the end of September, found and contacted my Birth Father who had no idea I even existed – and he’s excited to get to know me. We’re excited to know each other – 47 years of catching up should give us plenty to chat about.
This is an unapologetic, pull-no-punches, authentic, inspiring and even sometimes laugh-out-loud story about transformation, personal growth, doing what you believe is right and fighting like hell for it…


Though the specific journey written about in this story is solely mine, there is something in it for absolutely everyone who has ever faced – or ever will face a seemingly impossible challenge – or pretty much any challenge at all.


In order to have it published and promoted, in order for it to get out there and be able to help people, I need your support! It’s a huge project, and it will take more than me to get it done – but I’ll do nearly all the work.

I am anxious and THRILLED to finally get this going, so I am offering Limited Edition Rewards for a short time during the one & only:

   ***Ends COMPLETELY on Sunday, December 7th!***

Early-Bird Reward Details!

All supporters will be noted and thanked* in my (brand new) book blog, (https://notgoinggentlybook.wordpress.com/ ) where they will get updates, more details about the book and it’s process. Supporters also will be allowed into a special section of the blog with behind the scenes videos, posts, photos, and content solely for them!

*If you wish to remain anonymous, please send note with your paypal donation message – and Thank You!

Support should be sent through Paypal.com to this email address created specifically for the Book Campaign:


*All levels in the Early-Bird Campaign magically include a digital download AND a hard copy of the book!


Book Release Planned For Tuesday, September 15, 2015!!!


And Now –



  1. Digital & Hardcover copy of my book.
  2. Absolutely amazing good karma.
  3. Special access to private supporter blog area!





  1. Digital & Signed hardcover copy of my book, personally thanking you for your support!
  2. Wonderfully Incredible Karma!
  3. A Virtual Hug & Kiss (if you’re into that sort of thing.)
  4. Special access to private supporter blog area!




$100 (Only 20 Available!)


  1. Everything in the $50 level plus:
  2. A hand-crafted (by me) leather book-mark, each one awesome, different & original. (Not just a slab of leather – it’s going to be special!
  3. A personalized, handwritten poem by me. To you, thanking you.
  4. Special access to private supporter blog area!




$200 (Only 20 Available!)

  1. Everything in the $100 level except three signed books, plus:
  2. A personalized, handwritten poem by me for you, thanking you for your support of this project.
  3. Two Tickets to the amazing, earth-shattering Book Release Event & Party, in September of 2015
  4. Special access to private supporter blog area!




$300 (Only 10 Available!)

  1. Everything from the $200 level except five signed books plus:
  2. A personalized framed handwritten poem by me. To you, about you, on really fancy paper.
  3. A happy dance video of me personalized for and thanking you, that you are allowed to share anywhere. (If you really want to.) I get to choose the music.
  4. Special access to private supporter blog area!




$500 (Only 10 Available)

  1. A very unique & only one of its kind in the entire *Universe* Custom Leather Book Cover to fit my book, adorned with fancy things and created (as much as tastefully possible) with hints of your unique style & personality.
  2. A personalized framed handwritten poem by me. To you, about you, thanking you.
  3. An actual printed “thank you” in the front few pages of the book with your name, showing my appreciation for being one of the amazing “Early Bird” supporters.
  4. All the stuff at the $50 level except with five books for yourself & to share with friends!
  5. Special access to private supporter blog area!



$1000 (Only 5 available!)


  1. Video of “A Day in the Life of Me”, shadow style… but not a typical day where I just sit at the computer and write or think about writing the whole time.
    Action! Adventure! Puppies! LIFE! Maybe even people – and ending the day with a toast to you! Whether you live in or outside of S.F., you can see this beautiful city through my eyes!
    (And yes, you are allowed to suggest things you wish to see me do. I’m not shy – but be tasteful, okay? We’ll talk.)
  2. All the amazing rewards in the $500 level except with TEN books to give away to friends! If you give me names I will thank them as well in the inscription!


$­3,000 (Only 3 available!)

  1. EVERYHING in the $1,000 level of support, PLUS:
  2. FOUR tickets to the book-launch party & show which is guaranteed to be truly amazing, AND you will be invited onstage to be personally thanked by myself and perhaps a few other people who have been waiting for this book.
  3. 1 0n 1 Conversation with The Author (me!) in person (Limited to the S.F. Bay Area) or over Skype for up to 2 hours, where you may ask me anything you wish – or we just have a good Fair Warning: I don’t do small-talk.

That Support email for Paypal is: NotGoingGentlyBook@gmail.com

And – thank you again, SO incredibly much for supporting me in this amazing project!

Love love love,
~ Casey






Gifts of Home & Living

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. As always, if it’s been long, it’s been too long. Too many things felt, thought, and unsaid to start from where it ended.

I never know why I stop writing – or for that matter, what lets me start again.

Perhaps it’s knowing what I wrote in the past, and judging myself by that, always the fear, the shame, of the possibility of it not coming like it once did.

Perhaps the need grows so strong to write that I simply can’t; there is too much to say, there is too much I need to let pass through my mind, to my fingers, to this page and release – like the pressure holding a plug against a drain so that everything is kept inside.

Perhaps I want it to be too perfect

or perhaps all I really need to do is slide the plug just a bit away from the drain, so the pressure slowly relaxes, so I don’t need to worry, to care anymore – just write…

So anyway, now that about 98% of you have stopped reading, I continue. To hell with how it comes out.

I will never stop being thoroughly amazed at how The Universe, Source, The Great Shoobeedoobee, or whatever it’s called always hears, and always answers. There *must* be some magick in this boy somewhere. There must be… something. Belief, knowing, trust – but inevitably everything always works out, and for the better. Lately I’ve been feeling a need to get back to work, to perform again, and as my strength grows, so does it.

Then along comes Ruby, a new puppy into my life after the many years it took to get over Bean, and months searching rescues for a new companion to love, to offer a home to. I wasn’t looking for a puppy, but a puppy I found – exactly one month ago today. I couldn’t be happier wither, but as puppies do, she explores the world with her mouth – and living in this neighborhood, with the crackheads and drunks, with the syringes, human feces, and everything else on the sidewalks, I live in fear every time we go for a walk. She picks up almost everything save for the feces, so the stress involved is ridiculous when taking her for what should be a relaxing walk around the place I live, always fearful that if I take my eyes off of her for a fraction of a second she’ll end up with something else horrible in her mouth. She seems magnetic in a way – doesn’t slow down, hardly lowers her head, and before I know it she’s chewing on something. I needed to get out of this neighborhood, for her and me both. Hell, just a couple weeks ago as I was walking quickly by some stupid crack whore, the CW came after her and actually picked Ruby up – then dropped her.

We *needed* to get out of here… but I didn’t see any way. All I could do was ask the worker for the organization who got me this apartment and pays most of the rent if there was another neighborhood I could live in – but then I would have to somehow come up with a new deposit on the place as well, and money is already incredibly tight…

Enter The Universe.

This past Tuesday – two days ago – I decided to go to CellSpace with Ruby and say hi to Mike & everyone else as they rehearsed. After a short while there, an incredibly warm welcome from Mike and a few hugs to the scant Vau de Vire crew that was practicing, I was on my way out the door just as Victoria was walking in – or hobbling in, as she’s on crutches. Vic & I have been trying to get a performance together for months, but due to our schedules it wasn’t really working out – that, and it’s not really a good idea to practice throwing knives in the apartment…

Anyway, Victoria tells me that she has a room opening up in her house – her house, with a huge back yard for Ruby and tons of space to rehearse together, for only about $150-$175 more than I’m paying here, and amazing people who live there.

I had to think about it – $150 is a hell of a lot of money for me these days, and if it wasn’t for a very kind and generous person that has been making certain that both Ruby & I are taken care of, not only would I be starving, but – having Ruby in my life simply wouldn’t have been possible.

I gave my 30 day notice here yesterday, and move in on the 1st of September to a beautiful house, with a huge yard, a wonderfully creative atmosphere, and a neighborhood that isn’t saturated with crackheads and drunks.

Money will be tight as hell for a while, but it would be truly foolish not to accept this gift, so needed and so wanted, simply because of a little money.

Hells, yes.

Life is good.

Simple Beauty


Day in, day out, up at 5:30am again, out the door at 6:00 to move my car – no too many people out on a post-rain morning like this but the crackheads and me. I start driving and on the way remember that I still have almost $5.00 in my paypal account – a fortune these days, but a fortune that goes fast…

Groggy in this hellish yet beautiful hour, but in a special kind of mood; life is turning around. I not only feel it, but it’s there, in front of me, smiling and calling and just looking for my answer.


Always yes.

Things are coming my way… the way they should and do when I do something as simple as switch my heart around and believe, *know* that they will turn around. I think the magick is in far past just believing, as that always leaves room for doubt. It’s the feeling of knowing that makes all the difference, and simply taking action. Simple.

Not easy.

This past Thursday I stopped by the Vau de Vire rehearsal at Cell Space, to say hello to good friends, and to get out of my damned apartment which, after I move my car, wait for the time I need to and return, has become something of a glorified jail cell, one that locks from the inside. The struggle to leave is immense, the reasons, few – but on that day, that Thursday past, I made it out – and that’s all that needed to happen.

I take a seat for a few minutes; watch Shannon work on choreography with all of the insanely beautiful & talented Vau de Vire folk as much as I could (it’s a love/hate relationship – I love them for their stretchy, bendy, strong and insanely sexy ways – and hate them for the same out of utter envy.) and then see Mike across the floor, taking notes. I give Mike a hug, (Gods, that felt good – so long since I’ve felt the warmth of touch) the smile on my face in seeing him, feeling an old friends arms around me stretch the muscles that I so seldom have use for these days, save for the rare occasion in front of the mirror where I try to remember what it feels like when it’s genuine, coming from my heart instead of forced to my lips as an exercise…

He says that he and Shannon have been talking – want to know if I’m up for performing with them at Symbiosis as a Human Statue. I try to contain my joy, try to maintain *some* control but realize that it’s an exercise in futility and act like a little girl who actually *did* get a pony for her birthday. Without thinking of logistics I readily accept, already feeling like I’m on my way home again – the home where the heart is, not the walls behind which I pretend to live. The home where when I walk in there are smiles to greet me instead of a room barren of life, of warmth, of welcome.

I have no idea how I’ll make it to Symbiosis, a three day festival a few hundred miles south, but I’m sure I can figure out something… I need to. I’m certain that I can get a ride, but I have no tent, sleeping bag, or anything that a proper camper should have – it was all given away or sold long ago when I got my first running motorhome. I could take my motorhome, but how would I afford fuel and that one small part I need for the carburetor? Answers with more questions are all that I possess. Still, I have to make it – more for my heart and spirit than anything else. All I can do is trust. All I can do is *know* that somehow, some way, it will work out.

Two days later I get an email from someone named Bascom. Seems that he & his girlfriend are looking for a third to busk with. Someone taller, someone with a voice, someone seasoned on the streets who doesn’t have the encumbrance of trying to gather a crowd & work a pitch with razor blades hidden in his cheeks. It will be a far cry from a human statue, but it’s back to what I love – what I need; the smiles of strangers & passerby, a special gift that I know how to give them – reaching out of the common sights, the magick of wonder, and, even if just for a moment, the feeling that they are someone special, someone outside of the crowd. Even in stillness, even in silence I could do this, give them a gift of my energy, that they would hopefully carry in their hearts instead of their minds, that could just possibly bring splendor to a commonplace day, beauty to the mundane, remind them how to *see* the majesty of this world, instead of only looking at it through jaded eyes…


I drove towards the Mission for the sole reason that my car was already pointing that way, and to celebrate recent events decided to buy a vanilla latte from Peet’s Coffee with part of my final five dollars – one of the few coffee drinks that I’ll spurge on, one that I haven’t had in months. On my way inside of Peet’s I notice a homeless man sitting in front of Safeway, wet, cold, in between two bags that look like they weigh a ton dry. I get my latte, then thinking of how even something small can make all the difference in the world, with my last two dollars I buy a regular coffee, fill my pocket with some sugar packs and a cup with some half & half, and put a cardboard cup thing on mine so I don’t mix them up. I walk outside into the wind & wet & deliver the cup of hot coffee to him along with the sugar & cream.

His smile and gratitude was worth far, far more than that last two dollars.

Getting back to the warmth of my car, I notice that I had somehow, somewhat impossibly, mixed the cups up and that he ended up with my treasured vanilla latte. I look out my window, see him cupping it with both hands, taking gentle sips, the absolute pleasure on his face… and share a chuckle with the Universe.

After all, it’s simple – who am I to argue with what is truly meant to be?


It’s been fun falling apart, but I’m going away to fall back together now…

Okay, Universe/Spirit/GodGoddess/Great Ooh-Ahh, etc., we both know that I, of all people, can appreciate your sense of humor, and we’ve certainly had some laughs together with things like my motorhome getting towed twice in a month, breaking down on the way home from Burning Man last year with Cory and being stuck for a day on the side of the road at, of all places, Donner Pass (which I must say was brilliant!) and countless of other fun times that you’ve had at my expense like some sadistic scientist seeing how much I could take we have had, but you must realize that while I usually am able to laugh at the absurdity, it doesn’t necessarily mean  I’m having a ball, ya dig?
You do? Okay, cool.
That having been said, I also need to say how much I appreciate that you never, ever, have knocked my butt down without somehow coming through and offering me a hand back up in the end, which I am grateful for and is probably the only reason I can still laugh at the games you play. You’re always there when I need ya, and that – well, that’s a good feeling. I mean hell, sometimes you even make things better than they were before you had your fun and played your little joke on me, and quite honestly, That is what I’m hoping for this time, too. I can’t really say you owe it to me, but come 0n now – this time you’ve gone a little further than you usually do, and it’s been a looooong time of a whole bunch of not much fun at all for me…
Oh, wait – I think I should probably let those who don’t know what we’re talking about in on what’s been going on before I go further.
A while back when I was feeling a bit stagnant & colorless, kind of blah and uninspired, I dove into the deep end of introspection & noticed some things I wanted to change. To “transform”. Things about myself that I felt I needed to shed & let go of in order to keep smoothly sailing forward in the perpetual quest of personal & spiritual growth, and all that fun stuff that makes me go “A-HA!” when I think I figure out another piece of the puzzle.
Well, the Big ol’ Universe got up to its fun & games again, and took a couple of words – “shed” & “transform” – and just went a bit crazy with them.Decided to have some “fun”.
Instead of my intention, which was entirely internal, it decided to play the external hand &, well, off it went, using this bag of flesh as a playtoy.
Of course to it, the body is just that – completely immaterial, especially since fewer than 1% of atoms that were present in the body last year are present today, and basically we’re all just energy anyway, a world of empty space in constant flux.
I must admit though, that I like this thing I walk around in. I mean, have you ever tried to slap on makeup or set a top-hat on top of something that isn’t at least presumably solid?
Long story short, (for the grotesque details you can go back a few posts to “Living Decomposition – & a release to move forward.“) when the skin is so thin from falling off I have now scratched down to the ink in a tiny spot of the tattoo on my left arm, my scalp is so dry my hair falls out in clumps, strange fluid leaks out of my legs – and just to add a bit more fun I have my entire set of teeth ripped out of my skull during all of this – well, I could take more, but quite honestly I think it’s time to switch this game around and see how quickly I can completely reverse it.
That was a large part of posting “Living Decomposition…”.To get it and its hell out of my head.
Not to get all woo-woo mystical or anything, but I do know that the more you focus on something, the more ya get it, whether you want it or not. It’s just a simple law, ya dig? Like gravity or the thing that Einstein guy came up with.
Well, the Universe & me being pals & such, it listened. My uber-awesome doctor & nurse set some things up, & that very Thursday I met with a person at a care facility, and literally just a few hours later I got a call from him saying that I can move in to this absolutely incredible place on Wednesday.
Wednesday. Tomorrow. TOMORROW!!!
Okay, feeling rushed. So much I need to do!
(Luckily, thanks to Bobzilla, I have space to move around and a place to clean stuff – and hot, um – liquids to eat. I swear, if it wasn’t for him and the way he frequently lets me use his home as a place to ground & just have a nice place to relax – and him to talk with or share a meal, full-time motorhome living would be somewhat more difficult, I imagine…)
The place is called Maitri, and I really can’t tell you how incredibly thrilled, how overwhelmingly blessed I am to be able to be there. (I mean think about it – only 15 rooms, and one just happens to be available right when I need it the most. If that isn’t blessed…)
I will be getting respite care, as some, while others are there for hospice. I don’t know what the situation will be, but maybe, just maybe – for those getting hospice care, I might be able to be a tiny, special part of their final time in this form, to give them something from my heart, if only just a smile. Perhaps even to learn from them.
Okay, I really need to split now, pack, and figure things out, like how I’m getting there with my bags. There’s a lot more to write but I’ll keep in touch, let you know what’s going on through my postings here on my WordPress blog. If you want to follow along and aren’t on WasteBook (which I don’t post on anymore, but links to this are automatically posted there) you can subscribe – or even better, you can find a link to this blog at the bottom of CultureFluxMagazine.com.
Can 90 days of heaven undo three years of hell? You better friggin’ believe it. Just wait until you see me when I get out at the end of December.
<OH – and if anyone can give me a ride from Berkeley to Duboce & Church in San Francisco tomorrow morning, please let me know asap by calling or emailing – NOT by posting on Facebook, please.