Is

the crackling oxidation is
the ants make homes inside
it is a dead tree
and it is a rancid thought

it is what is

it is a community looking at their chests
it is my fault
the time is still running on it
and it is my constant consciousness

it is what is

The truth bathes us
but we are not solved with water.

the symphony is never tuned
The visible conductor dies,
he is you and me.
and we are in its knot

it is a thing where we sat ourselves as judges
it is our fault
someone will be bleeding on it
to unwind the thing and peel it back

My feet need bathing
and my blood is only water.

image to me

I need to be seen
not just you and me talking.

not just you and me...

"quiet seems lost, yeah?"
the words in your mind.

"We are talking
me to me
we to me
me to we"

you think I'm you
just another phrase of you

a touch, irate whisper
that you won't let scream

you explain to me...

"We are talking
me to me
we to me
me to we"

I know you don't think
I'm another entity

But I'm part of him,
outside you and real

He'll touch you, you liar

and cut you open
and pull out your heart

ok to ok

I miss my band Anapra. I want to play in a metal band and call it Baza-ra. Until then I will watch this video sometimes.




Robert, Neal, Jeff....we should rock again someday.
Ryan

with no option to forget

It is this dark here.
It's hard to breath here,
I remember the places I froze while trying to walk.

reciting to myself, your words,
Thus I've worked these roads for you.

Plastered and battered and cut
some light barely gets to us.

reciting to myself, your words
Thus I've worked these roads with you.

I can't forget you.
pour through my lungs,
seep in my thoughts,
and walk through my spirit.

all kinds

Living is Seattle has been a real transition. I have enjoyed it so far even though it has been dificult.
The hardest part has been that I had a one month sinus infection that really kept me in bed and delayed a lot of stuff with the album and poetry.

I am back to writing and planning for the release of the album. So that's good news. Also I will be back in Maryland from Dec. 15 till after Christmas.

poetry and album coming soon,
Ryan

New Album

So, the new album has been recorded. I am very excited about it. Jeremy White and I got it done fast. One week and we are out. Now we need to mix it, so I am driving to SanDiego to mix with him. Meanwhile he is working on the ruff mixes.

There are a lot more vocals on this album than any of the other. I finally have learned to sing harmony and second melody.

can't wait,
Ryan

PS more of a pain-hope career soon.

I couldn't do it

Two days from one week in the studio to finish a whole progressive, polyrhythmic, acoustic/vocal based album. That means I have to have a lot of good ideas and be able to record them all quickly.

Afraid of being a con by listening to too much music too close to the recording sessions and not being able to seperate my ideas from what I just listened to, I told myself I wasn't going to listen to music until the record was recorded. However, tonight I got my laptop in working order again and the itunes store blitzkrieged me. I bought songs off Diary (by sunny day real estate), off the always open mouth (by fear before the march of flames), and a few at the drive-in songs. I failed-----now it's 2:33 am and I am listening----to music.

I don't feel too bad since it's not acoustic, or polyrhythmic music. Still, if you hear my next album, when it comes out and it sounds like any of the above bands, you have my permission to eliminate all my beloved house-pets.

out,
Ryan

PS I don't have house pets, and I am holding stock in SHLD

a pain-hope career (part 8)

He was splashed with fright;
very sudden,
after leaving,
to resume search for the wraith.


The grey blood scattered
in the water.
kumiko sat,
soaking up to his waist.


His task was fumbled
in distraction he faltered
the blood trail...difused.. .lost
He glared. The circling water shook.


Shadows of him
lay in strange reflections
but not the shadow he needed.


Now he feared smith
who's orders he had failed
kumiko the theif,
stolen book, and lost.


His eyes full glazed
his ears ignoring hiss
of his shadows
rising in the dome.


The space becoming full
grey hands in a rage
Kumiko's look
remained the same.


the book, he left closed.
Shadows forced him down.
and in dream like slowness
he saw his breath bubble.


"Smith won't miss you!"
the hiss seaped.

FIN

Hold on I’ll grab
The arm of your

Jacket
Iris
Eyes are this
Drained of color

I’ve been dreaming of the day
When we see him face to face
And I know it’s what we think about the most.

We haven’t reached
Our home of yet

Push through this
Scratch and dust
Temporal earth
For our home

I’ve been dreaming of the day
When we see him face to face
And I know it’s what we think about the most.

FIN

this is a new song. We play it heavy with anapra and I play it soft with an acoustic guitar by myself sometimes.

a pain-hope career (part 7)

Kumiko was lead
to rows end
of men sleeping
Death in the eyes on their face

The glow now a dim light
in them and their room.
Kumiko sat,
as one man took the stage.

The preacher then tumbled
One large word after another
But kumiko's ears were stopped
His eyes target was the book

ignored among them
it lay in the front, alone
bold, unknown, abandoned

words and wasting breath
droned over it's cover
the book was left neatly
closed and so lost.

Like waves, men poured
down rows resistanceless
past kumiko
till he was left alone

The room no longer full,
Weathered another change
the sealed book
remained, steady, the same.

Kumiko moved to know.
his fingers on pages bound.
moved it from where it stood
to the door he shuffled.

"they won't miss it."

FIN
gettting ready for this move to seattle has really slowed down my writing, but don't worry the story will be completed.

wait for it

I encourage you all to consider this deeply.

a pain-hope career (part 6)

Water gently lapped
at halls end,
ankle deep in
a large circular place.

The ceiling bent upward,
over the shallow pool,
like an old mosque.
He heard someone shouting.

"Across the water! Tread!"
A large nosed man beckoned.
Kumiko's hand dropped
from the wall and his feet splashed.

Careless of the blood
that drifted straight forward
he walked left. Quickly
the grey trail was lost.

Ripples circled
around the columns that
reached into the dome.
"Come, come! You'll be welcomed

The meeting is almost full,
but we'll make room for more."
The man motioned
at the door next to him.

Kumiko saw a glow
inside men were seated
facing some kind of pulpit.
They all mumbled,

and ignored their shadows.

FIN
in other news. I am still in Maryland till Nov. 4th then I am going to Seattle for about a month. So my MD homies (esp the boonons) I am still here and we should chill.

behind every door

face up
or face down
the reasons are always
too heavy to settle in my hand.

I know
you are
the planner, even of whims.
I'm sure, you'll be right,
behind every door.

cut out
all the
constant questions,
let go of the raging.

I'll quit
fighting you.
you made me, so shape me.
I'm sure you'll be right,
behind every door.


FIN
new song. should be on the upcoming album for my side project (meaning this is not Anapra), called "Our adventure, at the end of the world"

Video Interviews from our Show

Here is a video of me interviewing the bands Edison Glass and Bernard before our show with them last Sunday at The Noteworthy in Bedford, PA.



Here are two more videos of me interviewing people waiting outside before that same show. I asked them what they thought of our band name Anapra

a pain-hope career (part 5)

The silence fell asleep
with the smith,
leaned back, sledge draped
through fingers hung from palm.

Then a switch occurred.
The lock on the boys eyes
released---stepping
toward the door, still gaped.

"I need you to run an errand."
Smith never fully slept,
leaned now forward.
"Your name?" with eyebrow cocked.

"Kumiko, I'm called,"
whispered movementless.
He glanced at Smith and spoke.
"I thought you slept."

"I don't allow dreams, control.
I stay anchored here."
said smith,
one finger toward the hall.

"Shadow's gone now.
Follow his blood trail,
through that hallway and then
keep till he's found."

Smith was still pointing.
convincing urgency
in his heavy eyes.
The boy looked and entered.

The hallway was silent
one hand ran the wall
growing peace in each step,
he would not soon go home.

FIN

They will bomb us out

Build this wall between
unheard and unseen
We'll stay huddled down
Hidden underground.

and don't breath too loud
cuz they will bomb us out
It's not easy
cuz we're not aloud to

lace your fingers tight
on knees but not in tomb.
whisper prayers out,
He hears without sound.

FIN
This is a song/poem that I wrote. Should be on an upcoming recording.

a pain-hope career (part 4)

Silence was cut
the red glowing thorn
rotated in palm,
Shadow stood throated.

A mist of grey blood
easing from dead larynx
it squealed and attempted
to dirty the blade

transparent hands moving
from neck to blade
wiping vigorously
...

"still hot"
spoke the relaxed smith
as streaks of grey
burnt off bright steel

"She will come, or won't.
I don't control that.
I keep this ready;
I don't chase thought."

Shadow staggered-
-half fell out of the room
down a hallway
before starting to wretch

The resounding clash
began again, tearing
over the shadows,
fading whispers of ruin

folding again and again
the hot metal passed
from one hardness
to the next, through placed blows.

All paused in time
the smith,
"She will come...Or she won't."
The hammer went down.


FIN

A pain-hope career (part 3)

Passing the door jam
passing from sun
was a place intermittent
breathing darkness and sparks.

A rattle of metal
before each burst of noise
a broken wooden wall
parted with gaps peering in,

And on the other side
A massive sweating man
wrapped in determined muscle.

His heaving back
throwing down his arm
and the hammer with force of tears.

In his other hand
a hilt clanked,
slid and flipped
over the swollen anvil.

A second sound slid into the room
a hiss.
Leaking from another
Just beside the metal worker.

A thin shadow
breathing it's hiss
raising it's voice to whisper
an indirect-

"May be worthless," he said,
"The steal might never be used."
no attention returned
Just an affirmed grip on the hilt.

"May be wasted" the darkness leaned in,
What will your work be for,
When you go home to no one
and there's nothing but walls to tell?"

"Will you cut them?
When the walls don't respond
cut them with steal that
really was never yours"

The striking steal halted,
the neck slowly turned and
an eyebrow was raised.
The shadow had finally gotten attention.

"She might never hold it..."
it whispered and left the silence to speak.


FIN
I would have added this before, but my internet connection was bad in Mexico. So here it is. Hope you guys like it. By the way I lost my original intention to make this a 3 part series, it's gonna be longer.

A pain-hope career (part 2)

through hovels and huddles
thick with people in rags
unnoticed, out of place
following...listening

din and hum decreasing
from a now thinning crowd,
less people in the heart
of these webbing streets.

the sound continues on
thrusting itself, rifling,
unchecked becoming all,
All of his attention.

Donning it's voice each time
"come, come, come..." Repeated.
and then, the source is open.
a door gaping at streets end


FIN
Struggled with this one. I was trying to keep the parts coming since it's a series poem, but it's difficult to write in a sleepless tour van with all kinds of rhythmic metal blasting.

PS Stones Overturned guys, you are all supa friends. Thanks for going on tour with us!

PPS Mike B thanks for encouraging me about the first part of this series. You convinced me to keep trying on this difficult section.

A pain-hope career (part 1)

A clanging foreign noise
drifts ricocheting to his ears
off walls and alley ways.

He, caught in mid breath
to discern the sound,
stops to peer through chain links.

Eyes coming buildings
just past the barbed wire.
"That district is a slum."

A collar of white leash,
forbids him to walk
on that side of the barrier.

...seconds pass
His thumb slips a top button
as his feet creep into the ghetto

The noise leads past
buildings lined with corrosion,
aged, dying municipal blocks.

The repeating steal chime
pulls him in on wary feet
through the arteries of a forsaken city.

unresting curiosity pushing him
to find a source, or a reason
for an alarm in a dead place.

FIN (Part 1)

This is my first entry on a series I am doing called "A pain-hope career". All the poems in this series will tell one story. So sorry to leave you hanging. I wrote Part 1 over nine times (not including revisions of those 9 drafts) to get it to this point. I hope you guys like it.