SHUT UP

The wonder of existence confounds me in its attempts to make me feel bad. I constantly hate the state of my acne, loath the peculiarities of my body, and wallow in the shame of my being. I can only assume that it comes with the job of maintaining one's personal self, but it really blows. Blows ass.

Why should I hate being me? Well, there are many reasons, I'm sure, but I need to get over them. I only get one chance to exist, and this is it. Quit being such an insignificant slouch and stand up to be the mother fucker you were intended to be.

I really don't want to be a mother fucker, unless I plan on having children. The last thing I need right now is children.

What the hell am I writing about? I can't even seem to recall. Something about existing.

What a terrible place to use a writing convention, recalling sentences past as though they happened a few pages back. I knew the whole time what I was writing about, more or less. This is all just the ethereal spew my mind bakes for me on an hour to hour basis. It constantly trods me into the dirt and makes me feel sub par.

But at other times I feel like I just turned a huge spliff into ash. The world is mine, every one of the funny body parts and all. I can take anything I want, be anything I want, eat anything I want, drink anything I want, and ultimately explode into a ball of ash from being such a proactive guy.

But right now? I work 9-5 (more or less) and sit on my ass in front of the TV for at least two hours a day. Granted those two hours are generally spent being sedentary while eating or not being sedentary while working out, but TV ultimately eats those two hours of my life. Why am I such a waste?!

But I'm not a waste. Here I am typing out this completely unreadable drivel in an attempt to be creative. I haven't drawn anything in months and I'm supposedly going to be in an art show? Me? No, that can't be right...

...Or could it? Could this be any more predictable? Could I really have the stones to live as an artist? I do plan on moving to Chicago to do just that, and I'm slowly trading the life I've built here in Nowhere, Ohio to do it. Is it possible for me to draw stupid cartoon animals for a museum that no one has ever heard of?

I guess I could.

I should tattoo "SHUT UP" on my chest upside down, as a reminder.

My name is Ryan

Music is a portal to the mind, a gateway to the brain, an open door to thought and physiology. It morphs and bends the way we think, creating something from where the was once nothing. Music is the god of our day and age. Music sells shoes, music creates social groups, and music helps us remember.

If music is all of these things, what isn't music? Certainly any given form of art has its limitations, and one can only assume this is true of music.

I don't really want to know what music isn't. That isn't interesting. The feelings generated by music, they are interesting. Just like my thought processes running rampantly through my mind and through my fingers, becoming the words in this poorly thought out blog post.

I plant a small seed of music in each day of my life, thanks to the random functionality of my iPod's playlist. Will I have a good day? Will I have a bad day? Will I experience any given moment of my day or will I be replaced with some creature that calls itself Ryan and answers to Ryan?

On the days I get replaced, I can't help but feel bad for the people that encounter me. I can only imagine what strange things it tells people as the beat of any given song repeats endlessly in its mind.

Love Ryan

Yup, I Was Gone

So I just got back from Chicago not to long ago. My girlfriend and I went and we had a general time of it. We saw a lot of shows, ate some interesting things, saw some interesting things, and slept in. Vacation is wonderful in respect to sleeping.

We stayed with a girlfriend of my girlfriend who is a student at the Improv Olympic, or iO. She took us to all the shows worht seeing at the theater, such as the Cook County Social Club, Improvised Shakespeare, and many others. It really gave me a taste for long-form improvisation, whereas I'm used to mainly short-form improv games.

We had some pretty good food in Chi-Town as well, including an actual Chicago style pizza. I was absolutely thick, not allowing much to pass through its high density cheesiness. The sauce and dough only added to the decadence of this Italian monster-piece. We also attended Taste of Chicago and the meal of note would have to be the African-style goat I had. Served in chunks over rice, it was very flavorful with a tangy barbeque-esqe sauce. The rice had a hint of coconut flavor, and I think that reaslly made the dish for me.

Chicago is definitely a city on the move. No one can keep still long enough there to really appreciate what they have around them. I suppose I'm glad we went so I could see the city's beauty and culture. It is going to be interesting and different to live out there but I am looking forward to it. I need a shift in gears from living in a dead-end, middle of nowhere town(no offence to those who live here).