Saturday, September 29, 2012

round 2 part 1

Finally I left Montreal, it was a solid run. I kissed my sweet angelic French Canadian Burner one last time and we watched each others eyes water up.... A sweet goodbye.
I sleep on trains, and I slept the first 5 hours of this 11 hour trip, waking often to adjust, tell stern custom agents that my box had a typewriter, and to piss. My body is a mess right now from awkward sleep, and carrying all my gear around city after city..... meh, boo hoo.

The train ride was fine. I had a bunch of new music that my French gal gave to me so I enjoyed slightly meditating on that. The scenery was gloomy as it was raining the whole way..... another sleep aid.
Finally we got to Albany and I ran into an Aussie who was having a smoke break as well. We were instant buds, or I should say mate. Rad ass dude. Tim his name is. Train hopper, philosopher, DJ, dreamer, lover, poet, badass..... dude had stories. He was finally on his way back to New York to catch a flight back to Melbourne the next day so we set a date to go hang out at Union Square. I would type, he would read, we would switch rolls every once in awhile. We smoked, we drank, we shared, we criticized the zombies for wishing they were more dead. I loved him, he was my first brother on this trip. A soul rebel, traveling purist.... my friend, my boy. I wrote him a poem, he said he would cherish it forever, we will stay in touch, and I will see him again. My homie Tim, respect.

Time came to some kinda end, I had made a few bucks hustling poetry like I do, making friends and sharing shadows. Good experience, but I was ready to meet my Couch Surfing host at Columbia university, at a dorm..... yeah, I am currently in an Ivy League dorm.... it really is not a big deal, but I thought it might be.

Her name is Maria, the second name of my dear mother. She is literally the sweetest girl I think I have ever met. 20 years young, tri-lingual, film major, artist, darling..... how did I get so lucky. She immediatly was curious about me and my project and I was caught off guard by the immediate questions, but soon became flattered with the admiration she was showing. So up we go to the fourth floor where we walk to her room, say hi to some of her hall mates who probably can not help but wonder who this gypsy is crashing there dorm, but Maria had told them all..... she is so well prepared. She opens the door to her room, and I did not know what to expect.... but it is as basic of a single dorm room as you can get, and on the floor is a blow up bed with purple sheets, and fuzzy purple pillows.... ahhh.... purple. I felt very lucky..... she truly is inspired by me. I would lay my head to rest ready to conquer the big city in the morning.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

French Connection.

Another missed train.
Hipster corners in Montreal. They call it a cafe....  I call it appropriate.
Stars in her eyes, yes I have spent the last 3 days with a French Canadian beauty. Yes, it was amazing.
This could be a dream. She cries when she hears a violin, she has since she was a young child.

I still stress what is next, knowing that I should realize by now I will be okay.... still I stress.
Fame is not the goal, though it is a minor dream. Fame comes with wanting to share your story and soul with the whole world. I want my soul to be famous.
I will write love songs, and sad songs and you will never know the difference..... You can not control love, love happens, love is happening.
I have been in Montreal now for 5 days, I will not miss my third train tomorrow.
I spent last night celebrating my french beauties birthday. We ended up on the 8th floor rooftop loft of her friend who is a straight burning man G. Sound engineer, film director, 8mm, badass. I got to catch a glimpse of the city scape and watched myself fall in love again with travel, and the possibility of always venturing to new experiences... it is the way, it is my way. Love.

I took a 3 hour nap in a park, the ants were vicious but I did not mind. I listened as a fountain played white noise and called on the wind to fit my poetic mood. I napped for 3 hours as lingering conversations passed though my state of half asleep naps.

I saw an ex lover the other night, we danced. She is more beautiful then ever, I wanted to tell her but she has a boyfriend. Her eyes however suggested she was also happy to see me, and that she remembered how special it was. She was my first kinda girlfriend, and the best dancer I have ever dated. What a fairy.

The only thing I am addicted to is fairy blood.

I stayed two nights in a hotel with my French Beauty, paid for by her. She had just ended a long relationship and was couch crashing at friends.... we opted for hotels and privacy.... she took such good care of me. She even bought me a new pair of suspenders. Ahhh.... do I deserve such treatment? She certainly thought so.

I ran through the downtown of Montreal, it was a downtown. Some great architecture, still a downtown.

Montreal is first city I have been to out of the Untied States. It is absolutely French dominated, and they intend to keep it that way and push more so. I often was intimidated by my American status, however after a few social events where I got to show my dancefloor charm, I felt confident that any mild judgement on me would be lost in how freaking cool I am when I dance..... yes arrogant, but I needed that to push towards confidence of myself.

Life is swell, I can not wait to take on New York again. Time is running short and I am still struggling with waking to a new day with a grabbing how exciting life is right of the back. My body hurts from all my walking and awkward train sleeping. I need to pace myself early, stretch, breath, drink water and move slow. I know my pace will pick up, but I am groggy first thing.... it has been like this since I lost my mother 16 years ago. I am still stuck believing my frantic dream state is easier then what my waking life will hold for me that day.

And so it goes....
Overly passionate is not the right term, but I am almost insanely passionate... it makes me tired. I am overwhelmed always with all of this beauty and my desire to share it with everyone I can. One day at a time Ryan, one foot in front of the other. Work hard, please work hard. Say your blessings, you are blessed... we are blessed. Continue to share, inspire, believe, and know you are doing well. Head up, heart strong..... so it is, the life of a dreamers. I dream big.

Montreal, my dear.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Evening stroll

It rains. It pours. It stops raining.
The evening stroll.
The wet city of a foreign nature
The trees leak
The puddles gather in gaps
Wandering on.
A new street.
A newer perspective.
Pink scarfs
Flamboyant struts.
Poutine slobber
A lover from the past.
A smell ignited
This place I was, some time ago.
Jaguar games
Childhood remains
Stained liver
Cupids quiver

Friday, September 21, 2012

Pre Montreal Adventure Blues

A rainy day is all it takes.
Today is a day I feel set back.
I feel lost and uninspired
This all coming after getting the most social media attention I have received.
Maybe it is the partying and not getting laid thing. Maybe it is the weather. Maybe..... maybe I am lost in translation in this city. Maybe....

Perhaps I am unsure of myself at times.
Likely, I take things too personal.
Moreover, I want to nap, shower, and get the fuck to exploring.
Rain.
I feel lazy, and unsure... still.
I miss female companionship
I miss cuddling, and puppy dog eyes.
I need less nightlife and more sensual touches.
Less Dance floors, more cuddling please.
Montreal.
I knew I was just checking you out, and it was not suppose to be serious.
But honestly, I need a nap.
Then I will brace the wetness
And risk Jolene's and my safety
In order to share such words
And hopefully meet
Many a muse.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Lucid-Step and Lovers Quest

This post contains sexual content.

"That is, I do not want to lay it all out for everyone to see in some confusing light that may be too intense for the mild hearted (normal folk?)."

Music : Phaeleh "Lament"





I suggest you listen first.
You should surely watch, later
** please read this poem softly while music plays to get near where I was when I wrote it**

When I listen:

I think sex, deep sensual, mystic sex.....

I also think and feel
Romantic Ninja Saves goddess from forces of mystery
Ninja reviles himself to be lost lover
She thought no longer existed
They embrace
Magic moonlight dream
Ecstasy in eyes
Neck kissing
Toes curling
Moans of sweet, sweet harmony
Beat rolls on.
Clothes fall off.
Like stars in a wishing well
This a dream come true
Wind blows perfectly
Kisses are in sync
Chills, Chills, and more.... chills
Moonlight on her skin
Ninja has been waiting for this moment all his life.

When Bass drops he enters
Her Back bends
Moonlight dreaming
Magic breaths say it all.
Everything is perfect.
The dream of dreamers,
The dream of sexual romantics

Their motions are a dance
prince and princess
doing alien tribal motions
hitting kick drums
in euphoric harmony
stars are now shining brighter
when the time comes
she lays on his chest
stars twinkle to say thank you
for such an amazing show.


A quote I like, and why.

Quotes:


"Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good, it is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance, it means to suffer."
— Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
** I have been looking for a way to some up the pressure passion causes. This made me happy, to know that the word itself is rooted in a struggle. I not to long ago announced to a bunch of people and a particular girl who was insanely beautiful and insanely hard on me that I wish to disperse my passion internally and with more patience. That is, I do now want to lay it all out for everyone to see in some confusing light that may be too intense for the mild hearted (normal folk?). Rather I wish to be still with it, let it swim and leak out in gentle flows that do not drown those surrounding me. This trip is proving to be an excellent exercise is patience and taking it slow, because truthfully there have been moments where I was so overcome with passion and emotion I thought I was going to burst into a mess of confetti and potentially poisoness candy like some mexican pinnate. And it is life and all of it's beauty, all of it.... so much of it!!! Oh no... it is happening now!  CABOOOM!!!
Come get a piece of me. It will either be delicious or poisoness..... maybe both.  **




Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The Writing Season

This is a write up from a dear friend.  Please visit her blog. She is as wonderful as her writing suggest.

www.thewritingseason.com





Feature Write #3: Ryan Ashley + Untouched Poetry
A few weeks ago at the Pearl Street Farmer’s Market, I grabbed my intended veggies and an unintended poem.
Just after filling my bag with spinach, red onions, garlic and honey, and just before entering Sexy Pizza, I noticed a line of people standing in front of a guy with an open suitcase, an old-timey typewriter and a sign that said, “Poems for Sale.”
Poems for sale?
I froze.
And zeroed in on this guy with suspenders and a hat, white t-shirt, rolled jeans and flip flops, who click-clacked words onto a little square piece of paper, pulled it out of his typewriter, and read his lines to perfect strangers who had given him their special order. There was a name or a subject on their mind, and he resourced the formless to give words to those things on, below and above the surface.
There was this couple going on and on about him TO him, and then there was this lady who, upon reading his poem, fell into tears.  I loved this moment.  She needed to be moved, and he moved her. After a sweet hug between the two of them, she walked away hunched into the supporting embrace of her friend, poem in hand.
Image
I’d never seen anything like it.
On the spot words.
Combined.
Just like that.
Ready to go, to be given away.
Just like that.
I could never do anything like that.  I think and re-think, and feel and cry and re-read and cry and try again, and walk around and go through tragedies before I can whip out a poem.  So, once I actually finish something, I usually harbor it for myself. I hold on tight.
But he put his words together in seconds, and then just…gave them away.
Just like that.
Well. I had to have one.
But I had no cash left, so I headed to the free-standing ATM which is located right next to the fresh squeezed lemonade stand and the live folk music. It was broken. How could it be broken?
And I remembered about the other ATM which is all the way down the street past the all-night coffee shop and right in front of the old house that has been converted into an attorney’s office.  This attorney got a bright idea and stuck an ATM outside his front door so he could make a few weekend bucks off the farmer’s market goers.  I guess his suitcase was open too. His sign should read, “Cash for sale.” I was thankful for his bright idea.
After waiting FOREVER for the two guys and then the young mom to get their intended cash, I finally got mine and rushed back to the spot where poems happen.
But he was gone.  All gone.
A farmer’s market tragedy.
So, I plopped onto the steps in front of the blue house on Pearl Street aimless, wondering what I had missed.  Maybe the gods and the angels had some words for me that day, and if only I would have passed on the raw honey this week, I would have had the cash to fill his suitcase and a raw poem to guide my path.
But then he re-appeared.
“Are you done?” I snagged his attention.
“Yes. It’s so hot.”
“Well. I need a poem.” I didn’t give him a choice.
“Um, well, let’s..let me..I’ll bring my typewriter over to you in the shade. It’s so hot.”
And he wrote me a poem.
And we talked.
Turns out there was a lot of emotional energy in the air that day. He woke up feeling it, and sure enough, the woman who had read his poem, the one who left in tears, had come to a point in her journey.  She was 20 minutes away from having that conversation with her mother.  The conversation where boundaries need to take place. The conversation you shouldn’t have to have with your mother. For her own reasons, she had come to that decision, and the hour was upon her.  She would leave the Pearl Street Farmer’s Market, supported by a poem, and head to her mother’s house to tell her that she could no longer be in her life.
Heavy.
Turns out the poet was embarking on a journey of his own.  A 45-day trip across the United States via bus or train, to as many cities and as many farmer’s markets that would take him, his typewriter, “Jolene,” and their combination of words, magic, delight and energy flow. A 45-day trip to his unknown.
I don’t know why, but I mentioned that I teach journal writing.
“I need that.”
Turns out I didn’t need that cash after all.  We would trade.  The poem, in exchange for a few journal writing techniques.
This is my kind of life.  I dig this. I dig being with people just on the verge of their journey. Taking a risk.  Doing what they know they need to do.   Stepping into faith whether they know it or not.  Testing what they are made of.  Opening themselves to what may be real about them.  What may be true.  Finding things out about themselves that they never would have known if they wouldn’t have embarked on the journey. I’ve been on this road.  Still am, and it’s always worth it.  These journeys are the ones that, in the end, expand you, make you fuller, make you whole, tell you the truth, break you and then heal you.
We met on Thursday.  Green tea to keep us warm from the cooling Denver night.
Journals on the table ready to absorb all that there was in that moment.
Turns out he has some things to face.  Turns out his beautiful, loving, Spanish mother was murdered (in front of him and his siblings) by his father.  He was in junior high at the time.
Heavy.
After I named a few of the journal techniques, he felt drawn to the “Cluster” technique.  Says he’ll use it on his journey.  Says it expanded his mind.  Says it gave him information that was good for him to know. I think that’s what he said.  Maybe it’s just what I heard.
But.  He liked it enough to come back for more.  We met again at Mici in Cherry Creek North where we both enjoyed an adventuresome “List of 100.”
He left the next day for his travels, wanting to devour the universe, typewriter in hand, blank paper in his pocket, ready to be filled with words to be given to farmer’s market goers, who will show up on a Saturday for their intended veggies and leave with an unintended poem.
Just like that.
A POEM FOR A MENTOR:
“TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY
ONE THAT WILL NEVER COME.
WE WILL SURELY CHASE THE DREAMS
AS IF THEY’D HURT US.
WHEN WE WAKE UP
FROM THIS MADNESS OF TRYING.
OUR WORDS WILL FEATHER OUT
INTO A FOREST OF PERSPECTIVE.
GIVING US THE FREEDOM WE SEEK
TO BECOME ONE WITH THE GOD I CONSUME.”
~Ryan Ashley, Untouched Poetry

New York State of Mine, Volume 1

NYC Recap.

The subways, the metro..... seriously what a way to get around. 
I hope you people can get a picture of how much shit I have to carry around.        ->->->->->->->

Just looking at this mess of material that is my current life makes me cringe. There is no way to glamorize the situation. Like the bungees that hold my "office" together, I am strapped to my possessions and my shoulders are sore. 

blah blah, I am traveling and sometimes it is tough.... rules of the road number 3: Expect to be uncomfortable at times..... perhaps the first rule. 


Anywayyyysss........

The metro + a lot of shit + subway station gates + countless steps + insane amount of transfers + confusing signs + large amount of people + NYC attitude =  Big City Hustle

Enough complaining. 

The trains had it all. All the colors of this planet, colors of skins sure.... but colors of personality, character and culture is what I speak of. Any one who has ever ventured the center of the earth (NYC) knows what I mean. The jews, the homeless, the lovers, the tired, the business men/women, the want to be models, the hipsters, the yuppies, yuppies, the yuppies, the asians, the hard thug like, the broken dreams, the crazies, the beautiful, the mysterious, the loves of my life, smiling dying man, the vampires, the lost in time gypsy, the hip hop stars, and the continual infinite possibility of characters that is NY.... All to be witnessed while the rails rumble, and the stops come on suddenly..... we shift our balance together. It was single handedly the best people watching I have ever experienced, and worth my efforts to get on board. However next time I visit I hope I have less shit.

Untouched Poetry in the City.

Let's start with an estimated statistic. I think through the 5 days I spent in NYC, I must have written about 200+ poems for 200+ people. No joke. I wrote all 5 days I was there, so an average of 40+ poems a day, for 40+ strangers. Sweet. Through all those interactions, I met countless interesting people, and performed and wrote some really could poems. A lot that I took pictures of, and a lot that I did not. A lot of poems I did not like, or I thought were redundant as a result of a thought, or feeling I get stuck on, or as a result of my undeveloped vocabulary which I am working on. I think a lot of my redundancy comes from being intimidated with Jolene's lack of a spell check, combined with the comfort of computer typing. Regardless, it frustrates me from time to time, and I am working on ways to snap myself out of that repetitive nature and get back to finding space where I can originally create. 
Something that is really cool is that more often then not these days, folks seem to enjoy giving me the liberty to write about whatever I feel like. Usually I expose my current internal observation, whether be an external, or internal observation of my experience I get the chance to really see what it is happening with me. Often I will be in thought about anything random, a memory, a daydream, a judgement, or just zoned out like a child lost in no thought.... it is cool, and I mostly prefer it to the general subjects of love, birthdays, girlfriend/boyfriend poems.... ect. Not that I can not get creative with the subjects to come up often, it is just harder to be creative when you write 15 poems about love in 3 hours and you know most people want to hear a general romantic outlook on the subject..... so sometimes I switch it up to point that it is so random I think they are confused....but I am the poet, I do what I want.... if even if I sacrifice a connection or better tip. 
    My first day writing which was Wednesday I did my research and found out that people see art right down the block from the art museum so I ventured over not sure what I would find. This was great as I got to explore the metro, as well as take my first stroll through central park. Central park, the part I saw is really as stunning as people say it is. Amidst the rocking and rolling of the concrete jungle, lays a park loosely but representing that of an actual forrest where people can frolic, play, and gather. My stroll was excellent, I saw many things, many beautiful things. Children laughing, lovers embracing, dogs behaving, a Shakespeare garden, and old lovers perhaps reliving the moment they first took a walk as lovers through this enchanted park. Awesome. So anyways, the art museum provided a enough traffic of people looking at the artist that post up outside that I did well the first day. Well enough to sustain me for the evening and the day until my art show on Thursday night.
      Wednesday night I met up with Elliot a gentleman from New Zealand that was staying at the place I was. He was using AirBnb, which is an online forum where you can find houses to stay at for a cost cheaper then hotels. The house we stayed at was occupied by Joe, Margaret, and my buddy Bree. Bree and I met about 3 or 4 years back in Boulder Colorado. We met after a Bassnectar show. I remember the moment we met, it was after the show and my dear friend Jeremy and I were walking and I noticed a group of very cool looking kids, so I asked "hey bassnectar kids, can I bum a smoke?" An elf looking gentleman named T whom I stayed with in Chicago and mentioned in an earlier blog provided me with marlboro 27, and we chatted as we walked. We ended up on a porch right downtown and everyone chatted as I listened in my euphoric state. Bree was wearing tight gold pants, and she was beautiful. Everyone that was in the group was beautiful. That night was magic and I made friends with a group of younger kids that I knew were all going to be big in whatever they chose to do. 
So Bree volunteered to host me, and on this night she was going to an indie rock show to see a band named Alt-J at the bowery ballroom. So super handsome Elliot and I took the subway from Brooklyn to meet Bree and her Ex-Lover, and my friend Aaron and there friends. Ignited with the magic of the city was entered the venue, made our plan and posted up at the front of the stage. I made friends with Charlie a sexy bartender and she provided me with heavy pours of my favorite tequila. The show started and this band provided beautifully composed melodic electronic rock that had me in a state of bliss that very well represented my current state of emotion in this magical city. 
The show ended, and myself and Elliot decided we wanted to keep the party going. We hustled and bustled our way to a few different bars trying to find the right place, and that place for me was anywhere I could dance. We kinda found that place at a bar named "The Woods" in Brooklyn, and sure enough it was a gay bar, and sure enough the gay men loved me, and soon a handful of the women did as well. Bars stay open till 4 or 5 in the morning and time slipped through our fingers and soon I was back at home spinning from my first night out. I woke up 6 hours later feeling like a bag of shit that was being hit with a hammer.

I gathered myself quickly, grabbed a juice, a coconut water and went on a run. I ran, to the ghetto. The 5 points in the cities cause a lot of potential to get hit by a car, but I was feeling it. The hustle, the dark energy, the grime of this ghetto that I ran to, and I quickly, and I mean quickly ran through not realizing I was wearing a black bandanna I do not think anyone thought I was in a gang. Still these streets were so dirty, again straight grime. Shops selling god knows what, restaurants that were dirtier then my basement as a child.... which had a dirt floor. So I kept running, and the sweat came running with me. I danced my way through the rough crowd never stopping, and making my way all the way to the beginning of the bridge. I did a quick turn around and ran my skinny body all the way back through the ghetto. Nothing was going to stop me, but I had to get a quick view of the ghetto and the best way I knew how to do so was to run through it. People can smell insecurity and fear, when I run I have none of those so I knew I was as safe as I could ever feel in a dangerous part of human existence.... the ghetto. 
I returned and found myself at one the thousands of deli's in town. Note: they call it a hero, not a sub. So I ordered a chicken cutlet hero thinking I was going to be getting a chicken parmesan sub, instead I got a piece of chicken with some american cheese on a hoagie roll.... whatever, I should of known this was a deli, not an italian sandwich shop. The sandwich sucked, but I was ready to get myself together for this art show I was a part of. 

RAW ARTIST 

I participated in a few RAW showcase earlier in the year and this summer in Boulder Colorado. The experience was amazing, and what RAW does is really great. They provide an art show for artist of all breeds to come and showcase their work for mere 20 tickets that you need to sell. The showcase is a party, unlike any other art exhibit you will ever go to. We are talking music, drinking, networking, painters, designers, fashion, photography, dance, poetry and so on... pretty much everything all together under one one roof for one night.

Sick.

So now it was my turn to take on Brooklyn. Upon arrival to set up I was met with ladies that knew what they were doing. Strong direct and business oriented. Organized is another way of describing them. The space was simple, cool, but simple. I have to say the venue in Boulder however is much more dynamic for what RAW does, but regardless it was not bad in anyway. I met the directors, they explained genuinely their excitement to have me, and that never gets old. I put stuff down and headed to find some fresh paper and some food before the show started. I was near downtown Brooklyn I believe and the are was stunning, and was a perfect representation of what I though of when I considered "nice areas" of Brooklyn. When I got to the paper store I was in heaven, they had so many options of colors and texture it was truly a dream come true. So I loaded up with 125 pieces of paper in 5 styes and told myself if I use all of these pieces I will have set a record for most poems written in a day. I proceeded to a thai restaurant for the best green curry I had ever had. Now paper locked, and full belly grooving I walked my way back to the show. I took a different route and again was in awe at how nice everything was. I wish I had more pictures for you but I was caught in the moment. 
I arrived back at the venue "Little Field" to see the energy was buzzing. People were getting serious, as if it was their make it or break it moment.... and who knows it could of been either of those of none. I set up, got some water, received some nice complements about Jolene and checked out the other art. All was wonderful, especially the Lyssa Nowakowski whom had a stunning sense of style to go replicate her stunning eyes and figure, all finished off with an amazing project. On canvas the size of a large living room wall she painted a hungry looking velociraptor holding a large fork. On the other side she had an eloquent sitting chair from what looked like the 50's. She snapped photos of people in all kinds of form sitting in this chair. I had to partake. And I did so with a smoke in hand, and a dramatic look in form. She said I had amazing eyes, I humbly disregarded telling her everything about what I thought was amazing about her, but I kinda hinted at it when I wrote her a poem later on in the night. 
At one point during the event I was asked to come on stage and speak a little about my project. A little nervous, but then remember how good I am in front of a crowd, I grabbed the microphone out of the hosts hand and told the crowd that I had to take this chance to say "WHERE'S BROOKLYN AT,WHERE'S BROOKLYN AT" a popular line once used by a Notorious rapper by the name of Biggie Smalls. I told a little about my project, and was asked to recite a poem. I told them one I have been working on. It goes something like this.

I once set a bridge on fire
So I swam to the other side
There, Everyone was disappointed 
So I started to rebuild the bridge.
I worked hard
I was alone.
I finished the bridge
And went to the other side
Everyone had left
But I was not sad
Because while I had worked hard to rebuild
I came to understand
That the thing I needed
Was not those on the other side
Rather, my ability to build the bridge.

A work in progress, but something like that. 

The rest of the show was great. I met Ina, my rockstar friends wife/ex-wife.... she is one of the top 5 Bulgarian artist of all time, a stunning older yet like I said STUNNING women. That combined with her peppy step, and bright eyes makes her a delight to be around. Bree and some her buddies came as well. Once the night was over, typical me felt the need to go out and celebrate the night. I was by myself and felt it would be a good time to explore on my own. So I did just that. It was okay. I did not want to be alone.... an issue I am still working on and will talk about more as I get deeper. So it is, I ended up drunk at a gayish bar drinking, talking, listening, thinking,dancing and flirting..... the usual form....   It ended with me passed out, wondering what was next and what I was doing in this city.





       










            

Monday, September 17, 2012

Replicated Angels

***A quick note to start the process of speaking to you all about a deep process I have to expose myself too, again. I will allow myself to tell my story in full a bit later ***

I saw a lady that reminded me of my mother this past Friday. I was stung. The moment sent me into that place I wish I could exist in more often.....
I could feel her. I knew it once again, that the love that was ripped from me still existed somewhere deep, deep within..... and behind, and bellow.... buried under years of learning to operate with a heart that had taken a beating. I fucking miss her, I miss that feeling. I get it sometimes, usually triggered by a moment that reminds me of a situation her and I existed in, but this time seeing a lady that looked like her......... what is a poor boy suppose to do? So I whimpered, bowed my head.... felt my eyes water up, and almost cried..... I was in NY the place her life found life..... It was a beautiful moment. She is still with me.... and yet, I miss her so much.... it almost, sometimes, controls my life.

Stop it.
Stop it, please.
No.... I actually need this.
You don't even see me.
You are not her.
You resemble her though
My angel
She no longer walks like you.
She was petit, like you
Dark and beautiful.
I want my soul back.
You are only a replication
So it is then
You don't see me
But I see her.
She still loves me
This is scary now.
How long will this feeling last.
I want to cry, I need too.
It feels real.
To be alive.
And now you fade away.
When will I see you again?
What must I face to feel like that
I will never touch you,
I need to let you know.
I think I still love you.
And don't know how
I can let go.
I just can not let go.
I need to let go.
I miss you.
Ma mere....
Alma.
Please come back.
I get so very scared here.
There are dark places
I do not understand
No one does
I once believed it was you
All I ever needed.
No one understands
Some tell me I am weak
I have been untrue
To what I knew of
When we played
And you rubbed my cheek
So soft
With the back of your hand.
Where do I go mother?
How strong must I be.
I am overcome
I am overcome
Too much beauty
Too much passion
For my trapped child
Can not embrace it all
Why am I holding strong
No one can guarantee me
That I will see you again
I am sorry.
I did not mean to bring you
Into this mess.







Thursday, September 13, 2012

Where is Brooklyn at?

There is an energy here.
It is Raw. So very Raw.
I can not put my finger on it, but I can put my feet to its concrete streets and take off in observation.
Decapitated pigeons
24 hour juice bar, wheat grass shots.
Horns honk, everyone honks their horns.
Subways scream by..... shake, rattle, and rolling.
Brooklyn shops are stale.... they smell stale.
Ivy league indie rockers
A gypsy, a kiwi, filipino got in a cab and headed to dance and find women.
The bar was gay.
And lesbians love me.
I like to dance.

Seriously, what is happening in Brooklyn? My mother grew up here.....
People are yelling nonsense
Like big cities do.....
Women strut their stuff
And crack smoke has seeped into the crumbling neighborhood buildings
I can feel it all.
Again, I can not put my finger on it..... but there is an energy here.

I was serenaded by a lady with a(an) ukulele
She sang me love songs
I sang "Lady in Red" to a lady in red.
Brooklyn is very RAW
New York is large.

Brooklyn has a bridge
I do not plan to set it on fire.
The view is so pleasant
And it gets me to places I have never seen.
Brooklyn, you have my heart.
Some part of my heart I did not know existed.
So then it is,
Brooklyn you found my heart.

______________________________________________________________________________


"Ryan, why don't you have a journal with you? You seem so inspired!"

Well hey now, what am I suppose to do? How do I exist in this moment completely while trying to capture it? The only way to capture a moment is to be the moment. Trust me I want nothing more then to romantically put down all of this, to share it with the world and at some point in the near future I will look back and recall all the magic that happened, and try to be in the passion that had me overcome with joy.... but until then, lets have some more tequila.... 100% agave of course and become more excited to be alive.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Farm thoughts.

I love my family, but I am different.

We are all very different. I however am the most different. This is ok. I have come to except it, and not let their confused eyes disappoint me, because they are not disappointed.... they just do not understand. Sometimes I wish I was as simple minded. My deep-set soul has caused a lot of harm onto myself, and often times I wish it was easier. This is not to say their life's were any easier then mine, I just know my personality runs heavier then most. That is all I will say about my family for now, other then they are incredibly supportive of my journey at this moment..... that makes me happy.

Childs play:

I was just having a moment.

I was listening to my 2 year old nephew talk to himself while attempting to fall asleep. I briefly could remember what it was like to be a toddler, or a child and be so entertained by you. I want to have that even as an adult, that bliss is something I lost and need to regain. The idea of always being entertained by your mind, your eyes, your dreams and your imagination.... it is possible.

Stuggles with organization:

I have a lot of shit. A lot! Like 3 bags, and a roll cart with Untouched Poetry material. It is a pain to get around, especially the subways and busy streets. I have already lost my credit card, a piece of jewelry I just got, and a article of clothing I love.... I don't know how I do it, but I do, and it sucks.... I lose shit easily when in motion. Stresses me out.

Farm life:

I am staying with my sister and her husband and child. They live on a farm. It is beautiful, quite, peaceful, and slow. I like it. It is the perfect break before I take on the big bad city of New York. A city that I am intimidated by, despite my mothers deep roots with it. I am scared to be trying to move along the city with all my shit, not yet having found a place to stay for my whole time there. I am sure it will be okay, but yes I will admit I am nervous.



But I got this. Just don't get sloppy, pace yourself and know you are strong enough to exist in the worlds capital. Take chances, but not stupid ones. Open eyes, and do not take anything personal.... it is New York. With that, add some love, and some romance, show the big city what your big heart can do. No need to run from this fear, embrace it..... you will become wiser and stronger as a result. Now breath.... you have got this.

I just wrote a mantra on accident.

I need my rest now. I need solid dreams, and by body to not be a ball of stiffness when I wake. I need to rest and prepare to take on the world inside then outside my head.