Ryan Willam

I just wanna be picked up thrown on the bed and get called a pretty boy as i get pounded into oblivion, ya know #gayboy

Sup #gayboy

Need to get a fatter as #gayboy

Y’all like cock #gayboy

Non lo so

Very typical man behavior #gayboy

Summer is getting close #gayboy

Poeta, io ti richeggio per quello Dio che tu non conosceti, a ciò ch'io fugga questo male e peggio

Young people and heartbreak a take as old as time.

Was lucky enough to feel wanted & cherished and can’t seem to let it go, the absence feels physical.

Does the first heartbreak universally feel like a wound that refuses to heal. Logically it’ll get bearable with time, but it feels like something is missing. Perhaps that’s just the loneliness returning.

If any Sardinian farmers need a man servant to help out with farm or land management. I have experience with kennels for hunting dogs and while i’m weak i’m not afraid to muck out horse stables or to deal with sheep. I only ask that you immerse me in your language.

If nothing else some interesting linguistic features that bridge eastern and western latin based languages.

Perhaps in the law codes of the Sardinian Judicate of Arborea in the late 1300s one can find a reprisal from pain of existence. Cum ciò siat causa chi s'accrescimentu, ed exaltamentu dessas provincias, regionis, e terras descendant, e bengiant dessa Justicia

Trying to fall back in love with life once again, it’s harder every year to stop being jaded and to push beyond the infinite indignities & moments of panic. It use to be easy to look forward to what could happen, now there’s no optimistic confidence anymore.

Perhaps sad moody lesbian music and/or chaotic gay hyper-pop is the closest to transcendence that I will get; like a medieval Catholic saint striving to be an instrument of the Deity, I let the music flow and posses me. If only for a terribly beautiful moment.

Morning wood #gayboy

About time to go dedicate myself to a monastery or become a hermit perhaps a mountain crag or windswept isle.

Canto i, 65-66: “Miserere di me,” gridai a lui, “Qual che tu sii, od ombra od omo certo!” Canto i, 95: Se vuo’ campar d’esto loco selvaggia;

8K run yet I still have chicken legs #gayboy