Ryan Johann Perry was born in Germany. A demarcation, parallel that still resonates in him to this day. He studies Philosophy and Creative Writing at UTEP and is working on a full length stage adaptation of the Little Prince to be performed this January at Kids N Co.  He was co-founder of Charming Elusive, a local writing/performing group. He currently owns his own food catering business called Pale Ghost Foods, which specializes in smoked meats. His obsessions are Mixed Martial Arts, Cognitive Dissonance and Hi-Fi Stereo systems.

Fistic Dialectics: A blog about all things MMA


Check out some of Ryan's interviews of local actors and musicians. RecentLy he talked to two actors involved with the 2014 season of Shakespeare on the Rocks. He goes in depth into the actors preparation, techniques, and thoughts about the characters and their history.  READ MORE


FICTION: There is a Point Beyond Which Answers Cannot be Brought Back

 She had hidden behind months July through December until the grain curved into itself smooth and she was there with a Stranger who asked, “Show me something.”

“Okay,” she said and she did and he said “Wow!” and “Could you show me again” and she did and he reached out to squish her nose. 

There was an aspect, of luck, of being picked, explored in the fragments of the constellations. The claw picked up the plush icon and dropped it into her hands. She named it something different than what it was. 
They looked beyond the light pollution flicker to see one continuing star that looked like the ratio of days to meaningful experiences.  Suggesting everything in the opposite direction, they were now far afield from their first years of thick blood and initial pulls. 

But he could still go out and send, with air in the balloons, a message, against the slow shill of adulthood. From his stomach grew a dichotomy at “us” and he mistook his trajectory for falling, gravity for the coin flip probability that he been targeted, aimed and shot out into her galaxy.

She continued, a pop song that couldn't turn off, an accessible entrance into the rabbit hole where the blackness swelled his rods and cones until he could see the million colors already there. 

He chose none other. 


In Review: House Party, Oregon Street

When suicidal, there is an inability to distinguish between Whataburger and body odor, a color blindness that makes Kurt Kobain singing “Dumb” a message from the ether.  Kurt was a clever man, who left a world much different then the one I was leaving.  I was leaving a house party, one where I was, as usual, uninvited, and holding up the air on a balcony, trying to listen for some other message, some yin to Kobain's yang. As I left, driving down I-10, I realized that there was no corollary, no parallel to the unwieldy realness of my self loathing. 

Let us beat the speed of light for a moment and go back to changing it all as everyone wants to do, go back to writing the fictions, playing dress up for who you want to be, and hide there for a minute because it seems to me the truth is in other words.  In other words, it is whatever unspeakable word sprints through your mind the most, the favorites of you mental vocabulary, the last word you would say at a house party.  READ MORE