What do you want with this? Should I put it here? I wonder what kind of person could possibly want to read any of this. I sure don’t want to read it, but I have to, because I write all of it.
In the long, long ago I was given a name, but I have given myself a new name, mostly because I was feeling rotten and bored. So now, for good or ill, I am Ryan Starsailor. It is much simpler this way. And anyway I like stars, and I like sailing through them. Really it’s a good name for me when you think about it that way.
I don’t know what this website is. Space trash for sure . . . brain dust too I reckon. I get twisted up and I forget things, and I lose my place in time. I use this thing, whatever it is, to remember the when and what and where. There is no why, man. And even if there were, the answer would be so depressing that none of us would ever be able to look at ourselves in the mirror again. (I don’t really know what that means, by the way.)
A great deal of these words and sentences are strung together late at night when everyone else is in bed. Often when I am in the darkness of a dead day, I’ll hear cats screaming, or the garbage man pulling up to take it all away. See, I don’t sleep. I take to my computer and find some filthy corner to write these haunted little things. Listen: it’s either that or I drink a whole bottle of terrible wine and think about old girlfriends. Sometimes, God help me, these two things intersect. I’m sorry that it’s all available for public consumption. Though hell, maybe that’s half the fun.
I enjoy receiving emails from friends and strangers alike. So if you’d like to email me, go ahead and do it. If not, that’s OK too.
(Photo is of me and my good buddy Laura Rokas at Missouri Lounge in Berkeley, California on my 27th birthday. Yahhhhoooo.)