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Suffocation: March 2014
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Friday, March 14, 2014. My guts had shit for brains. None of that mattered. I lunged with the bile-heavy verve of whatever was left in the tank. I made decisions in nano-seconds, took forbidden fire exits to 18. Floor fire escapes (17. Peering unto the twinkling twilight of the west hills of Portland, Oregon, (O, funky red Montgomery Park sign! O, neon blue Volvo beacon! It was not supposed to happen! But not anymore, you see. Ryan J. Prado. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Lost Found. Whatever.
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Suffocation: July 2015
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Wednesday, July 8, 2015. Pudding River - An Excerpt. The flash came and was gone in an instant. In cracks and booms, the pissing sky clapped strobes, shaking the ground, the thunder an airborne earthquake. In the pop of light, briefly, the streaking rain was given a frame between the high rise buildings, like grainy television, a feast of the senses for those who cared. And beyond the concrete dune of the. Boulevards earlier in the day. The rest of the crew — Scribbler, Barbie, Light Lion, Olaf, Do...
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Suffocation: January 2014
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Friday, January 3, 2014. That’s what Bub was doing, a little dance like that, appearing lucid for the benefit of the catatonic zombie-stasis commuters on the highway, but still nodding off, like a junkie in a Burroughs novel, or a sleepy baby who’s eaten too much birthday cake. Nod off… Snap up! Nod off………… SNAP UP! 8230;Yes, you who must leave everything that you cannot control; It begins with your family, but soon it comes round to your soul. Well, I've been where you're hanging;. Joel wished he’...
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Suffocation: July 2014
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Tuesday, July 8, 2014. You’ll write about the boldness of bloodhounds sniffing for scraps at the dirt walkway of the canal above the rodeo grounds, abandoned by their masters and hungry for anything. How their dead red eyes would zero in on ankles as the bicycles whizzed by their porches, mocking them for their exhaustion, and how those eyes said, “you watch yourself when we’re both on level ground again, fella…”. Ryan J. Prado. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Lost Found. Whatever. Drunk On A Train.
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Suffocation: October 2013
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Wednesday, October 23, 2013. I'm nothing but an animal. And I know it. I sleep in nests and howl when hurt,. Lick bloody wounds with red tongue. Like a lamb in a pen when it's bit by a bird. I'm nothing more than matter,. Never mind the morals. Or the drills of instinct coursing through my dumb. I've only to expire. Like any beast will. I'd admit to only loving in the face of. And everything I've loved I've lost. I'm a chigger in the coarse doe hair. I suck the blood from beating veins,. This is not fun.
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Suffocation: Failed Pitches
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Thursday, September 11, 2014. Anyway, here was my stupid, idiot pitch on what I would have written about, as sent to the suits at Amtrak, and which was given a big ol' "FUCK YOU, GUY":. An intrinsic analysis challenging the false connections people make over uniform obedience to social trends and entertainment; or the nearly blind filing-in and marching along with the ubiquitous ebbs and flows of some TV series/news story/fruitless pandemic warning. Ryan J. Prado. August 27, 2015 at 11:45 PM. Lost Found&...
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Suffocation: February 2015
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Wednesday, February 25, 2015. I want you to know that there are times when I find myself able to understand why you do what you do. Why you did what you did. There are fissures of clarity, maturity and apathy that allow for infinitesimally minute waves of forgiveness. Like a shrug in a hurricane. Or a wink in winter snow. You get one millisecond. And you get no more.". Excerpts from the nocturnal dialogue filed during the continuing futility of achieving astral projection. Ryan J. Prado. Drunk On A Train.
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Suffocation: Exercises in Forgiveness
http://ryanprado.blogspot.com/2015/02/exercises-in-forgiveness.html
Wednesday, February 25, 2015. I want you to know that there are times when I find myself able to understand why you do what you do. Why you did what you did. There are fissures of clarity, maturity and apathy that allow for infinitesimally minute waves of forgiveness. Like a shrug in a hurricane. Or a wink in winter snow. You get one millisecond. And you get no more.". Excerpts from the nocturnal dialogue filed during the continuing futility of achieving astral projection. Ryan J. Prado. Drunk On A Train.
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Suffocation: September 2014
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Thursday, September 11, 2014. Anyway, here was my stupid, idiot pitch on what I would have written about, as sent to the suits at Amtrak, and which was given a big ol' "FUCK YOU, GUY":. An intrinsic analysis challenging the false connections people make over uniform obedience to social trends and entertainment; or the nearly blind filing-in and marching along with the ubiquitous ebbs and flows of some TV series/news story/fruitless pandemic warning. Ryan J. Prado. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).
