• Travis Ryan

Play Time

Friday morning! The exciting part is that the weekend hasn’t meant shit to me for almost 2 years but I can feel the light, kid on Christmas vibe that accompanies the end of a long as week. I did the classic weekend requirements, let myself sleep in (its 6: 07...), put some sweat pants on and mobbed down the hall with coffee attached to my palm on the way to bleed on keys and watch TV.

Two activities that are usually as painful, as doing a crunch competition after a caesarian section. But today it is laced with a peculiar dark whimsy to it. Time, space, reality is going so fast that I swear I can see the corners flying off the keys in chips of jagged plastic that suspending themselves in the air before reforming into perfectly scribed Calibri letters on the blinking screen in front of me.

I Left my headphones in my room but that’s okay, the usual “Blade” style soundtrack in my head is Slamming against the frontal and occipital like they were 15” kickers. Endorphins are splashing like ducks in a pond made of stars.

I’ve never felt like this on drugs, which is the reason I always liked them so much. At 27, I still don’t understand the majority of the mayhem, both good and bad, or even half of the lyrics that make up the cosmic anthem in my medulla. As a younger man it made me feel like I was insane, would never fit in, and had no place in the world.

Maybe I still don’t, but I’m also not the one who put me on this planet, so I don’t bother myself with the specifics of job placement. I just show up, clock in, finger fuck the alphabet until it arches its back and taps out. Then I clock out and jump back into the amniotic fluid to incubate and potentially ferment for another collection of hours. It’s a schedule that works for my collection of personality types.

I’m a big proponent of sunglasses, I have sensitive pupils that are constantly changing sizes, they’re rarely the same size on either side, its like the two hemispheres of my brain are trying to decide whether they’re on oxy or acid constantly, it really freaks people out because I make really good eye contact as a sign of respect and interest.

But the main reason I like sunglasses though is because whenever I walk down the street, I always hear something like the soundtrack from reservoir dogs, like I’m sliding down the sidewalk with a leather briefcase in hand, a low V button up, a dark purple suit with black snake skin loafers, on the way to a diamond heist. Old soul in a “New” era, I wouldn’t trade it.

It seems so exhausting for the young people who have to try to look so fucking sad all of the time. Smiling into the jaws of certain destruction is the timeless kind of cool that I luckily inherited from some crazy bastard along the way. Even babies can throw punches and frown, however it’s a sure sign of prestige to be able to bare your teeth and stand firm, snarling at certain destruction, and smiling regardless of the situation.

Say Cheese Fucker (XXXXX)

“weekend warrior” “disorganized” “hitman typist”

Travis Ryan


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