• Travis Ryan

PRIZM PRISON


Crystals are on my mind this morning. Not in the way where I rattle off a list of past rendezvous sinning with women or plug the healing properties of rose quartz or meth, more that I’m very aware of the fact that everything around me is made of alternating and variable concentrations and structural makeups of carbon crystals. Even when I close my eyes, I can see that the inside of my eyelids are not pitch black as I would assume based on a quick blink, but made up of many prizmic shapes and crystals in flux. This same rudimentary Petri dish laying securely on the inside of my eyeball covers is constantly repeating itself around me. Every person, object, location is constantly in a state of progression.


We’re just melted sugar swirling around in a liquid medium waiting to eventually calm down and become rock candy with the other little particles. Rock candy being one of the more boring candies in my opinion and if I was pressed to choose, I’d like to settle down with some other particles and become something like a warhead candy…or C4… It’s a hard choose between being semi-stable and secure temporarily, or self-actualized and reckless. And the older I’m getting while trying to incorporate both properties into my cellular makeup it becoming more and more evident that It’s a daily “choice” not always made by myself but the flux rolls on and on thankfully.


This would freak my more OCD inclined friends out but knowing that nothing is ever solid in the classical sense makes me feel safe and comfortable. That’s a loaded statement and I should admit that I don’t know what those two really mean, I’m not the type of person to claim that I “know shit” because the only thing I’ve become certain of is that most people and myself are not really meant to know anything for sure at all, based of the fact that even math, gravity, and everything else ever “proven” is based on the assumptions and theories of men. And anyone with experience in toxic romance can attest, its hard if not impossible to crystalize the pointy stalactites of healthy Love on top of a platform of theories and assumptions.


I don’t really want to know anything, I’m just a frayed nerve ending placed here to observe and report my experience, I know nothing more of the bigger purpose than your fingertip nerves know about feelings and that suits me. The only way for me to realize my “purpose” is to let go of any concrete ideas of what that purpose is. Its impossible to float in the river of fate when your convinced that your purpose is to swim to shore and put down roots, as soon as that first doggy paddle stroke hit the liquid of astral randomization, you are no longer floating, you are swimming... tell me that’s not the most profound shit you’ve ever read with your beautiful prizmic corneas. Suck it Maya Angelou!


*Initiate tire screeching, counter steering, stylish lane changing swerve here *


I’ve never been naturally polite, I can mask up like all people in society can , but I have always felt that these forced societal “niceties” are antiquated and disingenuous. With friends or people who I am connected to on a further than acquaintance type level, I feel comfortable and compassionate enough to tell them when their acting like a piece of shit. Or to at least not deny the fact that we’re both semi-hairless monkey-based animals in the food chain. Everyone accepts that we’re basically elite apex predators, because it sounds cool, but many feel fearful of the fact that we’re still animals. Much like a bear cub, If I Love you, I’m liable to tear at your flesh a little bit, claw, bite, growl, because that what you do when you have intense emotions, the claws, cuddles and group bathing sessions all come in one fury package.


That’s what makes it beautiful.


Fireworks are exciting because they have the potential and history of tearing limbs and lives away from people, without the excitement and possibility of injury they would be the equivalent of staring at Christmas lights, which to me sounds like a punishment only slightly preferable to self- emulation in a windowless room.


If you Love someone, you should go through some fucked up experiences together otherwise you’ll never know the full experience or level of connection to the other person.


I’m not overly concerned with 3000-year-old, overly edited and plagiarized books. But being as that the bible is the most printed text ever it tends to make a very good and possibly the original pop-culture reference, I like to use it to illustrate my backwards ass statements. Most people would agree that “God” loved “Jesus” and vice versa, but they put each other through endless trials and tribulations, ending in the latter having his body shredded and life torn away. They both got over it and are still homies, most likely even closer friends because shortly after they moved in together and got matching chairs together in the penthouse, and also started a very profitable and influential business together. Before those painful events they just had a sarcastic and brittle father and spoiled child thing going on. At least that’s what I got from the story, and I’ve spent more insomniac hours in hotel rooms and cells reading the text then I would have liked.


“If you Love someone let them go” ….but only after you maul each other into bloody ribbons, and don’t forget to come back to spoon and hibernate together. Even starfish can hug, be unique, we have claws and profanity for a reason, and I’m pretty sure that reason is just to pretend they’re not there.


Keep expanding your head,


Travis Muffhuggin Ryan

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