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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For those of you keeping track of these things, my apartment currently houses over 300 cds, 50 blank cds that ought not to be blank, seven randomly distributed neckties, 6 different version of Tori Amos’s “Waitress,” five guitars in various detuned states, four unread Philadelphia Weeklys, three laundry baskets whose contents need washing or folding, two pieces of equipment that explicity belong to Drexel University, and absolutely nothing edible other than a single jumbo-sized jar of peanut butter. Yum.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/05/3804100/

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

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So, yeah, i keep telling people that i’ve written a whole new album in the space between “hold on me” and today (the latter being referred to lovingly by Hillary as “the creepy fingers song”). Now, i don’t honestly think that i’ve got some masterpiece on my hands, but it’s almost like a signpost indicating forward movement when you have enough fresh material to record again, even if you don’t like all of it. The first time i managed to write twelve songs (twelve songs you’ll never hear, to be sure) it was a momentus occasion because i had an album, even though at this point i’ll probably never play any of them ever again. The funny thing about this new album is that it’s a whole hour of the same song … “Hold On Me” shares some of the same lines and subject matter with the song i posted only a few minutes ago.


I’ve obviously mastered the art of writing “the kiss-off song,” as Gina eloquently puts it, and now what remains it for me to write some other songs to flesh out the emotional landscape of my work. Obviously i just have a surplus of ‘breakup’ feelings floating around, and while i can focus them into many facets of break-up song, and i can’t seem to focus them into anything else. However, musically i’ve been all over the board, from the acoustic rock of “Hold on Me” to the fingerstyle guitar of the two untitled songs to folk bop in “Because” to 3/4 jazz in “Unstrung” to ballad in “Colorblind” to tenor guitar in “Either/Or” back around to punk rock in this new one. So, the trick is to now hang on to that broadened musical pallette, but manage to feel something else. Here goes…

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/05/3790018/

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you said i needed to find some hobbies just because i’ve been carving our initials into everything with an exacto blade. those wretched letters look x-ed out better than i know how to, but we were never going to be forever and ever – so whatever. Cause things you said mean even less now that you’ve fessed up: breakdown. breakup.

i intend to wash the sheets again because i like to see my bed empty. And i’ve got two boxes full of your cds, clothes, and pantyhose that my roommate told me to throw out the window just like we had thrown them on the floor so long before. But, you told my best friend that i’d lost it over you because you’re a manipulator, and you can bitch all you want but i won’t see you later. Cause things you said mean even less now that i’ve cleaned up: breakdown. breakup….

breakout of this shit cause like a broken record i’m skipping over my making tracks and you know the motivation i lack is why i’m so stuck on you and i never should have fucked you just because i was bored out of my mind that’s what toys are for and playing around just got us lost and we found out how to extend our claws and dig deeper than The things we said that mean even less now that we brokeup. Breakdown. Breakup.

I’m supposed to be friendly to you as if it makes a world of difference; i’d rather flirt with your best friend across the room for all the bad mojo it’d bring. And with all this salt in our wounds we should be alcoholics, eating the worm at the bottom of the bottle for every time we speak too soon. But this is just my defense mechanism and my words must just be dumb just like optimism. But things you said mean even less now that i’m fed up: breakdown. breakup. brokedown. fed up. drowned out. fucked up. breakdown. breakup.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/05/3789771/

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So, last night i went to a baseball game (yes, i know, it’s improbable). We didn’t quite have nosebleed seats, but we were high up enough that Veteran’s Stadium seemed more like an arena for the sky than a sports venu. When they announced a rain delay due to a thunderstorm watch people started streaming out of the open seats into the more protected areas but i stayed glued down as i contemplated the chance to watch the weather have its way with the world from the cheap seats.

Weather never really decided whether or not it was going to do a darn thing, as as a result we finally took cover just out of boredom and hunger. I’m not a big sports fan, so the wonder of walking around the circling circumference ramps of a major league stadium isn’t entirely lost on me although i have learned enough about market and captive economies to know better than to pay $2.50 for a bottle of water no matter how thirsty i am (and that they purposely buy spicy cheese for their nachos and sell only water and soda alongside them for outrageous prices). The big excitement came not from the weather or the overpriced concessions, but from some random South Philly girl who couldn’t have been older than 14 or 15 hitting on me while i was in line for the nachos.

If you’ve been reading for any length of time you’ll know that not too many young ladies seriously hit on me; to this day Selina denies flirting with me at any point up to and including when i first kissed her. And, i’ve especially never been hit on randomly at a sporting event by someone, and not just because i typically attend sporting events at the rate of one per two years. I’m thinking my lack of random events such as this one can be attributed either my going everywhere with my mother, my having too much hair, or my shopping in a totally flaming fashion. Last night i was with my friend Steve (who’s apparently equally eligible for random South Philly girls, since he was hit on after i didn’t give my number out), i’m sporting a sexy new haircut (well… the Sexy New Haircut), and i was all chill and guy-like with my beat up jeans (ask me if i let that happen intentionally) and my rapidly deteriorating mod-squad leather jacket. So, anyway, not that i’m especially keen on dating random jailbait from South Philly, but out of all the (equally Italian) guys she could have hit on she picked me. Or, maybe she hit on all of them. But, life has a way of inflating my ego whenever someone else lets the air out of it a little too much.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/05/3760966/