Ξ August 1st, 2009 | → 0 Comments | ∇ 1 |
not much of a blog as more a memorial. today is the day that started forever. all thanks to one simple message on face book
hey stranger
Between Chris Schmidt and You
Chris Murphy
July 31 at 6:21pm
don’t be mad, but i lost my cell phone in mexico…long story, lol. but as soon as you get this text me os something so i can have your number back. it’s been too long
Chris Schmidt
July 31 at 11:43pm
hey bitch
i see how it is. you leave me high and dry for over a week and then expect me to come crawling back to you. Well let me tell you mister, you know i will. lol haha
(insert phone number here)
i expect a text soon. or else. 
and a year later, here we are today. here’s to a year of adventure and intrigue. here’s to a year no one will ever take from us. here’s to a year that will mark the first of many. i love you baby.
Ξ July 16th, 2009 | → 0 Comments | ∇ 1 |
the darkness is your savior
the shadows hide the tears
and voices once familiar seem to fade throughout the years
the bottles nearly empty
and your eyes are almost dry
yet life is never peaceful, no matter how you try
when you take away the danger
and you take away the thrill
you find there’s only one way out, through drug or drink or pill
you’ve lost them all who once cared
and lost your will to live
and you’ve learned the fact that now they’re gone, you’ve nothing left to give
when you put someone before you
their needs before you own
you find that life is empty when you find that someone gone
you spend your whole life trying
to help those that you can
when all you’ve really done is make yourself a hollow man
Ξ May 29th, 2009 | → 0 Comments | ∇ 1 |
This is life.
Life is painful. it just is. theres no way to fix that. the sky is blue, birds fly, fish swim, and life is painful. it is empty, hollow, and lonely. this is not up for argument, simply fact. we are lost in the size of its entirety and confounded by the intricacies of the most trivial details.
So many people spend their lives trying to rationalize the idea that life is fairy tales and happy endings. that the pain and suffering are avoidable. they trick themselves into being happy. instead of facing the truth, they keep on the facade that everything will be ok. a personal favorite of mine being small talk. everyone makes it, some learn to master it, but every single time someone does, it starts with the same question.
“Hey Chris, how are you?”
simple enough. harmless enough. nothing is implied, and the only thing ever expected back is some form of “oh not too bad”, followed quickly by “and you?” not too bad? that doesnt sound good. and really? not too bad? you’re stressed out about money and bills and work and friends and your social life and… not too bad? “if you tell a lie often enough, and keep repeating it, people will belive you” a quote coincidentally attributed to multiple men each of whom truly understood what they were saying and that still holds true today. if we keep saying “not too bad” then maybe it actually wont be so bad. there is a certain satisfaction in saying exactly that. sometime we even brag or embelish to make it seem like we actually are constantly happy with new and exciting adventures everyday.
Michael knew better. you see, he’d always known better. life was painful. while others set goals, he could see failure before it happened. his day was mundane and boring. blah blah blah, he knew he was living a cliche. and the last thing he ever thought he’d write about was himself. dont be emo, he say to himself. dont mope, its unattractive. assertiveness is sexy! he’d start countless posts with a such good intention, and then realize he was just being whiney and stop. he’d turn the computer off and crawl into bed defeated at the foresight of his failure. even now, as he writes this very moment locked away in his room, he fears he’ll never publish the post he’s writing. “it wanders. its wordy. ive strayed from my main idea. what was my main idea? why do i have to have a main idea? why do i have to follow fucking rules,” he’d say to himself. he’d get frustrated. his words still locked in his heart and head, he go to bed silent repeating his feeling over and over only with color and music and light and sound and touch..but never words. he tried so hard to show people the beauty in life that he saw. to show that even in the pain, you can be happy. but no one could see life his way though. the images held different meanings. the sounds of home werent the same. not everyone knows the lyrics to the songs he sings. how much he wished he could share it with someone. only in his words could he truly be read and understood and unoppressed. only in the words he never let himself say.
But tonight, tonight was different. he was writing for a reason. he is a man on a mission. he has a story to tell. so instead of saving what he wrote and sending it into the pile of amassing unfinished stories and thoughts, he’d try something new. he’d break the rules. he’d tell you the story of his life. “Tonight will be the epilogue. tomorrow,” he says, “page one…”
The title is oxymoronic, i know. (also i might have just invented an adjective, sweet!) To remember something we have forgotten suggests that we have not forgotten it at all. Something lost is only truly lost as long as it is never found again, obviously. But what if we misplace something, only to find that it has changed in the time it has taken us to locate it? Is it found? is it unlost? or is it something completely new, discovered in the same place where something once was? these thoughts tend to give me a headache, as i find myself able to argue two sides of the same discussion; 2, maybe 3 debates, simultaneously happening. Words overlap. Sentences never end, as the pause of silence normally created by the ever powerful period are filled with the theoretical ponderings of the other.
I sit here drinking a beer after what feels like the all too commonplace work day. A blur of actions and people. Thoughts and faux paus…es? Whats the plural of that? Maybe its like geese, where the plural of faux paus is just “faux paus” though it could be like Ox. Faux pausen? no that cant be right. i could look it up online, or maybe i should just study french. ill put that on the list. My inablility to pluralize the french language only adds to the failures of today. Though, i find myself very lucky. With my work schedule as intensive as it is, i dont have time to dwell on my short comings of the day. I only have a few moments, maybe an hour at best, where i can focus on my errors before the new day has started and i get to imagine how many other ways i can bring about my own demise. Ah, the gift of hope. isnt it just wonderful? i need another beer…
Beer acquisition: successful! System boot error. Please consult manual.
I find myself slipping into autopilot mode more and more frequently each day. earlier too. autopilot is the state of being by which menial labor is best endured, as it allows the mind to completely shut down and the body to act on instinct. It almost like breathing in your sleep. you dont know you’re doing it, but as long as you’re not a drooler, it continues to happen unbeknownst to your conscious. i can remember a time where there were days on end, open to me where free thought flowed like wine, which coincidentally, had the same effect. Have you ever been drunk on possibilities? moments where you get so excited about an idea that your lips let loose words that you wouldnt normally say. where the sheer intoxication of imagination caught you stumbling as you walked, your pace short, fast, and unpredictable. i would rush home to test equations like a sugar-fed kindergartner searching for his next fix. ive always found it funny that sugar made me act as irrationally as alcohol and that it is from sugar that alcohol is produced. Dont even get me started on candy cigarettes. i need a cigarette…
You’re probably saying to yourself, “Self (as we all consciously refer to ourselves as), what does any of this have to do with what the hell chris claims to have forgotten?” If you arent thinking that, pretend you did, as the following explanation applies only to those of you that did and in turn, those who didnt will only dig themselves deeper into the unawaredness (new noun?) of the point i am trying to make.
Wonderful question, i say to you, both who did ask it, and those just playing along. Very clever indeed. Give yourself +2 curiousity points. You’ll be able to cash those in later. promise. My point is clear. if you’ve figured it out already, thats +1 conclusion point and -3 suspense points for ruining my epiphany which i am about to share. I have forgotten…shit, wait, where was i going with this. i think i know the answer. Bismark? No, that cant be it. Ah yes.
I have forgotten how to be excited.
I have forgotten the rush that the unknown brings. i have stopped being adventurous and traded in my journeyman’s boots for non-skid kitchen safe dress shoes with arch support. And, like someone who has given up sugar for splenda, i have forgotten how sweet it can be. There are things about me that can only be explained by simply stating them. Some are strange, some are familiar, but all are me and my and mine. With you, i am about to share some of the simplest yet most profound pleasures of my life. i need a life…
One. i have forgotten how much the page of a book can feel like a lover’s touch. you start slow, getting to know the wording, the phrasing, the odd…
…pauses. the smell of the pages entices you. As your interest perks up, so does your speed. yearning to know why and when and who, you read faster and faster. pages blurring in your hand. 99, 100, 101, 212, 487. Building. Climbing. a good book can make you oblivious to the world around you. finally your eyes draw near to the moment when all will be revealed. nearly out of breath and filled with anticipation, the solution comes into your brain. YES! DONT STOP! RIGHT THERE! why do you think they call it the climax? as the resolution finishes, your fingers linger, slowly taking in all the details, so as not to miss one morsel of information. there is peace. i suppose thats why so many of us read before bed. and then we sleep, only to wake to the same book next to us, bookmark in place, pages bent from tossling on the paper in our sleep. we go our separate ways, each with its on agenda. Me, going off to work to provide for us; it, still asleep in my bed …waiting underneath/in between the covers. Each night, we have our fun, but like a lover, books come to an end. Some books have sequels. they are one, in a series, continuing the story from the last. but they are not the same book.we visit the library looking for something, not new and original, but that reminds of the book we love. i like to think of the library as a brothel, getting the sloppy seconds and thirds of another. Each books has had other readers before us but when they are with us, we are only theirs and they only ours. but when we try to keep they, we pay the price. so how do you stay with only one book? that is something i have forgotten…
Two. I judge people on their intelligence. They are weighed on a scale, with me as the counterweight. More times than id like to imagine, the scales are tipped in my favor. There are those that think anagrams are miniscule units of weight (ie: drops of water weigh roughly 12 anagrams) when in truth a “drops of water” are equivalent to a “poet’s forward”. There are people that dont see the beauty in a “reward drawer”. And there are people that think 11235813 is a random number. If you’re unable to understand these simplest of puzzles, how can you help me unravel the riddle of life? One might assume therefor, that the larger the grey matter, the higher i hold you in higher regard. Such is not the case. Most times, the ego blocks the sight of a sideways 8 or blurts the punch line to the mathematical statement of r^3d. The trick is finding the balance. so much of math is balance. science too. but how do you balance the equation where i = x and u = y such that x and y are two unique numbers where x+y=1 and x-y=0. that is something i have forgotten…
there are so many more. i dare not start another, for the words might never end. id continue typing on and on into the morning, through lunch, and back into midnight. my body would tired long after your eyes did and on and on id write. unfortunately for me, knowing when to quit is something else i have not forgotten.
Ξ November 5th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ life |
today, im a writer. tomorrow, I may wake up and realize im a firefighter or a pilot, but today, im a writer. look out pulitzer, theres a new sheriff in town, and he’s coming for you.
I’ve literally been devouring books lately. its part of my new diet. coffee, cigarettes, and a diet paperback. sometimes I cheat and sneak a late night comic book or fantasy novel, but I make it a point to stay an extra 30 minutes on the eliptical the next day to avoid feeling guilty.
I finished “Waiter Rant” yesterday. if you work in the business, you’ve got to read it. it offers a brief glimpse into our life style few rarely get to see unless you’ve somehow ended up dating one of our kind. aside from the obvious comical moments that any casual reader could understand, the books humor, for me atleast, rests in it’s all too familiar situations and scenarios. forevery customer he mentions, I’ve got one to match. catty coworkers? check. appreciation for a drink before/during/after a shift? double check. addiction to the money at the cost of selfworth? please, if you know me, I don’t even have to dignify that with a witty response. its our lifestyle. definitely a must read. he’s got a website as well, which is actually where he got started, but im posting via mobile now, so ill have to link it in a later post when I get home.
currently, I working on a christopher rice book. normally im not a fan of gay authors but I’ve found the occasional exceptions in my readings (Rice, Sedaris, etc.) most are through recommendations, and I hate the idea of passing up a possible good read. the story itself is very compelling, but focuses a little too much on some of the sex scenes. a problem with so many gay writers. there are times when I have to hide what im reading as I feel im reading some kind of cheap romance novel. sex sell I guess though. can’t imagine that there are many heterosexuals into reading 3 page trysts discussing the shape of a supple man-ass or a college boys nocturnal emissions, nor can I believe that there is a gay demographic large enough to make up for the afore mentioned breeder crowd. but he makes it work I guess.
the two books together got me to thinking though. I wait tables. I have funny stories. im gay. why can’t I do what they’ve done. pretty presumptuous, I know. cocky even. no formal training or studies, but I’ve come to learn that all the formalities involved with writing generally lead to very boring reads.
what I do have is experience. I have a story in me. I also have a free medium by which to be seen. so what’s keeping me from actually going through with it?
1.) Lack of time.
Between both jobs, I put in a 12 hour day, 5 days a week. Calculate into that, the roughly 5 hours of sleep I get a night, the 2 hours to get ready and bus in, with the hour and a half long ride home, im left with roughly 3 1/2 hours for personal time. not exactly the amount of time condusive to creative writing.
2.) Lack of filler
I have a tendancy to rush my writings. I skip over minor details and end up turning a potential novel into a hundred page short story. not that the short story isn’t a valid literary form, but all my attempts have left me feeling unfulfilled and unhappy with my final product.
3.) Lack of confidence
who the fuck do I think I am, pretending like i know anything about writing. what if I suck? I’ve never been one for stepping outside the box and trying something new. im so afraid that my work would come off as juvenile, and thereby, prove not only to others but to myself, that im not anything other than a waiter. not a risk im willing to take.
even now, sitting here writing this very entry, I’ve lost my motivation. gotten distracted with customers. been side tracked with work. run out of time. what are the chances that ill finish an entire book if I can’t even finish a damn post? not a probability id be comfortable putting any amount of money on. fuck, even that last sentence ended in a preposition. are these the kind of stories you want your children readin? I think not. I think not.
its raining again. its always raining anymore. that’s october for you. its always amused me that if you asked someone to paint a picture of halloween, the trees are bare. eerie spooky looming behemoths, with branches out stretched reaching to pull you in. if you asked someone to draw the same scene at thanksgiving though, somehow the trees miraculously have leaves again. sporting their gold and amber leaves. I suppose it has to do with how we see the world at differet times. cold or warm, alive or dying, lonely or surrounded by love. october and november. fucking november.
I found a notebook today. I suppose I should have thrown it away or tucked it aside in hopes the owner would return momentarily to reclaim their lost possession. but my curiosity got the best of me and I started to read it. to whomever it belongs, im sorry. it was not my place, I know, but I have always had a need to read to learn and to know.
I probably read it 4 or 5 times, each reread catching something new, something I missed before. the 6th time I read it, I had to fight the urge to add my own entries. the pen was in my hand clicking nervously, anticipating the moment when my morals wane and id begin filling the pages with my own text.
and then I stopped, just before id finally give in, and I realized why I wanted to add to the pages. reading them over and over, I saw myself in someone else’s words.
looking at it now, im sure its my notebook. the pages on a lover who hits me, surely I wrote two years ago. the pages about my inability to try something new for fear of failure, I wrote last month. and the pages on addiction, physical and mental alike, I wrote only yesterday.
but they were not my words. it was not my notebook. it was, instead some stranger’s whom I had not met and did not know. the notebook is still here at work, waiting for it’s owner to come. surely the boy who wrote those words will come back for them. they were beautiful not for their prose or meter, but instead for their ability to show me that I am not alone.
who knew october could be so warm…even in the rain.
ps. by some chance happenstance, if you are the owner of said notebook, know that it is safe and sound awaiting your return. and please, don’t give up hope. every moment where I have contemplated quitting, there has been something new that I have found to give me faith. you just have to wait it out.
Ξ October 6th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ life |
where does the weekend go? honestly, you blink and they’re gone. before you know it we’re back at work behind the register, wiping down the same counter you do everyday. if you’re not careful, you end up in autopilot, without so much as a thought to what you’re doing.
but how do you break a pattern like that? or do you? I mean the work gets done, you get paid, then you’re released into the world again. only, you have to come back tomorrow, and do it all over again. where do you draw the line between work, life, and solitude. currently, im a little stuck between the first and the last, with only sparse fragments of the second when and where I can get them. its my curse for now but, fingers crossed, i’ll find the happy medium somewhere in there.
in other news, im currently blogging from work. the café doesn’t open until 11 so im cleaning odds and ends, occasionally flipping my phone open and jotting down a few more lines. reading over my last post, I remembered how good it feels to get some of the thoughts down on paper, or in this case, digital paper. its almost therapeutic. so few people in the world are even worth talking to. its gotten to the point where its become impossible to pretend anyone is even listening. have we become so immune to faked interest that even when someone actually cares, we automatically assume they are insincere? it starts a vicious cycle, bouncing between personas. one, pushing everyone away, fearing that anyone who gets close is either after something or manipulating you for their own personal gain. the other sits alone in the dark at night, deprived of affection because of the actions of the first. to compensate, we search out for anyone who we can, throwing our hearts at them in a desperate attempt at humanity. naturally, it ends badly, only reenforcing the cycle, teaching us that humans have become cold, heartless, and self-serving. another habit to break I guess, but where do you start? which do you interupt first? do you magically pretending that there is good left in the world, or does that imaginary land only make you a hypocrit because you’re lying to yourself and everyone around you? maybe you end the cycle by continuing to doubt everyone and at night we search for a way to hide from our need to be with someone.
some of us work late at the office to distract ourselves from that little voice. other drink that voice into oblivion along with any other conscious thoughts. and some of us can’t quite ignore the voice or drown it out. infact, we encourage it, embolden it, push it to the limit of imagination, in hopes we’ll burn ourselves out. blow the emotional fuse that sparks so many problems when unchecked. and by morning, we’ve done so much damage to our minds that we don’t even remember our heads hitting the pillow. and we don’t want to because we know the thoughts in our mind are so hopeful and unrealistic that we just couldn’t deal with it everyday.
I guess that is a lot of people’s problem. we become jekyl and hydes. our inner desires masked to protect our, and we take it to such an extreme we come off as the exact opposite of who we are. over time, we become the mask. in essence we’re killing ourselves to protect ourselves.
its all cycles. patterns. expected outcomes where you balance the gain and the loss only to really break even. but its not even. we put so much work into juggling the two that by days end, we’re exhausted. its like our economy really. we keep shoveling money in, in hopes of getting money back. maybe we just need to crash and start over. maybe we all need to remember where we started, and build something safe and stable, with a sturdy foundation, wary of the preditory lender, or the boy who says he wears his heart on his sleeve. both are so risky, it’s no wonder we’re in the state we’re in.
falling in love has become a job. one that pays shit, with long hours and no benefits. cycles. everything repeating. love becomes work, work leaves you exhausted, and in our restless sleep, we’re reminded, more like haunted, by dreams of love. so when we wake, we search it out. punch the same old time clock and end up behind the register wiping down the same counter you do everday.
is it the weekend yet?
Ξ September 23rd, 2008 | → 1 Comments | ∇ 1 |
i hate beginnings. I never know how to start anything, including journal entries. so i wont have one. That takes care of that problem. Ironically, it took me 7 different beginnings to come up with this one. Efficient, i am not.
I’m kind of feeling the urge to let my fingers do the talking tonight. Let the words come out faster than i can understand them as i watch each letter popping into existence on the screen. Letters are no longer just words but are thought, directly amassed into substance by the awkward typing hands of a 2:00am post. they fumble a lot in this light, losing their place on the keys, searching for a sign that they’re home again.i bet a lamp would fix that. Note to self: buy lamp.
im not sure why im writing tonight, actually. i guess its different somehow. in the past, id think of a really interesting topic to go on about, hoping someone out there was reading it, falling in love with the words before the face but never actually got around to writting it. but tonight, i really think that im writing for me. its encouraging to watch the page slowly fill with my text, proving i really did have something to say and express tonight and have this text as my proof. Maybe that’s why the words are flowing smoother. or maybe ive just finally lost my mind. ive come to be unusually comfortable with the idea of either one being the case. thats only slightly unsettling 
I’ve noticed something these past couple weeks than i normally do. Everywhere i go, the world seems to be falling apart around me. i cant seem to find the good in people any more. true story, friday night, im just getting out of a seriously teeth griding eye twitching shift at work. Out the door in 3…. 2…..1……Cigarette lit ipod in and im coasting down North Avenue. half a block later, bam. car slams into another car. people get out, they start screaming. name calling. cursing. its kinda like being back at work actually. again, unsettling. i no sooner cut the corner to head downtown when this clown car of black girls starts opening and closing there door, slurring ebonics that even i couldnt make out. Drunk. stumbling in the street drunk. fight each other nearly getting hit by on coming cars. its no wonder i smoke! As i walked down the street, honest to god, i expected to turn my head and see massive fires sweeping the north side as mass hysteria broke out. looting pilaging, the works. armagedon old school style. as if my day hadnt been reminder enough of just how fucked up people can be (that works on so many levels for me), my normally peaceful walk home now must become some fucked up melodramatic bullshit. i miss having faith in people. and hope for them to become something better than what they are. people i thought of once as an opportunity to learn from and grow with have become shallow, self absorbed, and too fucked up for help.Not sure how one goes about fixing something like that. logically now is the best time for me to find the answer to that though. autumn is starting to make its prescence known here on a pretty regular basis. Every september it happens. i sigh a little longer, walk a little slower, and learn to revel in that brisk pre-sunray morning sky.
Fall has always had a special place in my heart. i lie to people and tell them my favorite season is winter. it just sounds cooler, shut up. thinking about it now, the weather is perfectly cold with only a slight reminder of frost to come. theres energy in the air constantly around me, giving me sources of emotions to draw on. ive come to find that every fall i find myself rosey cheeked and smiling in a photograph taken just before dusk. ive got quite a few here, saved in a hidden folder miles under my desktop. it was always a good sign, those pictures. to me they symbolized 2 things. 1, that as the sun set that day, it was a happy ending. something all too many of us strive for. and 2, that somehow, looking back on the moment the picture was taken, i didnt even feel the cold because i was too caught up in the person i was with. Note to self: bring this up at next therapy session, psycho.
im starting to doubt whether im even going to post this thing or not. i mean, simply typing this out has helped me sort out a lot of my problems. but if i type it, and i can help one person feel a little more okay in this fucked up world, i should just forgo the possibility of embarrassment and post it. ….i guess that means i cant say i dont see the good in anybody. SOME people still exist, if only in my mind, that give me hope. which , i might add, is about as efficient as it is logical. Me, being incredibly mopey and introverted, doesnt seem the perfect opportunity to make a substantial friendship out of anyone.
I think thats why i love halloween. every year i get so caught up in being alone that i dont really have my self confidence. but on halloween, you can fake anything you want, and no one can tell. behind your mask, its so easy to lie. thats why i wore one last year. hiding the look on my face underneath. you’ve got to try it, its a little bit liberating. and a bit sweaty. never wear face paint under one. trust me on this.
well, if i intend to get any of what i have planed for tomorrow accomplished, ive got to head to bed. big goals for such a little day. though we’ll see how many actually come to fruition. maybe the dreams will stop tonight and let me sleep a little bit. high expectations for just a little day… but i have hope.
Right turn, pacmen only.
(if you’re curious, the other sticker says “Team Baby Eater” upside down. Please stay to the left)
Not sure what they don’t have “enuff” of, but this is something we can all relate to.
He looked so lonely and its one of my favorite places to just sit and forget about everything but the river. In the summer, the ducks and geese (right in downtown Pittsburgh mind you) will gather around and sun on the rocks. Very friendly too and will eat right out of your hand.
Hopefully the first of many photos to be posted here. Dont expect great quality, its coming off a 2.0 megapixel htc Shadow. Maybe if i get a better grasp on paintshop i’ll learn to make them emo and sad like
other peoples photo blogs. (yes i dont use photoshop, i grew up with paintshoppro since version 4.0 back in the day and have grown very accustomed to its handling. Learning photoshop would only set me back to square one with no skills whatsoever.)
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