About the artist
Ryan Christopher is an American musician, artist and writer. Born and raised in Alaska, he spent his years learning guitar and cello starting at the age of 7, and has played in many groups both professionally and independently. One of his early milestones while playing in his progressive rock band Fluid was the opportunity to be produced by Grunge Icon Page Hamilton, founder of Helmet and guitarist of David Bowie. Following came more momentum when Fluid was selected to star on an A&E reality TV pilot called The Chronicles of Rock where Ryan was able to work and perform with Jamey Jasta from Hatebreed, The world famous Enigma, Maria Brink from In This Moment and various other note- worthy musicians in the scene. Since then he has slowed down on his live performances to focus on becoming a 'Big Picture' artist. "Becoming entirely self sufficient in any industry is infinitely valuable. If you have not only the vision to imagine every aspect of the entire project, but also the skills and touch to produce all the pieces and put them together; you're miles ahead of the herd.," Because of this idea and love for art and digital media, He started a small business called The Media Multi-Tool which specializes in "Big Picture" multimedia presentation.
Lyrics
as if I belong on your narcissistic, enriched path to righteousness. You stuck the pen through my hands and nailed me to your self-created cross manufactured through lies, hate, malice, greed all the while saving face as the weakling, the peasant, the hen protecting her golden egg from the maniacal rooster. His crest sheds fire and abuse from a throne made of the ash and bone of all those who stood in his way, tried to help, tried to change his filthy ways. The flames grew and grew in the eyes of all who adored you in your fictional helplessness.
I am his highness, I am all that appears proud, confident, well kept and never squandered. There is no flame, there is no pile of defeated soggy hearts of purity beneath me. There is no acidity spewing from my eyes, there is no pride nor ego left to see if you took a moment to look into these eyes. I am still the king, I will always be the king, but i am not the foe from your memory-Mighty, arrogant, fueled by the rage of battle. Wreaking, wrecking both havoc and lives, Juggling my ransoms behind the disguise. Guilty, I was...Too entangled in my own web full of flies unaware I was cheating the liar’s heart out of true love and the freedom to cheat her own death like a fucking hero.
Skipping back through the text like the stones you've hurled into my cave. Rebounding, clattering and echoing through all that's left of what I have built for myself, my messy pile of nothing I have to leave my carbon copy who was blessed enough to be made of ruby, instead of the chaos and ruin that comprise this faux-congenial-mound of dissarray. You're made of rubies my son; and I am copper, rust, and dust. Some day I might wipe the sludge and wreckage from eyes and be able to see myself for what I might be, what perhaps I once was. But until then I am the one that lacks luster underneath the throne bearing crystals as if she were a God, failing to see that the evil king she sees in me is simply the reflecting pool, throwing mirrored images like daggers back through her eyes, blinding her and masking the only one who has any shimmer, radiance, innocence and will live without penance- willing to build an alliance of anything truly good that will be left in whatever shit world we’ve left him in. A new foundation in which he will stand above our bones of selfishness and god awful, pathologically confabulated repute; awarded to ourselves, by ourselves-winning a competition where our ego and pathetic needs are the only contestants in a war that is destroying the pinnacle we claim to protect-. Fuck the war, I don't want to live with who the fuck I would be if I reached the top of that empty lonely castle. Looking out amongst the desert, deserted, and lifeless. Void of anything that one would consider an asset to be buried with. I've already lost the chance to be buried with my once-angel, and that angel's feather's drop one by one as she becomes a skeleton. The bones of my only son's emotional demons that line his devil's back as it stalks and studies him from afar, eagerly waiting and hungry for the attack.
Need I go on? These words and ideas aren’t meant to educate. I’ve set them before me to Incite, now you may all sit back and watch the collapse.