With None

Rolling rolling rolling and I thought this would help I truly thought this would help.
It didn’t. The darkness is still there and the lines on my face cutdeeper, the cuts in my heart bleed water there is nothing left.

Again, I’m wrong.

There is something, somewhere, for me. Some way to feel useful, valued, worth all that I fought so fucking hard for – because baby, this sure as fuck ain’t it.

This sure as fuck ain’t it.

There’s something inside of me that has lost the music, lost the dance, the laughter and truth of life and I fall again, further, further than years past.

I knew how to dig myself out then.

I just wrote. Wrote of all the pain and beauty, the fire and freezing cold, the life and death that was every fucking day of my life from the moment I rolled into Austin. The life I lived before, the feeling that I was fucking HELPING one, a few, some to move forward, to not be like I was, to dream, follow. It’s not all about them, it can’t be. I’ve been searching for this my entire lonely life, and I mark the notches on my hatbands. They all mean that this, that meant something.

And I remember the love. Most importantly, the love. Love lost, and love that remains. Gods. Either I was a fool, or she was smart. Whate vefr needed to happen did, and I left Tea behind. That is what was necessary, but gods, I wish it wasnlt now.

As I struggle to write my memoir, I ask myself who I was – and who am I now?

How fortunate the man with none.

I think that that was when was in my deepest truth- – just the road, Bean, a shitty van ane forever in front of me.

Forever.

At least that’s what I thought at the time.

Cut these lines in my heart away, cut me from me me from you me from all I have believed in and just…. Just tell me I was dreaming.
That there was no reason to fight like I did, thaat there was no reason to believe in who I could be, that all the tears I cried were in vain and….

And I won’t believe you.

I did something. I helped. I had value.

And now that I’ve tasted it, the rest of life seeems so fucking bland.

This is a cry for help… give me a purpose, a reason, air to breathe and appreciate. Make me work for what I can do.

The steel wheels keep rolling, and I, in my solitary seat,

I try not to cry.

Scraping it Away

Portland. Took the train here, a 17 hour trip turned into 22. Ice on the tracks over the mountains, checking the train to be certain it worked like it should despite the freezing weather, letting other trains pass while we waited on a side-track, expanses of white fields & forests making the perfect winter scenes. I loved every moment. Let me take it all in.

Here is not much different than there for me, as I lay in bed writing & almost protected from the cold by a thin comforter. If you saw me you wouldn’t see anything different, but it’s everything inside & outside this skin where you will find the magick I needed. I need.
I pause, listen. No sirens, no shouts. I open the blinds on th ewindow, just enough so I can see outside to the yard, the neighbors yard, further to other houses. No movement. Nothing to disturb the perfection – not even footprints in the snow. There is a serenity here that I haven’t experienced in years, but I fear I will have to head back to San Francisco before it is able to take hold on me. At least I was able to scrape a bit of the city away, the grime on my soul dropped somewhere from the train & gratifyingly lost in the seas of snow-covered pines. It’s only a bandage on a much deeper darkness though, a smiley-face sticker over a gas gauge. Still, I’ll take what I can get, and for now, this is heaven.

The temptation to move here is palpable, but I know that deeper its just needing to move anywhere else just to get away. I’ve been in San Francisco longer this time than anywhere since I was a child, and for years now wanderlust has been eating at me, eating me away. I realize that the things I want to have San Francisco hold onto me for aren’t there anymore – not enough to give good reason at least. I need to get away, but I don’t need to figure out how right now.

I sit in a room in a home just outside the city and look out at the enormous backyeard that Ruby could play in, the backyard where I could roll around on the grass with her, the yard where I could set up an archery target that wasn’t only 10 feet away. The yard where I could grow food, plant trees, flowers, and set up a desk to look out onto when I write.

My house is somewhere. Maybe it’s right down the block, just waiting for everything to work out, waiting for me.

Tomorrow afternoon I return to San Francisco, back to the sirens, shouts, the crowds of people, the perpetual mayhem of my neighborhood.

But back to a warm room that is mine, has a roof, water, kitchen with maybe a little bit of food left in it – and it has Ruby.

Seeds of Dreams

Reading over the life that I lived before I ended up in hospice is both beautiful & crushing. Right now (then) I’m getting CultureFlux in gear, performing on Alcatraz, the Queen Mary, being flown to New Orleans – and I find emails from people telling me that I *am* doing something right.

A life grown from nothing but the seeds of dreams…

I remember that person, his strength, his will, his desire to make everything better – to live a life of value not only for himself, but for others. He lived life like nothing could ever stop him…
until something did, and ripped the life he had built away.

It’s been a challenging few years. I was taken away from the work I loved and set out to try to survive on the pittance that disability gives me – the first time I understood that some things were impossible, even for me.

Now, I look for work again, but work I can do before I *hopefully* get the surgery I need is scarce; each day I go through what’s available on craigslist, and each day the depression and futility digs deeper into me.
But something needs to change, somehow. I know better now than to depend on the book, but I need to figure out what… and I will. I’m remembering who I was again, who I am.

Unfortunately that doesn’t solve today’s needs – and for that I still need your belief in me. Your help.
I’m completely out of coconut water & nearly all food, save for some left-over potatoes and oatmeal – bland as hell with no sugar or milk. I *do* have salad dressing, but after careful consideration I realized that wouldn’t work – I just don’t get that drunk anymore.
And of course, there are the herbs I need, and most importantly the food Ruby needs…

If you can, if you aren’t completely sick that I *still* need help (like I am) – then please do. I promise to do whatever I can, as *much* as I can on my side…
my paypal is ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com

I’m finally beginning to believe in myself again. It’s been a much longer time than I’ve let on.

Thank you for anything you can do. (Including & especially work.)