Biographical Notation, VII

Ryan Bird is an author whose full, Christian name is accepted by Microsoft Word’s Spelling and Grammar check. His name is not branded by a single, squiggly, scarlet underscore. Therefore, Ryan Bird is evidently amongst the same non-squiggly-literary-ilk as Michael Ondaatje, David Eggers, and Alice Munro. So go suck on that, Jeanette Winterson, you scarlet, underscored hack! Behold his talent, here.

Biographical Notation, VI

Ryan Bird has one homophobic bone left inside his body. It is his left femur. On the record, he respects the values of his left femur. But off the record, he thinks it spends too much of its time alone in the dark with its values. Read a poem for Pride Day, here.

Biographical Notation, V

Ryan Bird is slated to direct the most expensive, Canadian comedy of all time. It’s a canonical retelling of Sodom & Gomorrah, only with cannons. Plus, in this version, the protagonist will be named Hamilton Ontario. Also, the setting will be in the GTA. Oh yes, & when Hamilton’s wife turns around, she will turn into a pile of dried maple leafs that want to tell everyone about this darling little Bubble Tea place. Read a review of it, here.

Biographical Notation, IV

Ryan Bird now comes in over-the-counter strength. Although now capable of affecting a wider audience, he has been cloned to resemble futuristic blister packets. He is also forcibly bred with experimental appetite suppressants by his ruthless Pfizerian overlords. This process is not nearly as sexy as you might think. Read the sordid details, here.

Biographical Notation, III

Ryan Bird loves to tell this story: On this exact date, ten years ago, he was at a Ticketmaster booth. He was buying his way into a alternative music festival. It was scheduled for Canada Day. They were sold out. However, he did get to see a drunk David Carradine, star of Kung Fu, & Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, kicking Skydome. He was seven years away from starring in Kill Bill. 'God damn it', bellowed David Carradine, 'I’m David Carradine!' Read another anecdotal poem, here.

Biographical Notation, II

Ryan Bird has never once wavered in the face of awkward silence. Admittedly, he once boarded-up his mouth with ill-gotten street-signs. Sure, he’s also made love to himself with his eyes closed ever since the fifth fucking grade. Not to mention that he limits himself to just one lone dump a week, taken on the night before the Sabbath, with a glass of port and a mentholated smoke. I guess what I am trying to say here Old Man is, well, happy belated Father’s Day. Read your present, here.

Biographical Notation, I

Ryan Bird is not ashamed to say that Aretha Franklin, on occasion, has moved him to sing: You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman. However, he is quite ashamed to say that Charles Bukowski, on occasion, has moved him to sing: Oh the long tailed filly & the big black horse, do-da, do-da, come to a mud hole & they cut across, oh de do-da day. You may find some of his poems, here.