Ronan Cray lives in New York City when he isn't holed up in his writer's shack in rural Pennsylvania. He remains inspired by people and their stories. New York provides ample inspiration for both. Torn between meeting new people and staying home on the couch, he channels this conflict into his work. The result... you decide.
A Coyote in Yosemite I drove over a thousand miles in the last week, most of that on hairpin mountain roads on the edge of a cliff. ...
Don't Blog Drunk III
Alcohol is a depressant. We forget that as we dance the night away. But soon it opens our eyes to the tired people around us. The women, desperate trollops dressed up in hopes of impregnation. The men, in fits of testosterone fury. All reduced to the basest instincts of procreation, frivolity, and sadness. And you. Alcohol holds up a mirror and shouts, "Laugh, you fool. Laugh before you cry!" I want no more of this. But others; they live for this... release. They beg alcohol to loose the chains of societal oppression. They proceed with another and another. They throw away the compass even as the fog closes in, as if this gesture lends the illusion of freedom. You must, you must get lost with them or you are shunned. Into the darkness you go. Tomorrow be damned for today. The darker it gets, the less you pretend to feel, until the illusion cocoons you in bliss. Then morning lights your silk on fire.