Phoenix Calls Me
For a funeral
I left Phoenix, Arizona at the end of 2020 looking forward to returning under better circumstances. It would’ve also been nice to have this post absent of a trigger warning, but I must include it.
If you are having suicidal thoughts or tendencies reach out to 800–273–8255
If suicide is a sensitive topic for you then read no further.
The homie Ryan decided he’d had enough. What truly lead him to take his life a little over a week ago is speculative. From what I was told, he checked into rehab to quit drinking and was given psych meds, which he might’ve been neglecting to take. After returning to work as a dog groomer, where he’d been holding down 12–14 hour days for weeks on end, he quit. The next morning, he broke into the place, shat in the toilet and left a note on the mound reading ‘Hold on to this, bitch” then went to hang himself.
Being a manic-depressive didn’t help and Ryan himself was a wild one who took life by the balls and throat. Whether it was the result of a chemical imbalance; the will to fight his mental illness caved; his exhaustion was peaked, or he wanted to be a spiteful asshole, ultimately, we lost a friend for reasons that are beyond me. I hope there is peace on the other side and we met again, somehow.
Ryan Douglas Camacho was originally from California. He was one of my cousins friends which is how we met. In our teenage years, when we weren’t causing a ruckus in the neighborhood we’d visit Channel Street Skatepark, which was like our second home. As we got older we’d find ourselves in deep conversation over the phone about where we wanted to take our photography and lives. He left for Arizona to do something better for himself — like have a place and hold down a job, which he did.
While I was living out there he was only a 20 minute walk away, though its true that his workload took it’s toll and we couldn’t kick it was often as we’d like, though when we did we drank and spoke on a range of topics, from music to graffiti. The first bar he took me to was Rip’s, a cool little dive with karaoke and a pool table.
Of course, homie got so fucked up he passed out while waiting for the Uber. I wasn’t surprised.
In this frame you see my cousin Jay catching a spot on Ry’s arm as he dozes drunkenly. Those two would go through packs of mostly Natty Ice or Bud Light in a ritualistic fashion out of Jay’s garage. I’d be with them on many nights after my dish shift, just posted and bullshitting.
This fool could make us laugh harder than anyone we knew. He was also extremely intelligent and very much aware of the human condition. He wanted people to be entertained to forget the shitty sides of life for a moment.
The homie Isaiah asked me if I still had our jam sessions with Ryan on the harmonica, which we dubbed “Harmacho and Co” — It is frozen on an old laptop that hasn’t worked in well over 15 years. I’ve had to order a hard drive adapter to try and access that file from there.
This HDD is a time capsule that is waiting to be opened and I will be digging for tokens……
If you are having suicidal thoughts or tendencies reach out to 800–273–8255
Be well my people. Catch you soon.
