HeyJaredKyle Ryan
Hey..I’m a husband, dad, and film fan. I love to read about and discuss movies good and bad (especially bad). I may post some of my own from time to time (with an emphasis on horror) that I hope to get better at as I go.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 24, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 6, 2026
Latest issues
Fall Of The House Of Scarestack (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="418" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!21aP!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_lossy/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F820b711b-6037-42f4-8d8f-c02d5d13140f_554x418.gif" width="554" /
Grace Of Scorpions (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="884" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!5zeK!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5510074c-a65d-47a1-8b59-f2eb109bfadb_929x884.jpeg"
Three Legends (opens the original)
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I Oh sweet love! Rules for night games. Anoba, risen from silver lit waters wearing the reflections pooling in my left green eye. Like soft youth, I hold it calmly a cold marble. Uncoiled fingers open, a reflex to clear vision of curves in the pitch. Stared upon smiling, my last astronomer. We kept til now still the way a fleet of stars swoon to acapella songs their lovely satellite sings. The promise to shine in silence. Immune to broken prayers never sculpted nor poisoned by ear. We listen and
The Last Paragon (opens the original)
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Evening haze honeys temperaAcross an embarrassedHorizon, A temperamental ladyObsessed as afterlife Dapples her bloodlines against swells ofGray-blue belly, etched skins of A jarring lake, supine stretched and cooling Camp sight, holding stearn like a Cup of cider, reflectingA tiger in marmalade
River of Wander (opens the original)
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The Ohio empties to Mississippi Ration-fed, fishsilver and radish A cookery, garlic thick as cob web Men cheer in smoke with cups of Moonshame and rancid wit Lamp light paints white on dim cheeksSome sleep it off Her dark cards into the cold morning The horn plays long notes of brass and rose Far from a shore’s throat Coated in foghide Awash in riverwaves of glasscraft The spell of bottle holds proof A little boat of s
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