Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Personal

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Yesterday was impossibly full… two or three different days all slipped deceptively into the packaging of one. Shopping turned into lunch, which turned into a deep conversation about what made me who i am, which turned into a concert for my mom that ended with a concert that pulled out notes and chords from places i’ve never been before. That was one day… happy deep family day. Then there was my day to myself, with guitar and internet and music and napping and food. And, then, came my day with friends, which typically started out happy and fun and quickly descended into misery. I’m usually introverted enough towards the middle and end of big parties, but this time i had headphones with me so i just turned on the good bits and let everyone at the party do their miserable little social dance to the sounds between my ears. Eventually i got tired of waiting for the people i wanted to be with (the story of my life) and i went out on the front step and turned it up all the way until finally i set off for the apartment.

So many blogging things happened in there… things i’ll have to say eventually for me to make more sense. Somehow i explained to my mother exactly why i like to be thin and why i like the girls who i like and why i have to be successful at something and she understood it all with this wane little smile and tears welling in her eyes. I can’t imagine what it must have been like seeing me from the outside… i wanted to thank her for everything and so when she asked me to play “under my skin” i shut my eyes and opened up and poured things into it that she had never even heard before, and afterwards she sortof just stared at me and i was just sweating and breathing and smiling because somehow i opened the song up again just when i thought i had used it all up.


It’s hard to quantify 20 years in any kind of way, but somewhere in between my nearly mathematical proof that i’ve never had a male role model before Peter Mulvey and my gut-wrenching concert i think i was having a happy birthday. The only happy one out of the three.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5862553/

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The office is empty as can be except for Fran and I, which is the way it usually goes around 6pm every night. My desk is unusually uncluttered because every trashcan in the immediate vicinity is full, and i am leaving today and never coming back. Except i am coming back… on Monday… probably a lot earlier than i’d unusually be here on a Monday. But, the clock striking 6:15 marked my last paid hour as a fully paid professional staff member of Drexel University, and i’ll miss it. It was a comfort having something so sure in my life every day; now it’s back to the normal ebb and flow. And here i go…

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5833193/

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Philadelpha Inquirer: Kiss My Ass! I left a phone message and email for the writer of this story only knowing that it would be about blogging teens and not about the disaster angle. Wouldn’t you know that she didn’t email me back about it even though i was (as far as i know) one of the first Philly blogs to feature any reliable fact-based coverage last Tuesday. Not only did she not email me back about being interviewed, she used Brendan at Bokane in her story as per my recommendation of him… again, with no email correspondence. Of course, Brendan can be located easily via Google and i am but a drop in the bucket of teenaged reactions to last week’s events, but i still feel vaguely shafted by the whole thing. You should read the article, although it’s honestly a sortof “bringing blogging to the masses” kind of thing; nothing shocking.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5807741/

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Sometimes there is a most perfect version of a feeling, and it is shockingly round and easy to hold in your mind instead of being edgy and representative of all the things you were expecting to experience.

There is lust and then there is the perfectly shaped want that is rational and tangible… one sticky and rushed and intense but the other fluid and expanding to meet you when you are near to it, turning all of your tangents into quickly filled-in gaps. Want will press itself up against you until it is another skin on yours, and then you are consumed and it is more than just the sharp angles you thought it would be.

Right now i am the perfect kind of tired, with heavy-lidded eyes and my mind feeling just perfectly soft.

Tonight i took the train home from work with Maggie and we had pizza and lattés and wound up sitting four feet away from Andy Stochansky, who is like Douglas Adams with a guitar. Now i am in her guest room with an internet connection and a pile of new cds but i am the embodiment of the perfect curves of weariness instead of the slope of exhaustion, and the crickets have told me to turn down my music and let them lull me in their cannon chorus … vibrating like a tuning fork until i match pitch and shut out like a light.

I am hoping for a fetal sleep, round and tucked.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2001/09/5796334/