Author Topic: TB grad/Ryan Pink  (Read 6154 times)

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Offline clowshyna

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Re: TB grad/Ryan Pink
« Reply #15 on: April 20, 2012, 06:31:28 AM »
How was tuberculosis treated during the American Civil War? How was tuberculosis treated around the time of the American Civil War? I've tried to find the answer, but have been unable to find any information other than the number of people who died because of it.
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« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline BuzzKill

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Re: TB grad/Ryan Pink
« Reply #16 on: April 22, 2012, 08:34:20 PM »
TB as used on this forum is not about Tuberculosis. It is about a place called Tranquility Bay. Try googling: Tuberculosis+civil war+treatment.

As I recall they mostly just waited to die. Sometimes moved to a dry climate; sometimes a damp one.
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Pile of Dead Kids

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Re: TB grad/Ryan Pink
« Reply #17 on: April 22, 2012, 09:00:11 PM »
Buzzkill, do you have ANY conception of automated spam?
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »
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Offline BuzzKill

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Re: TB grad/Ryan Pink
« Reply #18 on: April 22, 2012, 09:50:57 PM »
Yeah - sorta - but a spam bot wouldn't create an account would they?
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline lobo

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Re: TB grad/Ryan Pink
« Reply #19 on: June 02, 2012, 12:09:58 PM »
hello.  i'm new to these forums.  this is actually my first post, and i apologize in advance for this emotional tirade, and for in case that i am breaking forum rules that i am unaware of.  i found this thread through google, as i have been attempting to contact his brother to obtain some of his (brilliant) musical recordings.  i have not seen any of his family since his funeral in el paso.  i hope i am not off topic, and i'm not even very clear on the overall intent of these forums, but i feel obliged to shed some light on this subject.

i met ryan while i was a UNM student in albuquerque.  after some time, we became very, very close friends.  in mid 2008 i moved to scottsdale, AZ, but kept in touch with him via almost nightly phone calls.  when i left for arizona, i had no idea that i would never see him in person again.  he was the one person in this world that understood everything and could always make whatever troubles i had...better.  the earlier posts are correct.  he passed away from a drug overdose in albuquerque in 2009.  he was, perhaps, the most gifted person that i have ever known so closely, and i am a "gifted" person for being granted the time that i had as his friend.  when he passed, he left behind a beautiful, caring wife and an energetic son that was just under 2 years old in new mexico, in addition to his family in el paso.

he spoke at great length about his stay at the treatment center.  out of respect for his privacy, i will not go into detail, but suffice it to say that it was pretty much entirely very, very, very bad.  it was something that drove his self destruction until the very end, and that which he had a habit of dwelling on at great lengths, in between his usual bukowski quotes and political tirades.

i hate to admit it to myself or others, but him and i were not exactly good influences on each other.  sure, we provided mutual moral and psychological support, but we also had a terrible habit of buying jack daniels in large amounts and making it vanish while we sang songs and played piano (which he was AMAZING at) or guitar or drums or just our thighs, desks, beds or whatever we could slap against to make a rhythm.  he was an amazing musician and poet and writer.  my personal favorite song, which makes me cry when i hear it to this day, is this one: http://www.myspace.com/hatespeech/music ... e-41694972

he had a habit of getting us kicked out of bars, and once even got us kicked off of the set of a movie that we were acting as extras in.  he also had a habit of calling me between 2 and 5 am, which used to piss me off, but now is something that i dearly miss.

the world is a far worse place without ryan in it.  what was done to him at that sadistic torture camp is absolutely intolerable and inexcusable.  to anyone who knew him in that place, i hope this has helped you to find some sort of closure.  i have a somewhat large collection of his music, musings, poems and the first chapters of a handful of never finished novels.  feel free to contact me via email at [email protected] if you would like for me to share them with you, or if you would like more information about my dear friend.  i honestly will not likely return to this forum often enough to give a proper response here.

my name is also ryan.  i will end this post with a direct copy/paste quote from him, sent to me via email, a couple of days before he passed...when i had called him, hysterical, and used him to vent my frustrations and tribulations, as i often did.  rather than calm me over the phone, he told me to sit tight while he typed a response.  this is the last 10% or so of that cherished email, which i have read a million times, but never shared with anyone until right now--

"I’m giving cliché advice.  I’m saying the typical things.
 
Here’s the truth Ryan, and I’ve slowly been learning this over the years…  It doesn’t get better.  It gets worse.  It gets worse and worse and eventually, if you’re lucky, maybe you get used to it.
 
All of your fears of rejection snarled at you… with death and hate and isolation.  Life happened.  You and I, we’re not pretty girls with pretty gold hair and doting fathers that buy us luxury automobiles.  We have to face life.  We have two choices:  shrink from it like your pussy ass roommate, or dig our heels in and fight the good fight.  The only good fight…. It’s meaningless but it’s right.  At the end of the day you want to be able to say, “There’ ain’t much difference between the man I want to be and the man I really am.”
 
All this shit that has happened to you… not just in arizona, but with your dad, with that bitch that robbed you in denver, with graham, with every horrible thing that ever happened to you… all of it… keep it.  Hold on to it.  Clutch it tight to your chest.  Dig your heels in… the weight of your misery well help you cut into the dirt.  Dig your heels in and stand firm.
 
Put your face to the wind.  In the end, after you’ve fought all but your last bout with God, you have only yourself.  No friends, no family, no one but you.
 
It’s like Bukowski said… and I know you hate him… but there’s some wisdom in this:
 
“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”
"

:'(
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »