There's not much to tell about myself really. That is, I rarely get to talk about me, and just me. I'll try and add as much as I can for the readers here to give an accurate analysis of my life.
My name is Jason Ryan Kelly, named after the movie "Jason & The Argonauts" and one of the greatest pitchers of american baseball to ever be inducted into the hall of fame, Nolan Ryan.
I came from a broken home. Fights, drugs and tears were always apparent within those four walls that I for some reason called my one true home, locking myself away from everyone and everything I encircled my room like a caged animal, plucked fresh from the wild. Persistent thoughts of the truly unbelievable running rampant behind these eyes of a fogged existance.
This must be where I've lost my feelings and emotions so many years ago, becoming this void of a human being that I've seen everyday of my life standing before me in the mirror, glaring back with distilled eyes.
I use to reside in a small, preppy/hick town in the Bay Area, California between the cities of Hayward and Oakland. A docile, boring retirement village where all the elders of surrounding cities come to rest their weary bones in the final days only to fade away with little to nothing left.
A dreary, dank, disfiguring scar upon the earth, lovingly named-- Castro Valley.
As most of my friends know, I spent my time in solitary, staring blankly into this small, luminecent window of the world and beyond called the computer writing my life away. I'd spend days at a time on my screenplays, song lyrics and poetry.
Either that or I lazily slept the sun away with my old tattered t-shirt window curtains closed tightly, every so often getting up and stumbling downstairs to feed and watch a few shows and movies on television that seem to interest me at the time.
As the moon arose, taking it's rightful place amongst the sky, I began to fully awaken, once again to take my leave from that tiny, cluttered domicile into the fridged night air.
I found my peace amongst the centuries old cobble stone and dust of the moon lit roads and darkened pathways. Wandering the streets alone I felt no need to accommodate anyones needs but my own.
I was somewhat at ease on the road. It was quite peaceful-- most of the time anyway. There were times when complications arose, bringing my reality into a whole. This was why I adopted the moto-- No, guideline to life-- Prepare thy self.
Every trip outside that I took, I brought items that I know I would need, just incase I was confronted by someone, something or the police, which in this particular town happens a lot. It's good to come prepared.
One thing that I have learned over the years being a resident of Castro Valley is to order your food to go, so to speak. You simply cannot expect something not to happen in that town, otherwise it will.
I have learned, slowly at first, that Castro Valley is no place for me to live. There was nothing in that corroding land fill of urban white trash and drug hungry idiots to stay. It finally came time for me to leave all that behind.
Believe me, it was a relief to finally escape when things got gradually worse, but I managed to make it out alive and well. My reasons for leaving were plenty, but the main reason all started, and ended when my mother tried to find a new man after my father left for Las Vegas.
Apparently her boyfriend wasn't as charming as she had originally thought. Then again, neither was she when she use to do heavy drugs. The day I decided to leave was when my mothers boyfriend decided to go on one of his druggy rampages and hit her. So, before I left, I decided to give him a little going away present.
To kill him.
Don't go calling the police just yet, thinking you found some murderer to roll over to get your name in the paper. I didn't succeed. It was close. Very close.
Luckily for him, my brother and a friend that were there to help me pack my things for Las Vegas had managed to stop me from decapitating the bastard, using an old crossing guard sign like a tomahawk.
Oh well. Maybe next time. But, until then, I won't worry about it. I'm done worring about things like that from now on. For now, it's all about me and what it's going to take to get my life back on track to becoming who I wish to become.
So I waited for my father at a hospital parking lot until he could come pick me up to make the journey to Las Vegas, Nevada.
Now I live in this large concrete jungle, filled with the hum of bright lights and thousands of blurred face strangers known as Las Vegas. Sin City. It's much different from Castro Valley in a lot of ways, and yet in others it is still the same.
A new nick name has been given to me from the friends I have out here in Las Vegas. Boy Hetfield. It suits me just fine. So really the only differences are that I have a few more friends and aquaintences. I still wander the streets at night, yet now I'm not so much alone on my trips. It is a definite difference but a difference I can live with.
Some of my cats are still with me, and some have been left behind in Castro Valley to keep my mother company while I am away. I miss them all to the point of depression but manage to keep myself occupied with other problems so that I try not thinking about it.
Even though I am slender and only eat but once a day, I still love to eat good food, and a lot of it too. Anything that peaks my tastes I'm down to chew up. Give me a greasy burger and fries, a rare steak with mashed potatoes, or sushi. I'll tear it apart. That's is one of the main reasons why my friends back in California have nicknamed me "The Wolf".
Aside from being fuzzy all over and that I wander around at night, I tear apart my food with my bare hands and teeth in a ravenous manner. Being raised in an Italian/Porter Rican family my parents did not look down upon my eating habits to make use of my fingers. They let me use my hands as an option from the utensils to feeding myself. The trait has not died with age, even though I do use a fork for some food products.
I'm not a completely uncivilized beast after all.
I have an infinite love towards the furry kind. Animals have always been in my life ever since I was born. I was conceived at home.
The first time I had opened my eyes to curiously view this new world that I had been flung into, I saw them. Animals staring down from book cases, up from under chairs, and around the corners of doorways. Animals have always been there watching over me.
I've had felines through out my life. Nothing but cats. Adding them all up over the years, I must have had over a hundred of them. They were always there to comfort me. When I was sad, they were there rubbing against my leg, telling me it's alright. When I was happy, they were there celebrating along side of me.
I was never alone. Not without one of the cats to keep me company. Their like family to me. They are family. My furry little brothers and sisters. I love them all to death and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
Out of the never ending colors of a rainbow, I would have to say my favorite color is black. Plain and simple. It's not a gothic or evil thing to love the color black. I just do.
I despise being mistaken for a gothic or evil person just for wearing my choice of color. Evil I may be, but that’s only when you've crossed the line into territory you have no right to enter without my permission or trust. My clothing reflects my love for the color.
Almost every bit of clothing I had in Castro Valley was black. It helped me stealthily move through the streets at night without being detected and stopped by the police for resembling someone with a outstanding warrant for armed robbery. Out there they try and pin stuff like that on you. Dirty, rotting, bastard swine that they are.
Besides everything matches and goes with black.
My astrological sign is Libra. The scale. The balancer. The restorer of order. The beginning and the end. The alpha and the omega. As everyone knows I am a very destructive and constructive person. What must be destroyed will also be sifted through and built into something new.
I don't believe in astronomy, but for some reason my life seems to follow the path of the stars in the sky. To tell you the truth it might just be possible to be true. I am the voice of reason or middle man in many situations that occur with family and friends, probably why I get the blunt end of the fury when my actions to help are cast into the wind as I become the new target of anger.
Yet while I'm being punished for something I didn't do, in my mind I feel that I'm still doing the feuding few a service by taking all their anger and subconsiously making them redirect it towards me.
It comforts me even though I am being taken down a notch by the indirect anger of someone I love. I call it "The Trickle Down Effect". Everyone must and will eventually go through it. There is no escape. Just learn to deal with it and you'll be better off in the long run.
I do not believe, follow or practice the idealization of a mythical savior most spiritual people proudly call "God". To me religion is a form of cancer and "God" is merely the dramatization of hope in the disillusioning human mind. It spreads like a virus through weak minded people that choose to except it because of their downtrotten lives. A plague of choice.
It changes the mind making people say and do things they might not have said or wanted to say before. It alienates everyone and everything that does not fit the criteria of ancient scriptures created thousands of years ago to establish obedience in order for its followers to gain admission to an organization of purity. Not even the followers that embrace its existance knows what awaits them in the end for sure. It's merely belief.
Religion does nothing but spark wars and upset the balance of life merely because of small differences in belief.
My Writings
My Photography
This is my life in a nutshell, cracked open and produced the fruit of my years on this earth. Take it or leave it, I am me, and that is all I wish to be thought of as.
So, with all that said and done-- ROCK ON!
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