Ryan Bender-Murphy

I brush my teeth until they look like Antarctica.  Saw a television show about robots and fell in love with a man by the name of Adama.  I enjoy drives near tall radio towers in the hills where their red glow shines down like some post-apocalyptic sun.   There’s dancing in alleyways where one lone saxophone billows.  The night is a cigarette burn on your thigh.  I miss things like the Old West and how knee caps look during springtime.  I think Americans went to the moon and still believe the integrity of fluoride toothpaste.  Some say being a native Texan means you’re inherently a cowboy.  I just made that up.  I’m no oilman.  I once played World of Warcraft.  Comic books aren’t children’s toys.  Two hair cuts a year means I can be one hairy muthafucka.  I want to believe that I coined the term the “nerd conceit.”  What starts here may or may not be three pages after a headline about Angelina Jolie’s children.  Brainfreeze happens in the throat.  I own a Mac.

Three books:

The Road by Cormac McCarthy
The Watchmen by Alan Moore
The Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson