03.29.09

Listen closely, because this is the only time I'm gonna say any of this....


The past few years have been a wild ride for me, and though I've tried to drag you down into the depths from which I recently emerged, I haven't done a good job at maintaining a sense of clarity about myself. There has been a cloud of speculation and confusion hanging above my head for a few years now about me and the band known as Trash Talk, and I think its time to clear the air fully. Yes, I was in that band. From february 2006- november 2006. I played the drums. I was NOT the original drummer. In that time, I never went on tour, save for a few coast trips. I had some fun times in that band, I had some bumout times. I was straight edge. They were not. I never once recorded with that band. Those credits are due to Isaac of Killing The Dream. Most of the self titled was recorded before I joined. Some parts weren't. I never wrote a song in my time in Trash Talk. I contributed my two cents and ideas in various places in the music. Some were put into the final recorded result. Some weren't. Same with the lyrics. On the day "Walking Disease" was slated to start recording, I quit. Money and living situation pressures at home didn't permit me the luxury of being able to afford to commute or put down money on recording. All of my spare money was already going to the band's merch fund or my/our gasoline fund. I worked two jobs, one at Vans, one at Polo Ralph Lauren... and it still wasn't enough. That's usually a good indicator that you need to cut out the extra expenditures. I opted out of the fast life for an opportunity at real life. It felt nice having actual people come up after a set and tell you that your music ignited something that normally lay dormant in them I never stole money from them.... I've heard that rumor come my way before. I always paid my room rent and merch fees on time. I was usually the driver on long treks. Yes, I left them in southern california once. And afterwards, continued to play in the band. Yes, I did lose the van keys somewhere in the pacific ocean.


You can all sit atop your new found pedestals and judge me from above while I live my life. MY life. The life I chose. I opted out of touring Japan and Europe and Australia for this. A real life and a shot at being normal and seeing the reality in all humanity. But even in these efforts, I am still treated differently for ever being in that band. For better, and for worse. You can sit in the jury and judge the accused all you want, but the fact still remains that you don't possess the credentials necessary to pass judgement... where were any of you 3 years ago anyways? I've been in and out of the game since I was 13 years old... look up initiate chaos. Chin check (knuckle puck). I don't like being treated as inferior by the consumers of a product I helped create. Where were ANY of you back when I was 17 years old playing shows at the vfw with ceremony, go it alone, and bracewar in front of TWELVE people? How about iron age, verse, and have heart? You fucking suburbia wannabes would shit all over your limited vinyl and buddy holly glasses nowadays if bills like that popped up. You know why? Cause its cool now. That's the long and the short. The music didn't get any better or worse. The song remains the same. You guys were all too busy wearing camo and gauging your ears. You have no sense of who you are... you're easily conformed. Jello. Putty. The media can mold you into anything they want. Because you're weak and dumb. You have been told to hate me. So you do. You have been told that you actually like punk when I know you don't. So you do. You have been told you've had a hard life by other fakes while the rest of us wade amongst our own lower class filth. So you do. I like my life. I love my life. And I have all of the problems you wish you had, for some reason. You hate your life because you have too much opportunity. And you secretly hate yourself because you're ashamed of it. Ashamed of your parents' success. Everything they've worked so hard for, to be cast aside by your ungrateful ass. You know what? I'm done... I think I got my point across.

Disclaimer.

The writings in this briefly expansive set of memoirs are only to be interpreted as specific snapshots of my frame of mind at a certain time. Opinions change. Thoughts change. I've changed more since I started writing in this thing than anybody I've ever known and still managed to wind up at square one and back to my 17 year old self... only aged about 45 more years. Since I've changed, my thoughts and opinions have also changed. Greatly. The days of divulging myself vicariously through this writing persona are long gone, in regards to the real life present tense. I now do not see this publishing tool as a sanctuary, nor a fictional shoulder to cry on, nor a place for my drunken complaints or ramblings. In fact, its been months since I've had even a drop of alcohol, and even longer since other substances have poisoned my thought process and miscalculated any of my real life equations that wound up not adding up. I am who I am. If you don't know who or what that is, then its a little bit eerie of you to read this. The point I'm making is; that save for a few bits and pieces every long once in awhile or so, I'm done writing about myself or my life. I started a separate private space of internet aside months ago for my personal memoirs, where I don't omit anything, so that if the world is still around 60 years from now and the internet decides to save my tiny page from destruction, I can read back through my previous thought processes and states of mind and find out who I truly was and how I became who I am. Some people collage... some people have photo albums... I have these scrapbooks of text to remind myself how high and low I've been. Some of my old drunken posts are funny due to the grammatical errors and terrible word choice, but some of the best works in here, in my opinion, are some of the posts that I don't even remember posting. Drunken honesty through poetry and sundries. It can't get any more brunt than that. The title at the top is really an immature cry for recognition that I'm different. I don't remember putting the picture up there. Embarassing as some of them are, I've made a personal promise since day one to never delete or edit any posts... no matter what. Maybe my frantic cries will drive you away from ever wanting to get to know me. It truthfully doesn't phase me... I have the best friends anybody could ever ask for, and a family that does their best for me. I don't need anybody else.


-Ryan-

march twenty first.

I'm so alone that I don't even have anybody to miss.


I keep finding myself wanting to kiss an invisible cheek when I'm watching a movie alone. I keep seeing myself driving late at night with what turns out to be only a dream. When I'm walking on a cold, windy day, my hands subconsciously search for smaller companions to warm them.

My days of needing any of these things are long gone.


But I want them.

Its weird when none of the love songs come with faces or names to pin them on anymore. I'm just sitting in stagnance. Not waiting for anybody to rescue me... just wanting the current to speed up and the water to clear.

I want the teenage budding love I never had. And that everybody else has had. I've never loved anybody. I came close once. But it pushed me back and I didn't fight it. I have told more than 2 people in my life that I loved them, when romantically involved... and now, none of them are even on a friendly communicative basis with me. Photographs in a scrapbook. Faces with labels to remind me of their names. They didn't matter. Nuisances that convoluted my brain and poisoned my blood stream until my heart was pumping pure poison to my brain. And back and forth. And back and forth.

I'm not searching for it. I don't want it. But its always nice to speculate about what could possibly be, given the right circumstances. I like being alone. And by alone, I mean alone. I am a solitary person. I put on many masks when I'm around people, but they're just paper mache layers that I lay and peel with the necessity of the moment. Its sad to say you will never know me.


I just want one person... besides my best friend... to know me. But that's not the way it works.

I am

A button without a lapel
A jersey without a number
A ring without a finger
A mirror missing a reflection
A bicycle built for one
A quarter note searching for a score
A movie without a cast
Your favorite fruit without the pit
Your favorite ocean without the waves
An earthquake in Milwaukee
A captain without a boat
Port without starboard
Anchor without line
Mast without sail.


Forever means solitude.
Solitude in company.



I am alone.

march fourteenth

The few true friends in my life that I do have, I am beyond grateful for having. Yesterday, I had a day off. I woke up about an hour later than I wanted to, then the day consisted of running errands and driving around and hanging out with Justin until 5 when I took him to work. We got fresh choice which definitely ruled. I ate an insane amount of macaroni and I'm pretty sure I astonished Justin, the fellow patrons, and our "waitress" by putting away about three full trays of food, not to mention two ice creams. I got a haircut then we went antiquing and thrift store pawn shop shopping. The pawn shop downtown has some cymbals that I'm keeping my eye on, even if they are about forty dollars overpriced. At goodwill, I found some good cds in the forgotten dungeon that is the miscellaneous bin. 3 cds for 1.99 each. Can't beat that. Morrissey, Tom Petty, and the first Goo Goo Dolls album... their punk one. At game stop, I almost choked out the asian dude who works there... I asked for Pokemon Red for GameBoy Color and he just laughed. I watched minority report at home and watched and talked to my troublesome brother before going out and watching my friends do hallucinogenic drugs. Tomorrow, I have another day off with absolutely nothing to do. Probably going to have band practice in San Leandro. Its a really fun band and I'm stoked to play in it... it me, my friend Brad (lose none, on a warpath, these days, lifelong tragedy, etc.), some really cool dude Mike, and this dude Donny (time for living, modern eyes) which I'm stoked about because he has such a distinct voice and time for living was my favorite hardcore band when I was 14. I even made my screen name in reference to a line in one of their songs. True story. Its quick. Its dark. Its unlike most things you've heard.

I owe 200$ for my car.
I owe 100$ for last months rent.
225$ for this months rent
80$ for phone bill.
Cars not registered. No insurance.
I'm getting cymbals and probably moving with my tax return money

But lifes good.

stop reading this.

All my best friends are moving onto bigger and better things, and I feel like I am being dropped off just before sundown in the town of forgotten dreams. A place nobody wants to be, doing things nobody wants to do. Yes, a full pickup is dropping me off on the only dirt road in a one horse town and headed west towards the promiseland. And I'm left balancing a hobo pack on my shoulder and waving goodbye with teary eyes asking where I can hop the next train to nowhere. And in steel cars my ancestors welded I will creep along iron and wood tracks my ancestors built. The same tracks I am destined to repair. And my children will someday tear up the ancient oak I lacquer and replace it with new cedar and crossties, a giant zipper in the dry desert. Free masons believe that wealth and success is inherent in blood lines... I am living attribute to that. Its hard to be a rat with eagles as friends. Its hard to keep up with a brace of hares when you're the only tortoise. One of my good friends is even carrying out my old lifelong dream of attending the Berklee college of music in boston. Another is moving to sacramento. Another is moving to san francisco. The other to san diego. One of them to davis. One of them down south somewhere. All of my previous friends from prior lives can go fuck themselves. You abandoned me in my time of need and left me with nowhere to turn. I've gone rogue. I have no loyalties to anybody anymore. My badge is on the table. No super bowl ring this year for me.
My only loyalties are with the three or four people that mean something to me. And I am now an impermiable ball.

Evisceration must have become a spectator sport... this is me spilling my guts.

march seventh

It breaks my heart. Every night is one more chip off my cracked heart. One more souvenir for an empty pocket. And I don't have much heart left to spare, even less that I actually use for myself. I just want my friends and former fellow anchors to rise from the depths and be something more. But none of them want to. I'm not the person who can force them to change, and it fucking breaks my heart. But there's nobody stepping forward and saying "no, that's not ok" except for myself. And that also breaks my heart. The world is a cold place, and sharing the enveloping warmth that could only be intellectual rennaissance goes unappreciated. Who needs a thought process for warming comfort when you can have fire in your belly for 5.99. Instant gratification. The slogan of my generation. No discipline. No willpower. No need or desire for either. Just get fucked up, fuck, sleep, shit, and party. I guess it makes sense... I mean... why strive for a higher quality of life if it isn't encouraged by society? Or if there's no need? Or if its almost downright discouraged by the world? Look at the media. Depravity. Debauchery. Nothing real. Not even the music itself, most of the time. I'm not trying to change the world or make people think differently or even make people go cold turkey. I want people to think. I want to save the friends I love most from what I could easily describe as a "trite and meaningless" existence. But they don't want to be saved. And I'm running out of life rafts and floatables to throw, and I'm at the end of my last rope. Throwing life vests to people is useless if they refuse to put them on. I'm crying for a life less plagued...

eye see yew.

my generation is scourge.