…down on the floor, scratching for more…

Title from Fistula, “Smoke Cat Hair and Toenails”, from the album Vermin Prolificus

image

Manic as fuck. This has been building. It’s a frantic race to nowhere. A deranged rat on a hamster wheel. The sedatives aren’t working (“I think I can handle my sedatives, bro…” -Charlie). Cyclical thought experiments. Running through my past transgressions. Recall, revisit, rewrite, restore. This is why the lines get blurred.

Suddenly, focus. Something intense, white hot, piercing, and its all that there is. It envelopes from the inside out, wraps tentacles, consuming. It is all that there is.

It is gone. And there is nothing. Less than nothing.

Fractured psyche, rearranged. The protective cover of scar tissue. Healing. Growth. Change…

image

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

farewell to self

Image ripped from poojycat at WordPress

Image ripped from poojycat at WordPress


What follows is a selection from The Sacred Lost Tomes of The Ryan, the brief and terrible history of which is glossed over here and here.  This poor excuse for poetry was written circa 2002 while I was living in Albuquerque, eating all the hallucinogens I could find while obsessively listening to TOOL and reading way too much existential philosophy.


fevered eye inside
the storm, and slowly i
turn away, shoulders
quaking at losses incurred,
missed opportunities passed
in a series of moments,
forever within the blink
of an eye, a point, a
meeting of eternal pathways
in this dream called life.
i turned my back on you,
the only way known to me,
to let go, to step off,
to reach our peak and
continue to climb, to
ascend, to reach for
the evermore, grasp
this abyss with eagle’s
talons and soar over
these path’s contradictions,
molting to shed my
pity for you,
the deepest of suffering.
at one time the same
— if only for a wink —
no more past this moment
will we meet again,
for already you fade into
nonbeing, soon a
distant memory,
a bittersweet reminder of
the sun that has set for me.
no more will i be
downed by the spirit
of gravity, for your
sacrifice has allowed me
to break free
from the being that
can no longer contain
me.  i have learned to
look away,
to look past myself,
to see much beyond our
subjectivity of experience,
to feel the rains of all
things fall down over me,
washing blood and tears of
our innocent battle away and
in this churning whirlwind
of storm can i now let go,
free now to spiral out.

Sacred Spiral by Helen R. Klebesadel

Sacred Spiral by Helen R. Klebesadel


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

yet, hope abides

image

sandstorm
behind my eyes
turbulent churning
brain cloud
terrific winds of
unnamed forboding
an open air prison
i can find no manner
of escaping

yet, hope abides.

image

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Monday Morning Musings

image

Careful, motherfuckers, The Ryan is on the loose! No adult supervision! This could end badly…

As the “responsible” party in this relationship, Jenn Baby had to return to work today in order to further pervert and reshape the minds of America’s youth. The little bastards! >:]

As such, rather than leave me at home all day to play indoor, multi-story fetch with Sir Oswald and sniff my way through the roommate’s panty drawer, Lady Jenn gave me the keys to her luxurious German sedan (Volks-VAGON! NEIN!!!), and carte blanche to do as I please. “Within reason.” But, what is reasonable? Whatever my mind regards as a logical and conscious act, I suppose? >:D

image

Since this is a public site and open to viewing by my Sweetness and anyone else who cares to stop by, I should point out that I am planning to spend the next eight or so hours driving to the Pacific Coast chilling at a nearby park and writing writing writing! If only the weather would cooperate…

Speaking of weather, um…what in the good and righteous fuck is this white shit covering the range surrounding The Meadows?! This is the DESERT, amiright? In goddamn FEBRUARY?!  So, unless one of Colombia’s infamous under-radar drug flights spontaneously combusted high in the sky, showering its contents across the Las Vegas desert valley range — I didn’t sign up for this shit.

image

I was in an irritatingly chipper and vibrantly manic mood since waking this morning. My random, compulsive and cheerful yammering nearly got me a punch to the gooch from Madame Jenn on the way to her place of “bidness.”  It lasted all of another five minutes, until I came to stop at a red light on Alexander and Durango.  Suddenly and without warning, I wanted to punch the entirety of existence in its stupid fucking FACE. And for no discernable reason, mind you…but sometimes a belligerent bad Buddhist just needs to be consumed by scorn and loathing, motherfucker. 😉

I use the swear words a lot. I notice that most other bloggers and social media users do not, or do so sparingly. I am going to go ahead and assume this is not because you people find callous, direct, and offensive language to be a tool of the weak-minded and under-literate. I’m thinking I probably just give less fucks about rubbing the other dumb, ugly human meat-wrapped bags of calcium and liquid the “wrong way.”

image

Just so you know, I include myself at the top of the list for dumb, ugly human meat-wrapped bags of calcium and liquid. I do stupid shit constantly, I make horribly illogical and functionally poor decisions, I hardly ever truly know what I’m talking about, and — much like the rest of us — I have zero goddamn idea what I am doing in Life or in any given speck of a moment.  We are all simply struggling to find our path through this frightening and chaotic mess of existence and toil!

There was a brilliant and intellectually revitalizing line of thought that began to form in my head during that last paragraph, which I intended to flesh out here. Unfortunately, I get distracted by self-editing as I write, and so I have haphazardly wandered from that vital subjective musing, and now cannot find my way back.

LOST! All is LOST!!!

image

WHYYYY Lawd?! It shoulda been ME!!!

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

“It’s Dark Now…”: A Peculiar Day

 IMG_20141218_120427

“I hate slick and pretty things. I prefer mistakes and accidents. Which is why I like things like cuts and bruises – they’re like little flowers. I’ve always said that if you have a name for something, like ‘cut’ or ‘bruise,’ people will automatically be disturbed by it. But when you see the same thing in nature, and you don’t know what it is, it can be very beautiful.” ― David Lynch

IMG_20141218_120834

Such a strange day today. A very Lynchian vibe. Out on a stroll with the Pack and I felt we would surely find a severed ear in the grass, just around the next turn.

Blue Velvet Ear

An academic definition of Lynchian might be that the term ‘refers to a particular kind of irony where the very macabre and the very mundane combine in such a way as to reveal the former’s perpetual containment within the latter.’ But like postmodern or pornographic, Lynchian is one of those Porter Stewart-type words that’s ultimately definable only ostensively — i.e., we know it when we see it.” ― David Foster Wallace

Lynch Being Lynchian

Lynch Being Lynchian

The lines between things are soft, obscure on a day like this. Reverie and reality bleed together, commingle. Yet the edges of things are sharper, more keen. It’s a curious dichotomy between nebulous fluidity and purposeful immutability. For people like We, it’s easy to get lost in the connecting firmament…

IMG_20141218_115708

It’s too bad this bird isn’t closer. Or, more robin-like.  As in, a threateningly surreal robin feasting with malevolence upon all your hopes and presumptions.  Stark light bleeds all objects of their warmth and color, the mood of the day washes over everything, washes out…

IMG_20141218_120640

And, of course, because my life is all about the #Symmetry, my immersion into the vibe today was accentuated by the fact that I both fell asleep last night, and awoke this morning, to the ageless, ruminative tones of Lana del Rey.


The dissociative bliss afforded by immersion in the unearthly spectral void calls to me like fiendish opium ecstasy, the perfect blanket embrace of blithe euphoria…

In dreams, I walk with you. In dreams, I talk to you. In dreams, you’re mine, all the time. Forever. In dreams…” — Frank Booth, quoting Roy Orbison

Frank Booth

A compulsion towards self-preservation, perhaps?  An essential reaction to deep-rooted fears and insecurities?  Go to your Nirvana, go to your Bliss…  Even so, it is important to find comfort and appreciation in all facets of our Actuality.  Even those in the Dark.

“I learned that just beneath the surface there’s another world, and still different worlds as you dig deeper. I knew it as a kid, but I couldn’t find the proof. It was just a kind of feeling. There is goodness in blue skies and flowers, but another force–a wild pain and decay–also accompanies everything.” ― David Lynch

Blue Velvet White Fence Red Roses


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

EXODUS: Let The Ryan GO!

Moses Reciprocity Bitches

Those people who have experienced some of The Ryan in person, or those who share vicariously in Our shenanigans through social networking from time to time (We love all y’all!), are generally aware that I am an unpredictable basket case, but mostly the cute, fun kind. Not always, but mostly…

However, more recently and with increasing urgency, I have been finding it a more overwhelming struggle to not completely lose my shit multiple times a day in reaction to situations or events. The Crazy Pills that I am on, under physician supervision of course, always seem to keep me in the Fun Zone for a few months, but then it seems as though The Unhinged among us start to slowly assimilate the Happy Lunatics. Up the Dose, Change the Formula, Reset, Play Again.

Happy Lunatic? Or The Unhinged? :D

Happy Lunatic? Or The Unhinged? 😀

As a self-identified, sporadically practicing Buddhist hooligan, I am attempting to include meditation and self-reflection in the therapeutic process. This comes with two disclaimers, the first of course being that you only get out what you put in. Meditation is a practice that must be performed and maintained with regularity to develop both adroitness and results. AHEM, Ryan. We said, “Meditation is a practice that must be performed and maintained with regularity to develop both skill and results!” Secondly, though, meditation is also similar to digging a slow hole to China in that, occasionally, you might happen upon something you didn’t know was there. And, occasionally, that thing might have some force behind it.

Geyser Explode (Ned)

Unfortunately, some of The Unhinged sort of, well, became unhinged at work Friday morning, and I had a “teensy” little panic attack. Fortunately I felt it coming and ducked into the employee dumper slash locker area slash break room (it’s the size of a closet) to ride it out. Again unfortunately, though, when I get overwhelmed my brain stops processing normally, I get confused, and instead of acknowledging and allowing myself to feel my fear, I lash out in anger (and those fools gave me knives…HA!). Anyways, once I felt I was adequately re-leashed, I tried getting back to work. It didn’t take me long to realize “getting back to work” i.e. “getting back to ‘Normal'” wasn’t going to happen this time. I was barely holding it together, I wasn’t performing well, I was treating everyone with undue contempt and disrespect — especially my white bread benefactor K-Dub, a.k.a. KMFSM a.k.a. Kevin Mother Fucking Saunders, Manager.

Futurama I Quit

So I called it. I realize now that the whole thing could have been much more grand and climatic, but I calmly asked to speak with K-Murda for a few minutes, thanked him (and by extension, the entire management team…except you, Rhudy. FUCK YOU. Nah, I’m just playin’ bro…) for everything, explained the situation, and excused myself. No firebombs. No battle cries from the oppressed Irish motherland. No fits of explication or explicitness. I didn’t even get to break anything or knock a motherfucker out! Peace out, BJ’s Restaurant and Brewhouse. Oh, hey, can I still get my last free employee meal?

The naked truth that We are left with, now, in moving forward, is this. Getting off drugs and alcohol was the best thing for Us, and needed to happen to keep this carcass alive. In the wake of that, however, has been a series of interesting developments on the mental health front. This was the shit We had going on that I didn’t know about. This is the shit I was self-medicating as a compulsive and fervent abuser of glorious and inimical recreational drugs. Many issues were unleashed quickly and therefore dealt with early on out of necessity. Other issues have been more gradually making themselves apparent.

HST and BFM

Always the over-thinker, I have felt mostly capable at introspective analysis, and have felt a greater understanding of myself and The We as a result of dealing with these matters of insanity as they arise. In the words of one Rustin Cohle, “I know who I am. And after all these years, there’s a victory in that.” But, as with all things, it is when one begins to feel too much contentment (stagnation?) that the unforeseen happens.

True Detective Cohle I Know Who I Am

We have been feeling more Unhinged as of late. It is becoming more difficult to exist in the world as opposed to inside Our head. This means We face more of a struggle when trying to venture out into that world and interact with You People. This is easy to do over a computer, because We can maintain Our illusion of control. Things get infinitely more tricky in a face-to-face, hands-on setting, though, because suddenly there are so many other factors involved. Focus becomes infinitely more difficult. And, as of late, and increasingly, We are becoming less able to maintain that focus. Eventually, as some witnessed Friday, We break.

“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.” — Albert Camus


I am not feeding you all this detail in an attempt to elicit sympathy. I can do that just fine some other time, thank you. Part of this is completely selfish, because I am figuring some of this stuff out as I write about it. The other part, equally selfish, is also somewhat altruistic — or at least that’s what I tell myself. I share these things with people so that they can maybe understand me, but also maybe understand each other and themselves.

Dr Phil I Feel Your Pain

Damn, but pretentiousness feels so good!

In any case, obviously We cannot survive only as Tortured Artists. Not at this point. We haven’t yet developed the resources. The challenge in moving forward, is, how do We attend to keeping the level of disquiet manageable while also seeking out, acquiring, and performing acceptably at a “day job”? Wherever I go, I take myself with me. Wherever I go, there is still the We, and We still must maintain control over the Unhinged. Therefore, I have been looking for opportunities that elude a perhaps more tolerable level of additional stress, even if that inevitably means less pay. Something associated with The Arts, i.e. publishing, entertainment, freelance writing, whatever, would be ideal, but obviously I must also look outside of that intriguing, challenging, and ornately adorned box.  I am very interested in things I can do from home, perhaps, for many obvious reasons, the second most being that I would be able to make some money while also pursuing and developing This Writing Thing. Again, though, in the short term at least, I must also remember to think…um…within, um…what’s the word? Oh, right…”Reality.”

Because, of course, the goal is for writing to one day be The Gig. I wonder how We’re doing so far?

You Want To Be A Writer Why


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

We Are The Ryan. Who? We. On first. Bases loaded…

Beard of Doom

We Are The Ryan. We exist to destroy Ourselves. To understand Ourselves. Destruction makes way for new Life, new growth. New essence. New We.

“My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.” — Fernando PessoaThe Book of Disquiet

We Are The Ryan. We Are the All becoming One, We Are the particle from which springs All. We Are the light and the dark within, We Are grey spiral and churning and form from void.

SPiRAL O)))

SPiRAL O)))

We Are the Enigma. We Are subjective, the voice you know. We Are everything you seek to understand. We Are the obscured, and the apparent.  We Are pretense and irony and burlesque hyperbolic gravitas.

We Are paradox. We Are contradiction and absurdity. We Are as familiar as skin.

“Mike did not seem to grasp the idea of Creation itself. Well, Jubal wasn’t sure that he did, either — he had long ago made a pact with himself to postulate a Created Universe on even-numbered days, a tail-swallowing eternal-and-uncreated Universe on odd-numbered days — since each hypothesis, while equally paradoxical, neatly avoided the paradoxes of the other — with, of course, a day off each year for sheer solipsist debauchery.” — Robert A. HeinleinStranger in a Strange Land

We Are The Ryan. We Are irreverence and contempt. We Are the warm embrace of scorn. We Are the sarcastic smirk across the face of the world, We Are the blatancy of state-sponsored slaughter, We Are your voyeuristic thirst for televised lawless disregard. We Are your after-church programming.


We Are laughter at a funeral, we are a selfie in a coffin. We Are ever changing and fickle and impermanence manifest in SQUIRREL! We Are a strobe to heal your seizure and subliminal plastic advertizing. We Are on during the sporting event of the century!

We Are beer and brats and Sunday afternoon, We Are laughter drowning sorrow and a distraction from the dread. We Are hope and denial and a sunset behind a raincloud and beauty within the beast, the underlying and the disregarded and all the We as You wish to see but never remember how to find. We Are the uncomfortable Looking.

“He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.” — James JoyceThe Dubliners

We Are The Ryan. We Are the hooligan with a heart of gold. We Are the charming and the loyal and the overbearing and the suffocation. We Are the polished shit, the sweet-tooth addict-craving, the forbidden caramel apple and the last clinging tooth. We Are hillbilly chic. We Are the final confused joke after the laughter has long left.

We Are constant self-appraisal and the doubting trailing voice. We Are awkward sidelong clingings and the echoes of passed time. We Are voice given to scar, a sound bled dried and crusty, flaked desert parched sands and halite in your self-inflicted exploratory surgery.

Photo by Walter Freeman, Dec. 16, 1960 Howard Dully receiving his "ice pick" lobotomy Dec. 16, 1960

Photo by Walter Freeman, Dec. 16, 1960
Howard Dully receiving his “ice pick” lobotomy Dec. 16, 1960

We Are the child hiding in a corner, the beaten and broken without will to escape. We Are the towering behemoth wielding pain internalized and compounded, formed and redirected. We Are an open wound, gaping, pungent. We Are what must heal from the inside, We Are the cotton-stuffed urgency of everything We never wished to see.

“The Dark Crow Man sits And stares into Oblivion… Into Cold… Into Nothingness.  It’s snowing in His mind.  He’s created Himself in His own Image.”  — Lamb of God, The Subtle Arts of Murder and Persuasion

Artwork by Four Star Tattoo, Santa Fe, NM

Artwork by Four Star Tattoo, Santa Fe, NM

We Are The Ryan. We Are the voice inside, loud. We Are the escaping breath of daring and uncertainty and doubt made whole, driven with guile and madness towards grasping, fickle fingers. We Are what must be said to make room for what comes next, for We Are the road traveled and the traveler, destination and journey and purpose and…

darkcrowmanface

We Are The Ryan.


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Immaculate Light and Water: Pink Floyd’s The Endless River Sails Into Eternity

pink-floyd-the-endless-river-art“We bitch and we fight/Diss each other on sight…”

Aside from a couple of strategically placed spoken-word samples, these striking lyrics make up the first sung vocals to appear on the recently released, and highly anticipated, Pink Floyd album The Endless River. If the words themselves do not immediately pique the interest of even the most casual listener, they are certainly made all the more notable in that they appear nearly 45 minutes deep in the musical experience, a lengthy stretch of ambiance even for the sonically expansive, technically proficient prog-rock masters that are Pink Floyd. On an album largely obsessed with themes dealing in the necessity of maintaining and improving communication in our shared human experience — indicated by song titles such as “Things Left Unsaid”, “The Lost Art of Conversation”, and “Louder Than Words” — this relative absence of lyrical content may seem to be paradoxical, even hypocritical. A sparseness of singing is certainly the chief complaint I have heard from others regarding Pink Floyd’s first — and supposedly final — offering in over 20 years. However, to assume the decision by the band to relegate vocals to a specific and climactic moment is rooted in anything other than deliberate intent would be a mistake.

Richard Wright, David Gilmour, and Nick Mason circa 1994

Richard Wright, David Gilmour, and Nick Mason circa 1994

With these lyrics — which come during the final track of River, the aforementioned “Louder Than Words” — one might be tempted to assume guitarist/vocalist David Gilmour has indicted global society as a whole, expressing in clear and simple terms the root of our animosity, conflict, and miscommunication with one another. While this may not be a poor or even wholly incorrect interpretation, especially considering the often intentionally ambiguous and open nature of music and lyrics, it is not indicative of the imagery and meaning that was immediately conjured in my mind.

During my first experience of the album, I had been toying with the idea that The Endless River seemed to perhaps be not only a swan song for the group (which has been stated by Gilmour in interviews) but also perhaps an extension of the proverbial olive branch, a way of resolving and seeking closure for their occasionally tumultuous past and history. Anyone even casually familiar with the story of Pink Floyd is certainly aware of the bitter and lengthy rift between former bass guitarist and vocalist Roger Waters and the rest of the group. In fact, when the announcement for this album was made official in April earlier this year, Waters was quick to distance himself by publicly and loudly reminding all of us that he had no input or involvement in this Pink Floyd offering (we know, Roger…we all know). So, it is not a stretch to believe that “this thing we do” refers to the career and history of Pink Floyd itself, and that the lost art of communication which Gilmour laments could be speaking of the toxic communication between the members, each other and Waters.

Roger Waters, the "Lost Floyd"

Roger Waters, the “Lost Floyd”

The argument that this swan song is also a last rights of sorts, a pleading for reprieve from the suffering of past sins, exists wordlessly throughout the rest of the album, as well. With The Endless River, the entire history and lifespan of Pink Floyd passes before our eyes, as the instrumental journey retraces steps from notable points throughout their storied career, from the early Syd Barrett days, to towering achievements such as Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall, all the way through this album’s now 20 year old predecessor, The Division Bell. As dearly departed keyboardist Richard Wright’s contributions — Wright tragically succumbed to a battle with cancer in 2008 — were largely culled from unused improvisations recorded during the Bell sessions, one might expect to hear some similarities to that album. However, when we come across echoes of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” in “It’s What We Do”, saxophone and guitar/synth interplay reminiscent of moments on Dark Side during “Sum” and “Skins”, and even the grandeur and ostentatious choral splendor of The Wall on “Allons-Y”, this album’s exploration and homage to their past cannot be mistaken for anything other than deliberate, meaningful soul-searching and self-appraisal. This is the work of aging artists gaining a newfound wisdom, and looking back to dissect and lay to rest the wreckage of their turbulent past. After all, this Life, this thing we all do, is bigger than each of us as individuals.

The late Richard Wright, Floyd's unsung hero on keys

The late Richard Wright, Floyd’s unsung hero on keys

What, then, to make of the album’s title itself? The Endless River. Given the smooth, languid flow of the album as well as the fluid pace of the musical journey we as listeners experience, the title seems fitting enough. But how do we reconcile what has been indicated by Gilmour and drummer Nick Mason to be their final output as this band with a titular reference towards eternity? My feeling is that this album is intended to mark Pink Floyd’s departure from this, our physical reality, into the afterlife, so to speak. The endless river could refer to something along the lines of the river Styx, which in Greek mythology forms the boundary between and connects Earth and the Underworld. The endless river is the universe itself, the primordial ether from which all things spring and to which all things return. Fitting, then, that Pink Floyd have chosen to sail into the great unknown by embracing and reconciling every part of themselves, so that their entrance into eternity comes from a state of weightless innocent bliss, just as we all “are” when we come to be.

Last Men Sitting - Gilmour and Mason, present day

Last Men Sitting – Gilmour and Mason, present day

One can only hope we all have such a sublime and restorative opportunity at our own end, to rejoin the universe in shimmering ecstatic motion as pure, immaculate light and water…

Do you agree with these musings? Feel as though something warrants further exploration? Am I completely full of shit and do I need to clean out my ears?! Sound off in the comments!


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

We Are The Ryan, and We Welcome You

“My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while…” – Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet


We Are The Ryan.

And, if you are reading this, it is already too late. We are inside your head now. We may never leave.

The Being-ness of all things is in a constant state of flux (or IS it?), and my intention with this page is to reflect and perhaps somewhat elucidate that state of eternal change by bringing some of the fleeting randomness which lurks around in my mind out in the open for others to experience. Eventually, I intend for this site to be a sort of all-inclusive home for the entirety of my creative endeavors. But, for now, we shall just have to see how things progress, one blood-letting at a time.

So, what sorts of posts might you, my interested voyeur, expect to find here? That remains to be seen. You are witness to my first attempts as an aspiring writer to utilize resources available to wordsmiths such as myself on the vast and infamous Internets. As such, this is a journey we will absolutely be undertaking together. While my first priority in writing is to write for myself, I would be remiss to suggest that my “Audience” does not play an integral role in this process, as well. Because, in addition to writing simply because I MUST, I am also writing so that I may share these parts of me with others who might wish simply to be vicarious observers, those who may be interested parties, or those who may even find some modicum of inspiration, hope, or comradery in my mad ramblings.  And so, it is also my hope that this page and its content will create some exposure, get the insanity out there a bit. Perhaps even spread the Sickness…

Initially, I intend to aim for three posts per week minimum, unrestrained by format, topic, style, or content. Whatever strikes my twisted, schizophrenic fancy, so to speak. Eventually, I plan to work up to daily posts, and even topical columns and recurring categories. Therefore, much like a Melvins album, you never quite know what you may find here. And, just like a drug dealer, my goal is to give you a fix that makes you want to come back for more. So, leave me some feedback now and again, if you would like. Let me know what highs and lows strike your fancy. But be wary of taking too much. And remember, while civility and respect go a long way…you also really don’t want to cross your supplier. Tread lightly…but please keep treading!

We Are The Ryan.

We Have Arrived.


 

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.