Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

krisis

Krisis has been creating Crushing Krisis since 2000, writing songs since 1996, and reading comics since 1991. He is a Customer Success and Digital Brand Strategy executive, serial organizer, parent, and feminist, among other things. Based in Philly through 2017, he now resides in Wellington, NZ.

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We were on the highway last night before ten. Melon was telling me about her ex-roommate from hell but i found myself increasingly distracted by the fog — everything outside was drizzle and fog. We were coming back to Philly, and on the driver’s side of the car past the divider all there was to see was fog and diffuse white light bleeding down from the poles above — as if the road were suspended hundreds of feet in the air with nothing on either side of it.

The three of us were driving into sky, and i was tucked into the back seat, back to listening to Melon, thinking “it’s not so bad after all.”

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7911232/

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In case you haven’t noticed, i’ve been pretty musical this past week. In fact, with the exception of the 36hours i spent out of the house i’ve recorded something every day since the debut of “Tangled,” and i don’t seem to be showing any signs of slowing down.

When it come right down to it, I still don’t really understand myself when it comes to songwriting. I don’t know why i do it; i do it now because i’m used to doing it — it’s something i do. I suppose i only ever started doing it because Gina took one of my few poems and set it to music, and i thought “hmmm… there’s an idea.” Even the idea to buy a guitar was something that sortof materialized, and i’m frankly still quite shocked that my mom even acknowledged it. The first songs i wrote were rudimentary — scavenged from the handful of chords i knew from songs i had been learning; i rarely ever play them now as a nod to both their immaturity in lyricism and composure. The first song i wrote where i knew what i wanted it to sound like was “Afterglow,” and in the months between that and my at-the-time masterpiece “World In My Hand” i had created that rock-arena in my head where i was on stage and people were watching… people who had favorite songs, who got my silly comments about tuning, and who would want an encore. In the back of my first poetry notebook i have a few pages devoted to these imaginary set-lists that i would devise every few days … now an interesting way to track what songs i played the most and how much i liked them.

What’s so different about Trio, really? I know for sure that i listen to Trio more than anyone else does, mostly because for me it’s a practice take that i can actually learn and grow from. But, why do i do it, and do it so regularly and fanatically? Why do i post my portfolio-mp3s to the page and leave a mostly-empty comment box up for them? Why do i bother to extensively provide an online discography in the song archive? Why do i talk about it all over and over again as if i have some large and attentive audience who follows all of my comments about the evolution of songs and how Weezer’s artistic development makes me cry?

I suppose for the same reason i keep on writing this : obsessively back-linking and spell-correcting posts from three weeks ago and worrying about what i’m going to write about and what will be in the next Trio. Despite obsessive stat- and bandwidth- tracking i still couldn’t really tell you how many people read me every day, or if more than three or four people listen to Trio or download mp3s that i post. I suppose i do them both for the illusion … the the illusion that my voice has escaped the vacuum that is the brick and plaster of my room … that maybe somewhere there is someone i don’t know at all listening with a half grin, humming along.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7872506/

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I had a flying dream last night. All i did was fly… not the clumsy sort of treading water or the awkward running leaps from my more usual dreams, but an actual taking off and gliding through the air. It was just every-day life plus flying until 5:27 when my computer fired its warning shot of “My Sharona” to let me know i only had another 4 hours of flying left. And, so, i did.

Walnut Street unexpectedly crests into a hill between 42nd and 43rd, and when i’m walking home at night i close my eyes on the way down and ignore my legs. It’s as close to flying as it is to attempting to be mugged, but it’s all i’ve got.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7870909/

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My one and only final begins in three and a half hours; it is for my Philosophy class — a subject i have a rocky history with. I don’t seem to be especially concerned about it, as i have already secured my required B and would need to get a perfect score to wind up with my beloved 4.0.

There’s two points that i want to make here, two forking paths from that simple introduction that very well might lead to the same place.

The first is that classes are grinding to a halt and i am left with a wide expanse of life in front of me. It feels Strange. I know that this break from worries and scholastic commitments only lasts three weeks, and that i have umpteen personal commitments already set to eat up my time. Still, i love the idea of living without pressure… it’s been literally an entire year since i’ve had even an entire week where i could forget about things like work and studying. Suddenly i am finding time for friends that i didn’t even realize i had shut out, and i’m happy to have them back. As if that wasn’t good enough, opening up on the other side of it is a quarter that is nearly exclusively populated by Communication classes that i am sure to love. It seems like a downhill glide from here back to co-op.

The other side is that One Year has gone by since i walked into this same situation. A year since that tiny apartment with its inescapable mess and my first flight in years looming on the horizon. I’m not so much concerned with all the things that happened in the time that intervened so much as i am concerned with the length of time. A year only represents one twentieth of my life now… a number that’s not nearly as significant as a tenth or a fifteenth. Lengths of time contract rather than expand, and the nearly two years it’s been since i first kissed someone doesn’t seem materially much longer than the over a year it’s been since i first played “Relief.”


I don’t know what i’m saying. Something to the effect of life keeps going on no matter what i tend to be doing with it. I should go study; somewhere in the pit of my stomach i really do want that A.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/12/7834517/