life is weird...

profound, i know...

so yeah, for the last few weeks i've had some serious writer's block... just coming up with... nothing. been trying to work on songs, write lyrics, got studio sessions booked, music ready to go... but me, i got nothing to say. nothing at all. absolutely fuck all. it's the scariest thing when you write, when you rely on the gods to whisper in your ear... when they're silent, you feel so completely alone, and you have no idea if they'll ever come back... i find myself praying to hear their voices... begging them to tell me things... nothing... silence... for days... nothing... weeks... nothing...

and then, they all start yelling at me at once. in the last 24 hours i've written three songs. all came out of nowhere. it's such a fucked up thing to try to explain to somebody you're hanging out with. "hey, it's great to see you, i haven't seen you in a while... but uh, i can't really talk right now... the gods are whispering in my ears and i have to write down the things they're saying... i know, i know, i'm being rude buried in my notepad scribbling like a madman... i know i invited you over and everything... but, here's the thing, i made a deal with them a long time ago, that if they keep talking to me, i'll keep writing down all the things they say... but part of the deal is, i don't get to choose when we communicate... they do... and if i ignore them, they might stop speaking to me... so uh, yeah, sorry... you can leave if you want, i understand, or just hang out, wait it out, they won't talk forever... they usually just say a few things and then they're quiet again..."

i'm writing this at 5am, sitting in the bar i work at. i have so much i have to do right now, and so little time. really, lots of time, but so little time to myself. but i've found the bar to be the most perfect place to work. everybody's out by 3am, i'm done working by 3:30am at the latest. and then the place is mine. i've got beer. i can smoke (i can't smoke at home... so it's hard to write there). it's silent. or i can play music. it's dark. and there's beer. did i mention there's beer here? did i mention i can smoke? so this is my new home. 5am, sitting in a bar by myself, listening to music, drinking beer out of a coffee mug (in case the cops roll by and look in the window...), smoking a cigarette and trying to figure out what to make of all this...

i need to sleep soon.

i've been thinking a lot about turning 30 soon.

it really hasn't been that big a deal to me, until the last week or so, when it seems like all of a sudden everybody around me is making a big deal about it...

(i'm listening to pm dawn right now, not really on purpose, my itunes is on shuffle, but still, i've always had a bit of a soft spot for them... and i don't care who knows it.)

so yeah, 30. 30. 30. 30. 30. the thing is, i feel like i'm only now, at 30, doing the things i wanted to do when i was 20 but was too scared... (but at the same time, i did everything i wanted to do then, it's just that it wasn't until recently that i realized that the things i wanted to do then, weren't the things i REALLY wanted to do... if that makes any sense... i don't know if it does...)

but yeah, fuck... so much to do...

trying to get this ep finished with the band...

got this book i have to finish this month, so it can come out in the spring...

got the ok cobra album getting an official release in the new year, with a few bonus remixes (more on that later...)

got the new ok cobra to get to work on (tim's new beats are disgusting... i'm trying to write man!! i'm doing my best!!)

a few other rap songs in the works, got a few beats from some cats...

me and rich gotta get this movie done...

and tim's in town for the holidays, so i'm thinking we gotta shoot a video or two while he's in town...

so much to plan for, so much to set in motion... but i wouldn't have it any other way...

and i got this thing i want to tell you all about, but i really don't know if i can talk about it yet...

such is life.

how are you? tell me things. i need inspiration. i need words. i need feeling. i need love and pain and beauty and terror. tell me all of it. write me. fuck computers, write me letters. pens, paper, envelopes, stamps... (i have a mailing address if you want it...)

strange things. a long time ago, drunk, when i first got on myspace, me and a friend one night decided to create a page for devin the dude. it went something like this...

"why doesn't devin have a page?"
"i don't know."
"he probably doesn't have a computer."
"or if he does, he probably is either too busy or doesn't give a shit."
"why doesn't his label make him a page?"
"fuck, i don't know."
"so let's make one for him!"
"okay..."

stupid things you do when you're wasted.

so anyway, we made this devin the dude page on myspace, and then my homie matt sonzala in houston saw it, and he emailed me like "yo, devin knows about the page and was wondering who made it..." and i'm like "uh, yeah, it's me, drunk, doing stupid shit..." and so he told devin and now whatever, the dude knows it's there, and me and matt will keep the page going and keep it updated with new info, and shows, and music, and it's dope. kinda cool. peep it.

okay, fuck yeah, i gotta go get some sleep now...

ryan



ps. i can't remember if i told you all i finallly got the fatlip album, but holy jesus, album of the year. fuck all of you who burn the shit and don't buy it. if there's one thing you need to spend $20 on this year it's the loneliest punk...