Manic Conversations By The Ryan, With The Ryan

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– I have that Thou song stuck in my head again.
– It’s a Nirvana song.
– Sure, but it’s the version Thou recorded that’s stuck in my head.
– Our head.
– Right. OUR head.
– Always is. Nirvana is catchy shit, even when DOOMED the fuck out.
– Hell, especially when DOOMED the fuck out!

– Blackened DOOM, they call it. DOOM sludge. Muck metal. Motherfucking swamp grind!
– Yeah…you ever wonder what would have happened had we gone to Tulane?
– We’d be dead. Just like every other scenario that isn’t this one. You always think this is the darkest timeline, but really it’s the best one.
– What if we’re dead now? Maybe we didn’t beat the train.
– Now don’t start that again!
– Hahahaha! Jungle Book is awesome…

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© 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.

Indiscriminate Musings, Callous Language, and Nerd Rage

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Last day in The Meadows. Happy sadness. Miss me Dawgs!

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Partially delusional with sleep deprivation. Unable to type complete sentences. Terrible vibes all around us. Are these my hands?!

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Side Note! The Ryan + Meshuggah x 1200 mg Caffeine ^ Manic Moments = We may have broken something  \m/..\m/

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Conversations Held at Target (The CHAT):

Lady Jenn: “You need to get out more.”
The Ryan: “But I don’t want to get out more.”
Jenn Baby: “Your isolationism has made it so you have no idea how to interact with people.”
The Ryan: “I interact with people fine. You just don’t like the way I interact.”
Jenn: “You are ridiculous. I’m going to look at different stuff.”

Five minutes earlier…

Ry-Guy: “Baby! Check it out, I didn’t know they made Game of Thrones toys! It’s a tiny Tyrion Lannister. Well…tinier.”
Child of Seven: “Look! TRANSFORMERS!”
Seven’s Clan: “Kyle!”
Ry-No: “Mine’s bigger.”
Seven: “….”
Clan: “Kyle…get OVER here.” *uneasy, wary glances*

Aaaaand SCENE! Fuckin’ Kyle, man…Fucking. Kyle. 😀

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Perhaps 1200 mg of caffeine in a 90 minute period is too much. But I can hear colors (purple sounds like jet engines and bonfires) and it feels as though the Universe is coarsing through me in ecstatic trance, which is kind of cool. The downside is that I want to bury my brain in the crust of the Earth and use my spinal cord as a longbow in an epic battle with the piskies that have been invading my ear cavities and burrowing into my soul at night.  I should probably drink less liquid insanity. :/

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In just over an hour of milking the local library’s WiFi for all it’s worth on a manic, frenzied, stream of consciousness surf of the Interwebs of DOOM, I’ve managed to find a good two thousand dollars worth of vinyl and digital downloads that I am now obsessively longing to possess.

And ZERO fucking Dollars of DOOM. Wait a minute, though…do I really need two kidneys? This guy over here looks like he knows a few things about the black market vital organ trade…

Reason Number 5280 why I require “Adult Supervision.”

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SWEET BABY JESUS.

Zappa Plays Zappa at the Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas, you say?! I am so glad I didn’t sell my spare kidney for vinyl money earlier. Cuz I may need to sell that bad boy for Zappa tickets!

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Or maybe I will just live here on the strip until April, making that good street money whilst perfecting my one-man “Ian Anderson Does Aqualung” solo performance routine, as well as gathering material for my “Post-Post-Apocalyptic Mutant Zombie-Stripper Waster-land Dia de los Muertos New King of Vegas Spiritual Saga Semi-Autobiographical Prophetic Novel”…

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I just found out that the fucking fluoride they put in our tap water is petrifying my pineal gland and driving my subconscious deeper into the abyss! This is some motherfucking CIA mind control Illuminati social conditioning bullshit. I prefer my pineal gland to be nice and pliable and juicy, goddamnit! This is a fucking conspiracy!

VENDETTA!!!

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© 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.

Terrible Vibes All Around Us – Part VI – Witching Hour Wandering in Photos

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Las Vegas is a peculiar beast at 3 am on a Thursday.  In the off-season.  Man…I have wanted a reason to write that line for a decade.  Now that I have, the accomplishment feels…hollow.

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Fremont Street, most known for the pervasive and vibrant overhead deluge of spectral neon glooming, feels a bit hollow as well, this chilly February early morning, the “Witching Hour.”  My Jenn Baby and I share a pervasive and unpredictable sleeplessness — one of many symmetrical traits between us — as well as a penchant for waking suddenly and completely around three most mornings.  On this particular occurrence, and advantageous of our location this week, we felt the classic Vintage Vegas experience offered by The D, a bit of new packaging around the old heart of this city, calling to us from midway down the Fremont Street Experience.

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Because nothing in the world says “Keep Vegas Weird” quite like a bearded man in a mismatched arthouse t-shirt and nylon-polyester cargo pants, covered by a knit beanie and tailored suit jacket (*cough* Hipster! *cough*) earnestly playing a vintage pin-ball horse racing machine with his gorgeous, classy-casual, sweetly sarcastic Boo and a group of Mexican businessmen sipping chilled Patrón with Heineken and shouting at the mechanical jockeys at three in the morning on a lazy winter weekday.

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A genuine San Franciscan millenial in a t-shirt with art by Winston Smith blew by for a moment to chat Dead Kennedys and the history of the machine to which we were losing our ten spots.  Apparently there are only two others operational in the country, says California, one at the MGM and the other in Reno.  And like that, he is gone, his mission to proliferate random kitsch trivia complete.

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Later, headed back towards Fremont East, the streets are all but barren.  Only those with true grit, or those with no place else to go, remain.  A red-eyed man with a dark, sagging face asks if we have a bus pass we might part with.  Nearer our room, with the sun peaking over our Eastern horizon, a woman shuffles along behind an overflowing shopping cart, careful to clear out of the frame as I attempt a “selfie” with the vintage El Cortez signage.  Vegas is a place that loves to embrace its clichés…

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“Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant…”

Hunter S. Thompson

Catch up on the first five chapters of Our travel log!

Part I – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7j

Part II – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7r

Part III – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7u

Part IV – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7y

Part V – http://wp.me/p5maOU-87

© 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.

Terrible Vibes All Around Us – Part V – A Walkabout In Photos

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Took a quick leather tramp walkabout around the general vicinity of my “home” for the next few nights.  If you’ve missed the more verbose elements of Our story thus far, use the links below to catch up! Then, sound off in the comments and take a guess as to where We are 😀

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Part I – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7j

Part II – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7r

Part III – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7u

Part IV – http://wp.me/p5maOU-7y

© 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.

Terrible Vibes All Around Us – Part IV – Hints

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“…a sunny place for shady people.  I never meant to stay longer than a few years…”

It’s sentiment one hears often when mingling with the locals who call this sun-parched stretch of desert valley home. This is, of course, if one has managed to coax them into dropping their resilient armour of life-hardened, jaded detachment, which is not as simple a task as it sounds.  One must be patient, earn their trust…

Parts III – and III of Our Saga

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Jenn Baby, my more intelligent, attractive, and all-around superior half, and owner of the seductive mouth from whence the utterance quoted above was birthed, has been in this fair city nearly a decade now.  Each year, as the roiling Pacific tides bring warm ocean breezes and summer weather East across the valley of the dead, the wanderlust is awakened in her sweet, tender loins, igniting desire for adventure, uncertainty, and movement.  But, each year, something anchors her here.

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For now, it is the distance between our respective abodes that is our greatest obstacle.  Casually though fondly aquianted throughout most of our developing years in the Land of Enchantment, among the Four Corners, Jenn and I spent our 20s each doing our best to find a place or a path through this sometimes terrible, often strange but always magnificent world.  Through the omnipotent and infinite power of the Internets, we reconnected just over a year ago and flirted our way passionately and inappropriately into an intense and transformative long distance romance.  She is my constant spiritual grounding and my moon and stars, and I am her peculiar and imbalanced artistic hipster fury. 😉

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In the meantime, we do our best to swap trips and maintain regular visits with one another. So, that is, in a nutshell, what brings Us here.  To Now.  But, what Then?!

Perhaps if I take a quick inventory of our stock here in this historical bit of seedy retro hostel kitsch — our “home” away from the distractions of local rooming mates and practical home-town concerns for a few days — I will be better equipped to proceed.  We need the Plan.  But first, We must know what it is we are working with.  Once once We have established context can we turn Our focus towards purpose…

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We had two bags of potato crisps, seventy-five pellets of prescription crazy pills, five sheets of high powered Fruit Roll-Ups, a salt shaker half full of New Mexican soil, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored JuJu Bees, Sour Patch Kids, Butterfinger Cups, Pecan Twirls… and also a quart of Perrier, a quart of Sierra Mist, a case of Smart Water, a pint of raw cough medicine and two dozen ibuprophen.

Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious supply and junk food collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can…

Oh shit. No fucking Mountain Dew???

(With apologies and innumerable thanks to the Good Doctor)

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Artwork by Ralph Steadman

Care to guess the inimitable setting of this curious tale of woe and madness? Hit Us up in the comments!

© 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.

Terrible Vibes All Around Us – Part III – Arrival

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Parts I – and II – of Our Saga

Miraculously, We had arrived — but to what ends?  What was this dark and terrible place?  How had We come to be here?  And what did it all mean?!

There was but one thing certain to get to the bottom of this.  We would need to dive deep, immerse ourselves so completely into the story as to fully blur the lines between subject and documentarian.

This would require Our own strange brand of PURE gonzo journalism…

Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from [Redacted] to [Redacted] … with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether.” – “Raul Duke”

The neon lights and the sweet scent of decadence will lure me towards fantastic dreams this arid desert night…

Any ideas on where We are? The clues have been there… Take a guess in the comments!

© 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.

Terrible Vibes All Around Us – Part II – The End Peaks During Ascention

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Click Here for Our Journey’s Start

Something spiritual and transformative happened during Our departure.  After clearing security, sans bomb juice or any bomb-like substances — and thank the gods for those brave men and women of the TSA, too, and the outstanding job they’re doing catching all the terrorists (screening for bomb juice ain’t easy) — I decided to forego any $8 bottles of water or $12 diabetes-inducing caffeinated concoctions, and chose to simple sit, decompress from the terrifying trip TO the airport and the general state of white-knuckle unrest that is my existence of late, spin some digitized tunage, and write the first part of this epic tale of woe and travail.

The eponymous debut from the Doors felt like the kind of vibe I was going for, and since I don’t currently have any Jefferson Starship in my mp3 collection, We would not be experiencing the consciousness expanding, spirituality heightening joy of the white rabbit biting off it’s own head — our friends along the path of open perception would have to do.

And do, they did. Nicely, as it were.

Dawn came innocently enough this morning, but the tranquility of our waking hours would soon prove to be the calm before the storm.  Chaos and disquiet ruled Our realm this Trickster Tuesday, a whirlwind romp of anxious, frantic scurrying full of desperate grasping madness born of procrastination and distraction.  All this is, of course, kerosene on the flames of insanity and mania that We the Ryan have been inexplicably stoking and feeding into in months of late.  There has been nary a day since our annual turning of the page that has not been met with Our own uncertainty regarding the volatile unpredictable nature and disposition with which our own mental health — mental torment — should choose to greet each passing moment.  Panic attacks arrive suddenly, without warning, and with growing frequency and severity.  Anxiety and unease give way to projections of scorn and loathing.  Our defense is to lash out in venemous malice, or to internalize and subsume our rage. The scars of which…the scars of which…

We are coming unravelled…

But, then, the departure.  Now packed, stowed, boarded, and nestled comfortable in Our cozy seat within the spacious, temperate, delightfully half-full phallic flight projectile, we have all just experienced the tireless magic that is the preflight safety ritual.  All have been situation, promulgated, strapped down, contemplated, and informated, the Captain has loosed our mammoth mechanical steed, and as we taxi purposefully towards the runway and prepare to be thrust eagerly into this sun-baked Southwestern atmosphere, another type of journey is underway, this one of the soul and it is happening within Us but still all around and by and to Us but I am jacked in man I am in tune and it is the dance of our native ancestors and it is the song of our reptilian soul and it is the beginning and the journey but most of all This Is The End and just as Our great tubular carriage explodes and We are propelled in glorious burning ecstasy towards the heavens that inner journey PEAKS and it is orgasmic and it is transformative and it is gargantuan and a tide all around me and I am overcome by the patricidal and matricidal ecstatic overcoming of the moment and a stab of fear, a clenching, the feral beast within me clutching, grasping, panicked for control but we push the beast down and we wrestle it down and quiet it for there is nothing it can do here, it is this moment, this absolute which must be given over in the palm of an outstretched hand, our grasping fingers loosed to finally, completely Let Go and BE FREE.

If the story or my place in it had needed to end there, I would have understood and it would have been the way it always would have been and the way it needed to be, the only way it could have ended for this now. And I would have been okay.

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© 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.

Terrible Vibes All Around Us – Part I

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“Ma’am, please step over here. We’ll need to test your hands.”  I could only keep my head down and be glad it wasn’t me.  Apparently the girl had bomb juice on her hands.  Who goes about casually handling bombs and bomb juice emitting products on their way to the airport?  But nevermind that – I had my own problems to deal with.

“You better take care of me Lord, if you don’t you’re gonna have me on your hands….” – HST

Strange and terrible vibes all around Us. Juicy Bomb Girl, unfortunate enough to exist on the darker end of the complexion spectrum. In a corner near the janitorial closet, a sad-eyed girl with a nest of dark hair, her life-aged face belieing her annular youth. The slow drawl of disinterest in her conversation, on the line with some distant disinterested something and languid, weepy gaze suggesting a familiarity with the opioid family.  Some middle-aged windbag publicizing his ever so dramatic conversation with…whoever.

Most other times this place would be crawling with reptilian scurry, but not tonight.  And I suppose We can thank the gods of this arid stretch of cracked-dry desert for that.  A panic attack or two on the ride over was dramatic enough for those of Us who drank and drugged away Our true constitution years before Our time.  Now’s the chance to lay low, relax…watch the madness unfold.

There will be plenty of time for Our own rotten brand of fear and loathing soon enough…

“No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride…and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well…maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.” – HST

We are in for a voyage, that much is certain.  But to where? How would We get there? And, once We had arrived at our destination in a furious jolt, wind-beated and weathered, coat tails flapping desperately in Our wake…what then? What would it all mean?

I suppose certain inquiring minds may be asking about the nature of this journey, its purpose, Our destination.  There will be time enough for all of that soon.  We may play a game.

For now, the voyage is what’s important. The getting there. The road itself…because it IS indeed essential that We GET THERE…

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Art by Ralph Steadman

Any guesses as to where We are heading? Leave it in the comments!

© 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.