Archive for the ‘ Love ’ Category


I’ve survived many things that by all rights should have ended my career here on earth.

I have pondered that many times over the course of my life. I’ve wondered if it were a question of purpose- perhaps I am not finished with whatever it is I was placed here to do.

I’ve thought maybe I am just incredibly lucky in such instances, that somehow just the right combination of factors has allowed me to come through such episodes.

I wonder if perhaps He is always watching over me, keeping me (relatively) safe and sane. That thought, though tied to purpose, is comforting.

Be that as it may, I think that concept of free will forces more exploration, incites theories and gives me an answer that is one part ego, one part hope and several parts speculation:

I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the the fires that burned around me.

So what happens if that fire goes out or runs low on fuel, begins to flicker and die…what happens if I let it be blown out?

Is that something that can be relit?

As always, questions spawn questions, create questions, form more questions.

With a fire

“…and you say ‘sorry’ like the angel heaven let me think was you, but I’m afraid: it’s too late to apologize, it’s too late…”

Ever hear a song that reminds you of someone you wish you could forget?

I’m sure you have.

It happens to me constantly, but the song I snatched some lyrics from is one that reminds me of too many people at once. I’ve got three different versions of it on my iPhone. I was listening to some music and editing my novel and with some insane roll of the dice my shuffle played all three in a row.

I don’t know what the odds are on that one but I’m sure it’s a statistical nightmare.

I can barely fathom the feeling. It seems like every shed tear hit me at once, as though my heart broke and re-broke several times over with nothing to break the fall. Just a series of near-fatal crashes; one atop the next.

Images, scenes and still-frames fly by me, happiness turns to tears, love becomes hatred and rounds back again. The cycle flows through faces, places and names.

I re-lived half a lifetime in what was surely only minutes.

I find the happiness so fleeting but somehow the sadness sticks. It holds you, like hands made of razor blades; each caress draws blood, and I am furious at myself for believing.

And then, almost as soon as it began, it was over, spent like a cloudburst. I found my center, heart beating wildly, breathing ragged and uneven.

It felt exactly like that moment your head breaks the surface after staying underwater too long.

It was surely one of the oddest things I’ve ever experienced.

I absolutely hate it when my powers of description desert me.

Cold Summer

A definite – and by proxy definitive – coldness had (has) entered my life. Maybe the passion is gone, but the people I speak of had become important parts of my life. I do not feel passionately about my right hand, but I cannot imagine living my life without it.

I find that I tend to shut down emotionally when I’m hurt by someone, I become cold, unaware – to an extent, unfeeling. I try not to, I try earnestly to internalize the pain, to experience the heartache fully and then to let it go. My subconscious betrays me constantly in this, it will only let me go so far before it’s automatic safeties kick in. Failsafes my mind has designed to protect me. I despise my subconscious at times like those, I think that it gets in the way of healing, of closure.

I seem to talk about closure a lot. I have found that no relationship is free of problems, the issues are always one of scale; in the sense of scale of the issue personally and perspectively.

One person is always more hurt than the other, one person always thinks the issue more serious than the other and this creates a schism. A cataclysm. A break.

It’s hard to recover from such things as a unit, one person always gives up.

I’m not completely certain of whom I am speaking of at this juncture, only that the last couple of years have been hard on the heart and draining in my soul. I find a new cynicism vying with my natural optimism; fighting for equal footing in my thoughts.

My ideals battle my experience: in my mind, in my dreams, there are two Ryan’s; each with his own diametrically opposed views, speaking words that I can never hear and when I awake I never know which of them wears my face.


There is no such thing as someday. There will never be a later. Either you go after what it is that you want or watch it fade away forever.

I can live with the regrets I have, because I only regret things that I have not done, or waited too long to say.

I regret chances I didn’t take, risks I thought too much.

There is only now, yesterday is simply wasted time, tomorrow is a might have been and the ephemeral future; hazy and indistinct, beckons with a frenzy born of desperation. It screams and wails and rages against your plans, and your hopes and dreams fall away.

Only you have the power to create a destiny that you can live with, it seems that there is no “we” in this, the land of eternal “I’s”.

“And I wonder why, I never wonder why, the easiest things are so hard.”

When you look back what do you see?

Moi Aussi

Today I am looking back.

Not going back, but looking; a vista through the rearview mirror. Encased in a frame and seen peripherally as I continue to move away.

I see so many people, left behind, standing lonely or in pairs. Separated, cut off.

I wonder if sometimes I am too harsh when I cut people out of my life. I wonder if I believe in redemption or if it is a fairy tale like so many other concepts we are taught, then forget.

I find it harder and harder to forgive people’s trespasses, (this is a bad thing, in both of the traditions I am heir to) and I wonder if I’ve been forgiven.

I do not want to become cold, unfeeling. I remember that young man, he did not feel much pain, but neither did he feel much joy. I wonder if we really do define our lives in terms of levels of misery; if we have to feel tragedy to know miracles.

I always think that I think too much, and consequently sometimes I do not think enough.

I have made many mistakes, I’d like to think I’ve learned from them. I wish I had more trust in people, I find that I keep most at arms length, outside the wall, circling the moat like a band of hungry sharks.

Always my metaphor is dark.

I need a vacation.

Welcome to the show

I think this is going to be more of a disjointed general update, rather than a focused update.

Of sorts.

At any rate I’m healing, it’s been a mixture of good and bad news. The scarring has been minimal considering the seriousness of the injury.

That being said, the docs don’t know if I’ll ever regain full use of the right side of my upper lip. C’est la vie, I was too pretty anyway.

I haven’t been able to run, which is annoying since it’s one of my better outlets for dealing with emotions that I am unable to articulate with language.

I feel like a curious mixture of both hope and despair. That being said, I am in no way depressed, just reevaluating and speculating.

I have always found that my life nearly always gives me what I need, the reason for this escapes me but I’m sure it will become clear in time.

I am becoming more and more excited about moving. There are several choices on the table, all of them involve sun, sand and salt water. This makes me smile (well half a smile, it’s all I can currently manage).

There are things here in Ohio that I will certainly miss, but the lure of new adventures is simply too great to ignore. I enjoy starting new chapters, it’s a blank slate, there is purpose and direction, but the pages are waiting to be written and I find that filling those spaces with experiences is something I cannot live without.

Life here has become routine, stagnant; an unhappy medium, something I simply cannot let myself become comfortable with.

My life has always been about going big. I have always felt that you can create your own greatness, your own story can be whatever you want it to be. You just have to want it enough. I have always been a creature of passion, of extreme desire to succeed; on my own terms.

I will not become an old man, filled with regret.

There are still so many stories to be written, songs to be sung and adventures to be had. My ambition is to make sure I capture as many of them as I can.

Rudyard’s Yard

“Don’t talk of worlds that never were, the end is all that’s ever true. There’s nothing you can ever say, nothing you can ever do.”
– the cure

It’s been an odd few weeks. I find myself pulled south, far south to the gulf. I wonder if it is just my natural wanderlust kicking in or if there is something more waiting on the coast. I miss the saline tears of ocean spray on my face, surely, as much as I miss believing in a dream.

I often think that perhaps I think more than is good for me. But for some reason I cannot quite grasp I find my thoughts constantly turning toward the sun and sand of Louisiana. The swamp and the river compete for my attention in my dreams. I remember the smell of the jungles of my boyhood and often wake with a slight upturn to my lips, a curving smile that actually reaches my eyes.

The jungle has a smell/sound that will forever be imprinted in my mind, whenever it rains in the summer I am suddenly in central-american rainforest, wondering-wandering through my earliest years.

Omnia Causa Fiunt.



Someday is a dangerous word. Dangerous because it’s really just code for never.

I dislike never, dislike it because I cannot countenance the idea that I have any limitations.

I have been disabused of that notion many times throughout my lifetime. Sometimes violently, as in watching a dream terminate with extreme prejudice. Sometimes subtly, as in watching something you believed in, something you thought was so real, fade into the great oblivion that is broken hope and un-manifested destiny.

Sometimes I think that someday is just one of those childhood wishes that should never be wished, but today I simply believe that someday is a euphemism; a tale of never-was and never-will-be, but somehow so close you could have grasped it in your hand, and felt it slide through your fingers like sea water: the last memory a film of salt on your palm.


I am a catalyst. A brazen wish; something half-way made and not-entirely sane.

I rather enjoy this shell that I inhabit, and that “I” inside is a perfect fit. I wonder what other people believe about this life.

Not the empty things they mouth in class or at church, but what they really believe, deep down, those thoughts they never share; that’s where you find the real measure of someone. I’m always open to discussion, to theorizing; finding truths and guesses.

I think that it’s important to understand where we’ve come from, it may give us some clues as to where we’re going; as a species and as individuals.

I’ve heard so many ideas about the how and when and the where: my favorite question, since I was a little boy, has always been why? it’s my favorite, I believe, simply because it’s almost always pure theory and for me a person’s theories are the best way to understand them, and I study people (anthro geek baby!) because to me they’re the most interesting and dynamic thing going on…and because it gives me a better understanding of real cultures so I can create fake ones in my books.

That was an incredibly long sentence. My apologies about the structure. In any case, some people will never make sense to me. No matter how well you think you know a person there is always a little held back, a little corner that’s off limits. I believe it’s because we wouldn’t like what we’d find there.

Like the heart of darkness, up that river lies only pain and sadness. Unfortunately for me, “why” always lies up that river and I’m a strong swimmer.

Two plus two equals four. Agreed? Okay, now tell me why.


I’m not certain I know what I want to say today, I woke up oddly disconcerted.

I am, sadly I think, unable to process it as yet. Which is in itself odd for me, I can generally place the source of most things rather quickly.

On to other things, perhaps more important than my vague sense of unease today.

Life has been fairly busy lately, which hasn’t given me much time to think, or write, or let out most of what I want to get out of my mind.

I feel filmy and sort of unreal. It’s as though the reel is unraveling at both ends and I stand in the midst, meddling in the middle; trying desperately to stay whole and in motion.

it’s the middle of the meddle, and I’m not allowed to leave, you took the shine off of everything, now there’s nothing I believe.

I wrote that years ago, not knowing why the words came to me, oddly now they feel like prophecy.

This is why I am strange and have quite possibly lost the plot. Ah well, at least it’s never boring in here.

I think I’ll leave it at that.