Tag Archives: surfing

stuffing my black hole. [ryan]




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

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.
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?

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.