Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand
by krisis
Working on my resume makes my heart hurt. I am not privy to the special magic wherein i can convey the excellence of my professional abilities via a single piece of paper. I wish i had a blog of all my many splendorous work accomplishments that i could refer potential employers to. Failing that, i am considering augmenting my on-the-job skills with a unique crayon drawing on the back of each one. Signed and numbered.
by krisis
Three related paragraphs that have absolutely no bearing on anything.
I am so chirpy on the phone. “Thanks so much for your help!,” i expel with force. “You have a great holiday!” i command with enthusiasm. I suspect the clerks in guidance offices across Montgomery County hardly know what to say to me, which is apt, because i hardly know what i am saying. I imagine fielding a phone call from me is like trying to catch water from a great stone fountain in a meager paper cup … the stream steady with random variation, the force and volume too great for the vessel.
Last night i was walking down Walnut street, thinking about how everyone wants to be famous. Everybody does. Not all face-famous, of course, not all actors or politicians, but famous for something; inventing, writing, singing, designing, growing record-sized pumpkins, etc. I always thought i’d be a good famous person, because i think i understand what a public expects from someone in possession of fame. But, to be famous you must become famous, and to become famous you or your product must be recognized, and i and the three or four products that i consider to be eligible are currently incognito, embedded in our stealthy and unnoticed positions until further notice.
Sometimes i think that i will take on a character, change my carriage and manner of speaking, to see if i am somehow different than before. When i arrive in the office to find it full with dozens of perspective students, or when i step into a store i’ve never been near before. What great acting it would be, what a superb lie, to alter myself not according to a script but in every facet of my ongoing self.
by krisis
I’ve never been lazy before. If i didn’t do schoolwork, it was because it just didn’t challenge me, and when i missed a day of work it was because my body really needed a rest. Now i am skipping classes because i don’t want to be troubled by walking to them, and missing work because i’d rather stay at home and play guitar.
I never used to do these things. Is there really something about Senior year, something so real and nearly tangible that it totally sidetracked my post-co-op ambition and turned it into this? Waking up early and reading webpages instead of going to work, skipping classes i think are boring, and skipping optional papers that would boost my grade to an easy A?
Or maybe, just maybe, that last co-op just gave me too strong of a taste of freedom, both financial and academic, and i am now having a hard time imaging my life any other way.
by krisis
by krisis
We are spiders, though only showing half of our limbs to the casual viewer. Yes, we have just four to walk stairs and climb ladders with, but there are others — for social ascent, occupational strides, and hanging on to love, maybe, though they could be for anything else.
We are spiders, and we trail a single string of us, our history and opinions and experiences, and as we turn in circle upon circle we leave behind a complex web of people and places that are bound to us.
We are spiders, and things get caught in our lives. Stuck in our web, they flail madly and desperately to escape, but wind up inexorably tied to all of our people and places as they thrash, leaving our once-perfect display of natural geometry in a tangle of bent angles and broken connections.
We are spiders, and our webs are not permanent structures. They can be elaborately expanded upon, or casually discarded, leaving us with just that single string of thread to create anew.
We are spiders, spending our whole lives weaving and catching and crawling and expanding, but sometimes the old web seems in such a state of disrepair that we should take our single thread and start again, keeping some elements but eschewing the rest, leaving our old structures to decay on the branches we hung them upon.
We are spiders, and I am arachnophobic.