Tag Archives: ryan motts

Another Sunday Evening with my (a) suicidal (b) hopelessly comatose (c) dumbass boyfriend. (jenn)

La Quinta Motel, Coeur D’Alene, Idaho
6:00pmish

SceneRyan and Mati are sleeping on the bed au naturale. Jenn is tooling around Craigslist. Fire alarm goes off in motel. Jenn puts in earplugs because the fire alarm is deafening–it’s making the walls shudder. Mati is flipping her little dog shit. Jenn considers finding the possible fire source herself, as burning to death seems like a less painful alternative than having the alarm slowly split her brain into mini-brain parts. Seeing Ryan hasn’t flinched, she wakes him up in her usual loving manner.

Jenn:
WAKE UP JACKASS!

Ryan: murrrpphhmm.

Jenn: THE FIRE ALARM IS GOING OFF!

Ryan: Whatever. [Immediately commences snoring.]

Jenn places Ryan’s phone on max volume next to his ear, knowing he won’t be able to hear it, but feeling that if he does die she will be able to clear her conscience and say, “Well girl, you tried to call and tell him the building was up in flames. You did everything you could. Now go buy yourself something nice for the funeral.”

Jenn and Mati walk through the lightly smoky motel hall and wait outside. Two fire trucks and an ambulance come blaring down the street. Jenn tries to call Ryan repeatedly to come out, but as predicted he does not answer. In a last moment of impassioned concerned, she tries to go back inside, but the motel people won’t let her back in.

Jenn (to motel people): My boyfriend is sleeping. He’s hearing-impaired. I need to get him.

They let her in.

Jenn: (Aside) Works every time.

Back in the room, she convinces Ryan to at least put on some clothes.

Ryan: I’m still not going.

Jenn: You just want to die a dignified death in your long johns?

Jenn heads back out their motel room door as an African American fireman with his supersized ax enters.

Fireman: Now would be a good time to get out.

Ryan: We really have to leave?

Jenn: Oh sure, listen to the big, black man and not the person who loves you most in this world. You have revealed yourself Hawaiian Ryan!

End Scene

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stupid sunset [ryan]

11.15.07
milwaukee
7:17a
stupidsunset.jpg
driving to milwaukee from cleveland [11.13.07]

previously on chooseourownadventure.com:

…20 minutes til Milwaukee. it’s been 7 hours of driving. I start to make that noise that your laptop does when you’ve been on it too long. I am ice cream running down your fingers faster than you can lick, I am neon sign flickering.

I am Scott Baio’s career, post Charles in Charge.

my heart is pumping sigur ros beats dipped in fudge, I am slowly becoming slowly.

and then it happened.
the mistake.
the mistake i swore i would never make.
I still replay this next scene in my head over and over again against my own will.

photo-149.jpg

It started off because of the stupid sunset.

Stupid colors. smeared across the sky like war paint on a geisha who was part chameleon and pissed about it. so bold. unafraid. unapologetic. standing there, all magestic like and shit, stupid sunset. why. why the fuck. why the fuck did you have to make me love you?

sunset: oh stop being such a pussy.

It started with me needing to take a billion photos of the stupid sunset with my 500$ digital camera, which I bought back when I had a job. I love that camera. with all my all my. Well why don’t I marry it? I would. I so would. you don’t even know. but I don’t marry dead inanimate objects, only living ones, strict policy. yes, you heard me, dead. my fucking camera is dead. Oh, about 2 days ago, I would have totally married my camera and mati would have been the flowerdog.

flowerdog.jpg
mati preparing to walk me down the aisle with flowers in doggy fanny pack [mati: flowerdog]

coffeetabledog.jpg
[mati:coffetable dog]

actually, technically, my camera is blind, but for cameras, blind is dead. If only cameras could play piano. I couldn’t stop taking pictures of the stupid sunset and so instead of putting my technological bride to be, back in her protective camera case [which wasn’t white for reasons I’d rather not discuss here out of respect for my beloved, blind, might as well be dead whore of a camera], I shoved her right between my legs for easy access. Jenn warned me to not put it in between my legs as it was a dangerous place. a danger that she’s known all too well, she reminded the camera. but it was too late. the camera was under the spell of my hypnotic teabaggery. there was no escaping. we might as well have been married.

[pic of camera in between my legs][a re-enactment]

we stopped to refuel because we were fuelless.

we were almost there, so far.

I step out to feed our Nissan mobilehome some fresh unleaded dark roast when I hear the demise of the roman empire crumblng down my leg. I hear a 6 car pile up crashing beneath me as I put my foot down on what used to be the earth. It’s not the earth. It’s my fucking camera. My fiance. My princess diana post papparrazzi chase. crushed. under the weight of my own heaviness I was crushed. I prayed it was my lighter. It was. It was my lighter and my camera. but I didn’t step on that precious 59 cent lighter, oh no, that would be unbearable, uh uh, I stepped on my fucking wife. my 5.0 megapixel steppford wife.

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuckerty fuck.

fuck.

when Jenn dropped the camera a few weeks back, nothing. invincible. I drop it, step on it with all my all my, and then all of a sudden it decides to go ray charles on me. If only cameras could sing hit the road jack and don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more before it actually hit the road, jacked, and never came back. at least then there would be music with the seelessness.

at least there would be a goodbye at the end of the lightless tunnel.

I couldn’t see the bigger picture. I snapped. darkness. I snapped again. more darkness. more snapping. nothingness. nothingness framed. 5.0 megapixels of zoomed in black holiness. I kept snapping. I kept seeing the problem. I kept seeing what I wasn’t seeing. stupid sunset. stupid almost there.

stupid in between my legs, stupid in between.

The sun had set and now there was nothing to snap at.

but I snapped anyway. I refused to keep seeing nothing even though that’s all I kept seeing. let there be light god dammit. let there be light god dammit pretty please? more not light. no stars, just me and my cosmic vacuum. why can’t my memory card proccess new memories? was I full of myself? I knew this would empty my cache. I needed to empty my cache. but how much would that cost? I refused to be stepped on by myself. I wanted Jesus to touch my eyes, but I couldn’t see where the fuck he was. I thought about how fragile eyes are. I thought about all the darkness that came from being stepped on. I thought about the finite space in my memory card and how I wanted to only keep what was worth looking at over and over again. I thought about the bigger picture.

I zoomed out and saw my blindness from a different lens.

black.jpg
[this is me trying to look on the bright side. god, I need a new hat. notice Jenn’s silent resentment.]

black.jpg
[here I am posing nude at a milwaukee truck stop because I just don’t give a fuck anymore.]

black.jpg
[Jenn’s thin non-existent mustache, which she’s endearingly dubbed: la moustache]

black.jpg
[this is pitch black blackness, Milwaukee]

black.jpg
[a cat scan of the republican party]

black.jpg
[where’s waldo?]

black.jpg
[this is a picture of almost a thousand words, 993 to be exact.]

black.jpg
[here’s a satellite picture of the earth in a few years]

I started to see what I wasn’t seeing. I started to remember that this was now. I wanted to remember that forever, for now. I took the camera to a camera place and they said it would cost almost as much to let there be light as it would to let there be a whole nother universe. I cried inside my pants. the place where it all began. the dangerous place. the place where she last saw light. the place Jenn warned her of. my crotch would be a forever shrine to her. people will bring flowers and lay them to rest where she last rested.

hey, hey, hey, whoa, not there pal, that is not a place for flowers, that is not a vase of sorts, mother fucker, just set them against the headstone please. other headstone. thank you. sheesh.

I’ve decided to get another camera. I’ve decided to empty my cash. because it costs more to capture darkness. it costs more to not take bigger and better pictures of the bigger and better picture.

I’ve decided to be strong and move on, like today.

I am jobless.
I am homeless.
I am buying a new camera today.

I love this blog. I love that I am in love with writing all over again for the first time again. I love my family. I love my life. I love my big picture.

All I want for Christmas is to never want anything for Christmas again, because I know that I know that I know that I have everything. that my life is a gabillion megapixels times infinty plus 4. that I am already captured and uploaded.

that I am my own default.

dear blind oversensitive camera who couldn’t survive a simple body slam to the asphault:
you will be missed until I buy another one just like you.

black.jpg
[blind camera-matsumoto, June 17, 2006- November 13, 2007]

some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. delicious ambiguity…
[gilda radner]

dull prick. [ryan]

11.15.07
milwaukee
5:39a

prick.jpg

I used to think I was a thorn in society’s side, pricking it for it’s own good, to keep it awake, to keep it from swerving off the road because it’s driving drunk, and with no license. or registration. and definitely without insurance. for anything. I used to think this.

but now, I realize, I have just been a prick.

not even that sharp. a dull prick.

It’s not that society has been rejecting me this whole time– it just didn’t know I was here.

[this is an excerpt from a recent conversation between Jenn and Ryan where Ryan finally uncovers the truth of why he’s never been considered a writer: because he never writes.]

photo-150.jpg
milawaukee, before coffee

I was fat elvis on pills [ryan]

11.14.07
milwaukee, harmonie and chad’s apartment

photo-145.jpg

ryan’s eye, jenn, harmonie and chad (jenn’s peace corps friends).

rest-stop.jpg

left cleveland yesterday. it was emotional. got attached so fast. finally got to see what Cleveland was like from inside a motel all day. It was beautiful. there was a Mcdonalds nearby. lots o’ gas stations. other stuff. ahh, cleveland. we toured the whole inside of that Cleveland motel room like we were at the rock and roll hall of fame, which was actually right down the street. but who wants to travel hundreds of miles to a destination only to feel like what you really want is right down the street? rock and roll hall of fame, fsst. motel bed became graceland, and I was fat elvis on pills. right down the street became HBO, became reading more Chuck Palahniuck in my underwear, became spooning my dog just a hair shy of beastiality, became peanut butter sandwich dinner with chips from the vending machine.

spoon.jpg

who’d of thunk it? Cleveland? wow. It’s like. you get your own plastic key. there’s a tv. you get complimentary breakfast compliments of you paying for a room which is slightly more expensive in order to include complimentary breakfast. the shower head is powerful like anti-racism. You pelt your dirty head with a million man march and merge your body into everything that is quintessential Cleveland.

then we slept. Cleveland style. I don’t know what that means.

then we drove.

tomilwaukee.jpg

lots.

through Indiana, through Chicago.

chicago.jpg

20 minutes til Milwaukee. it’s been 7 hours of driving. I start to make that noise that your laptop does when you’ve been on it too long. I am ice cream running down your fingers faster than you can lick, I am neon sign flickering.

I am Scott Baio’s career, post Charles in Charge.

my heart is pumping sigur ros beats dipped in fudge, I am slowly becoming slowly.

and then it happened.
the mistake.
the mistake i swore i would never make.
I still replay this next scene in my head over and over again against my own will.

photo-149.jpg

to be continued…

God, I wish I was a chinese dragon [ryan]

[road trip launched: 11.01.07]
philly.
boston.
new hampshire.
maryland.
DC.
cleveland.

11.12.07
7:30p.
some motel in cleveland.

maybe chicago tomorrow.

my bestest friends comment on chooseourownadventure.com:

Help us help you help yourselves:

let us know where you are by beginning each post with your location, then we can better choose your own adventures, you fucking fucks!!

Love you,
minja and kealoha


minja and kealoha

my comment to their comment:

first of all, howz you? secondly, ok fine, you’re right. that is the way we should do it. in fact, we started out that way. Then we realized that this so called road trip has quickly turned into we’re staying at Jenn’s cousins.


Jenn’s cousin steph and her husband tony [maryland]

it feels like there has hardly been any road to this trip. And really, in all honesty, the chooseourownadventure.com angle is just an excuse to share our twisted thoughts with friends and family and potential threesome lovers. we’re just trying to make our trip feel more dramatic, sheesh. I mean, one of my blogs was a movie review on apocolytpo. this is not your typical road trip blog. It’s more like, I’m jobless and homeless but I have a car trip. and while I roam around, pretending that having no where to go is an adventure, I’m going to write some stuff and share it, kind of thing. I don’t really need people to choose our own adventure, really, I mean, not geographically anyway, I just thought it’d be more fun to comment on our writings that way, since most people couldn’t care less about existentialism–especially my version of it. having said that, we would love people to give us any kind of comments–including geographical suggestions. It’s like how the chinese dragon at grad parties is not really there to dance for you, but he dances for you. He wants you to put it in his mouth. in his mother fucking mouth. I’m not here for anyone’s adventure choice, really. I’m here for the actual adventure. which is mostly in my head, mostly in friend’s living rooms.

I’m here for you to put it in my mouth. my mother fucking mouth. but I want more than cash, although cash is fine, I want your heart in my mouth friends. yes, I want your blood. I want your dreams inside my mindgina. deep inside. I want you to tell me everything, and so I’m telling you everything. The adventure is in our minds.

The adventure IS our minds.

However, even though I like the abstract idea that your life can be great whereever you go, so go whereever, in reality, it fucking matters where you go, so don’t go whereever. In reality, I’m choosing my own god damned adventure. and it probably won’t be in Detroit. I just wanted to play with my friends. you know, just play along assholes. pretend you’re choosing, but know that you are not choosing. I was kind of hoping that people would understand if I didn’t really teabag the lincoln memorial, in real life, even if that was their choice for my own adventure. Look, I do want people’s input: choices, suggestions, mp3s, cash, poems, quotes, pics, vids, other abbreviations, room, board, massages, books, movies, etc. sure. but I don’t expect them.

“It’s for fun”–Nacho Libre

The only reason why I ask for these things is that people seem to want to give them. and hey, no arguments here. We’ll take it. It’s like tipping. waiters get it, mailmen don’t. who knows why. it’s not really fair. I know this. I feel like a 3rd grader asking people to pay me for reading a bunch of books. it seems silly, but people pay! so if people want to give us anything, we won’t argue. comments, cash, whatever, we’ll take it. or not. whatever. but chooseourownadventure.com is just a metaphor. we’re still going to do our chinese dragon dance though. but unlike the dragon, we actually really just want to dance. what you put in our mouth is purely bonus! but having said all that, you are still right–we should always say where we are–even if it’s to uphold the veneer of a road trip!

bottomline: you helped me to further explain what is we’re doing–at least to myself!

so thank you minja and kealoha!
from cleveland,

still heading west, in general, but paradoxically with 2 tickets to amsterdam from philly [december 14th] in mind!

Ryan and Jenn

to all the choosers:
thank you for all your chooserosity. your cash. your comments. your support. your heart. your blood. your dreams in our mindginas. thank you. we need you. we need people to dance for. we need people to put it in our mouths. we have big mouths, so keep on putting!

love Ryan and Jenn

God, I wish I was a chinese dragon
by ryan matsumoto

dragon.jpg

God, I wish I was a chinese dragon
then I would make money for dancing.
but aw man, I would have to eat the money.
If only chinese dragons had paypal buttons.

good girl. [ryan]

goodgirl4.jpg
11.10.07.

8:37a.

good girl.
by ryan matsumoto

the feeling of friday has fallen.
now mondays are fridays are sundays are everydays.
mornings are middle of the nights are stage 4 r.e.m. sleep cycles are nows.
I can feel my face against mars.
My flesh is dripping into the reversal of the big bang.
The universe is inhaling me.
back to before.
before before.
now ghandi is alive and has hair.
hold me in bitch, hold me in.
an asteroid belt becomes one.
now cleopatra has supple breasts.
The universe keeps sucking.
Jesus is descending.
stars jump like paint splotches back to the brush.
Jesus is alive.
Jesus is dead.
Jesus is alive again.
Jesus is unborn.
Mary cheats on Joseph.
a wormhole fills.
a slinky climbs upstairs.
you shut your mouth universe.
don’t do it.
cavemen are lifting petroglyphs off walls with rocks that used to be part of the wall of china.
you fucking shut it.
mitosis changes its mind.
don’t fucking exhale.
nothingness curls into fetal.
everything is hole.
hold it.
let there be dark.
good girl.
goodgirl6.jpg

stuffing my black hole. [ryan]

7.09.07

maryland.

5:42a.

can’t wait to wake up now.
addicted to writing.
I’m writing in my sleep.
I wake up to lost files.

i google my dreams.

I’m loading…

I wake up to random mouse click sounds echoing in my head.
to keys clacking under sleepwalking fingers.
I am mouse.
need cheese.
i see the universe wearing it’s white lab coat today and I laugh.
I am ready for your maze fucker.

I want to live in my words.
take shelter in my fragments.
never stop running on running on

emptiness.
being filled with my own viod.

stuffing my black hole with the whole of my blackness.

I have always stifled my own creativity by worrying how I was going to get cheese for it.

a toast: to making my own cheese.

and yet I have only ever gotten paid by being creative.
meaning, I’ve been getting paid to be sort of creative.
creative lite.
creative bastard.
only part crea.
whatever.
I’m 35.
haven’t had a real job ever.
high 5 to myself.
I hate when I miss myself.

wait, that’s not true I delivered pizzas in a VW van as my first job. and although I did get creative sporadically, by mixing exotic elements like chili and lau lau into experimental pizzas during no one is ordering right now time, I don’t think I got paid for that specifically. I should have. although I must admit that pineapple doesn’t really go with chili. and chili doesn’t really go with yogurt and soy sauce. but how was I supposed to know?

I can only be happy experimenting.
that is my strength and flaw.
I have a hard time settling.

I’m 6 red bull vodkas in a brain surgeon who has parkinsons.

can’t operate, I’m fidgety. I’m operationally challenged. must always be moving. hence my love for this road trip. maybe some people are born for the road? maybe I love getting fired. maybe my sister would hate my life, maybe I would hate hers. maybe that’s ok. can’t do stand-up comedy anymore because I always fall out of love with my jokes so fast– I can never do a routine. but when I try to become improv man, I sometimes miss the guarantee laughter of the routine.

I don’t know if I’m right about how wrong life is, but it feels like I’m right.

can’t stop feeling the rightness of life’s wrongness.

maybe my scattered brain is more equipped to handle the wrongness so righteously, because my brain is broken?
maybe?

how do you fix a broken brain with a broken brain?

wish I could be the fonz and just kick my brain like a juke box and forever live in happy days.

I only feel the sadness of the world–no matter how sad–in short bursts of cathartic joy, and so I stare into it like the sun.

I know i will go blind but it’s breath taking.
i love breath taking.
I would love for my breath to be forever taken from me.

I love to stare at the sun and then look at the mountains, knowing that the sun is jealous and will try to superimpose itself over everything.

but everything fades, including fading.

I am writing to myself.
I am writing to anyone who will listen.
I am listening.
I am writing to no one.
I am no one.
I am writing a place into existence in which I can operate.

I think it is possible to just go somewhere and hide in your chili and lau lau pizza.

I’m paying myself right now. to make experimental pizzas. help wanted, said the sign. and so I applied for myself. I didn’t call for a few days to create the– I don’t need you, you need me feeling– and it worked.

I am my own pension.

I am FICA.

I am taxes withheld.

I am smoke break.

I am the clock I’m on.

I am chief.

I am executive.

I am officer and a gentlemen and debrah winger in terms of endearment.

I am severance.

I am punched in.

I am in turn.

I am making my own cheese.

a toast: to sounding this confident if I run out of cheese.

another toast: to my cheese never running out.

last toast: to constantly toasting everything because you get to drink right after.