you know, of all the papers and stories i wrote while i was in school, i dont remember much praise. the occasional "good job" or "i liked this part" may have slipped past but really, no teacher, friends or parents were ever overheard at dinner parties making much of a fuss over "that talented little writer, chris."

(probably because of sick run-on sentences like that)

i didnt mind though. maybe if i was trying and still hacked out white turds on paper MAYBE i would have cared but it was all met with the same casual indifference as when someone says, "holy shit, you really cant draw, can you?" and thats fine too. some people have it, some dont. some people are born with a natural ability to sing perfectly on key or draw an amazing frog or hit a home run... all while still in their single digits. i wont pretend to know why. maybe nature, maybe nurture, maybe they have abnormally large craniums. but what i DO know is that most of us are NOT born like that. so then why is there so much amazing art in the world?

perseverance.


i used to work at a pizza place as a dough roller. almost getting my fingers stuck in the old 1940's era cast iron machine for $4.50 an hour was almost worth the free pizza i devoured at the end of the night. i worked with this guy who was older. nice guy, big smile, huge muscles but really slow. like, legitimately had a learning disorder. but somehow, despite having trouble comprehending he still managed to graduate college. it took him more than 8 years but he graduated simply because he never gave up. failing the same class three times in a row and he still wasnt discouraged. back then, i mocked him behind his back but now, i can see just how strong he truly was. i couldnt put things in perspective from my little suburban mentality of entitlement. i was born with something he wasnt and i mocked him for not being up to my standards. but in retrospect, i wish i had his heart. his desire. his unbreakable spirit.

i wasnt born with money. i wasnt born ridiculously attractive. i wasnt born with an amazing body. but the few talents that i felt were actually nurtured were the abilities of charm and manipulation. strangely enough, by my father.
i spend so much time trying to run away from the legacy of my father and it wasnt until recently that i have chosen to salvage the few decent traits he instilled within me and make them my own. charm isnt always a positive thing and manipulation isnt always negative. its how you wield these talents, or any talents, that demonstrate your character.

while i was just taking a piss (in the toilet) i came to this realization; very few of us are born with natural talent. and while i would never call myself a "good" writer, i would say that i am evolving at being effective. and im sure some of you have your little talents. whether it is calculating numbers, making others feel comfortable, braiding your hair, baking a cake, jumping off bridges, organizing files, taking pictures, planting seeds, teaching others, or eating hot dogs, you absolutely must embrace that talent and nurture it in the best way possible.
maybe you will become successful, maybe not.
maybe you will have the ability to live off your talents, maybe not.
maybe you will feel embarrassed, maybe not.
maybe people will tell you that you're no good, irresponsible and unrealistic.
but who cares.

what the haters fail to realize that its not about being good.
its about WANTING to be good.
what the detractors and critics, unsupportive friends and anonymous commentors will never realize is that we have found something that makes our lives shine. that there is something we were born with that withers away and dies and leaves us old and rusted if it is not constantly watered from time to time with the creative spirit. that we may not have been born pretty or talented and sheltered from so many of lifes speedbumps by the fruits of our parents successes but that at the end of the day, we still paint.
we write.
we listen.
we help.
we hug.
and most of all, we create.
we give back to this world. a world where most people take and act like they deserve more.

and the only reason why i live like my glass is half-full, is because i know there are people reading these words who have hearts in the same place as mine.

so i want to say thank you to all of you who havent given in, thrown in the towel and said that life is good enough. its not about singing on key or painting within the lines or being office manager. its about the want, no... its about the NEED to produce and create instead of harvesting and compromising.

thank you for making my world a little prettier.

I attached a lemon to the back of my bicycle with a long piece of string, then rode off through the park, looking back - like Achilles - at the carnage in my wake.

While walking in Middle Park I saw a home decorated with a Christmas wreath across the road from a tree bearing lemons; so I picked a lemon, crossed the road, and added it to the wreath.

my speaking in one minute as told by dave cronin in paris.

At twilight I dropped a lemon from Melbourne's Princess Bridge, like a suicide. It met the water with a plopping sound, went under, then resurfaced for its last ride out to sea.

I pushed my bike-lock through a lemon and attached the fruit to an unmovable chair.

I washed, dried and flattened a piece of lemon peel for my fashion-designer friend, who stuck it under his machine and sewed black shapes across it. After a few minutes of pure concentration the peel looked - fashionable!

A colleague told me about a fail-safe tip jar: she'd seen a lemon floating in a jar of water, on which guests were invited to balance their coins...

I recreated this game at work, the next day, failing noisily, then enjoying the similar failures of colleagues, volunteers and curious passers-by. We had to keep scooping out the wet coin, since nobody could make it stay.

so princess gianna fell victim to the N1H1, which normally wouldnt be that big of a deal (unless your name is brittany and feel the ugre to complain via twitter every 15 minutes about how life is so bleak) but my little boo is only 5, so to little kids and old peoples its a big fucking deal. so much so that she was hospitalized last night. i got mad worried and felt bad playing call of duty, but it was past visiting hours and really, i couldnt do much but pace back and forth, especially since my sisters phone was dead. grr. but this "morning" i woke up to a text of this:




from my sister saying, "she had too much fun. she thought it was better than the hotels."
i mean, is it even possible she can even take a picture that doesnt make you fucking smile? look at my boo, laying there suffering from 103 degree fever, eatin pizza and smiling like a little soldier.

- in other news, my other civilian boo from michigan, gheesling, is in a serious commercial. can we talk about how legit this shit is? i was so proud of her when i saw this that it almost made me piss myself with tears. and damn, lets take a moment to marvel at those chola eyebrows.



- and thank you to the katie who sent the happy birthday from ian mackaye. that shit was beyond rad. it will be framed and put on my wall.

- new handwritten frames are up for sale below. they will be available for one week ONLY then never again. and yes, you will get a fanzine with these as well:

DEC-frame1

united states $25.00 canada/mexico $32.00 world $37.00

DEC-frame2

united states $25.00 mexico/canada $32.00 world $37.00

so today i finished up another half written story i had done for demonstrative monsters. i have all these unfinished stories on my desktop (have you seen my desktop?) that i forget about. some are set aside for certain books, some i finish, some i hate, some need serious direction but they all are the beginnings of a story that needs a home. some of those that were intended for DM that werent finished by print time will now be included in deadxstop fanzine #7 since i finally got off my ass and got them where they needed to be.
"so chris, how do i get one of these fanzines?"

well dear friends, ask yourself this? did you buy demonstrative monsters?
if the answer is YES, then its already yours. it will be in your little package along with this:



*and while he approves, it will not come with tupac.

holy shit, chris. all that will be mine? yep.
but wait... you're saying to yourself, "but chris, i didnt have the money/time/care to order your expensive ass book but i still want a fanzine, how on earth do i attain a copy?"

well thats easy... order anything from my deadxstop.com webstore between now and december 22nd and its yours, FREE! WTF, chris? are you serious. i bullshit you not.
books ship from the printer on the 18th and will hopefully be in my paws the 22nd. im going to do my best at getting them in the mail on the 23rd. odds are pretty good of you getting them by new years but dont freak if it takes 2-3 weeks due to christmas and chicagos postal service.


- in other news:
im feeling much better. i was walking down the street the other day and i was looking around and i finally felt the weight lift. i could actually visualize a new future and new opportunities, ones that i couldnt before because i was clouded with so much stress. oh, im nowhere near 100% but i am able to smile just because im breathing, and i havent done that in far too long.

- im really stoked about my rollerskate jam on the 27th (if you dont know what im talking about, scroll down and look for the baby tupac). yes, its free. and yes, my mom will be there, so behave. no, i have no clue how many people are turning up. it may be 20, it may be 500. im not making a dime off of this so either way im skating until i sweat through my shirt. it would be rad if you were there to watch me fall and possibly break a hip.

- i am currently running low on snow fairy. if anyone has any laying around and is concerned that one day my balls will no longer smell like glittery cotton candy, feel free to ship it on over.

- when i was out in australia i met these awesome little kids. they told me they had a band. i didnt think much of it. then one night they emailed me a link to their new songs and i reluctantly clicked the link because very little impresses me anymore. but then i found myself listening to the songs over and over and legitimately becoming a fan of their band. check out BIRD IS THE WORD here. hush, dont rush is the jam.

- tonight i was on stickam for 1.5 hours. is it weird to say that i had fun? charlie guest starred and asked for many n00dz. at some point, i got all burt reynolds zexy in my new christmas hoodie:


*look, it has balls.

- two new framed quotes coming very soon. both will only be available for one week.

dear friends, relatives, lurkers, haters, supporters and ex-girlfriends,


this will be my last post in reference to my most recent breakup. i feel the time and effort and words have become nothing more than self-serving and redundant. sure, i use this blog to vent/mock/dispose and it really has helped me mourn the loss but i cant move on if i dwell on this much longer.

now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let me say this: i figured it would get ugly. i mean, really. did anyone think it wouldnt? i knew the lies and accusations would come flying and i have done my best to weather the storm the best i could under the circumstances. call me a liar, a fraud, a coward... call me anything you like, thats fine, ive always been able to roll with the punches. but what you are not, nor EVER allowed to call me or even allude to is that i have ever hit a woman. to make vague statements that you know will be taken as an accusation of me being violent are not only 100% untrue but telling of a desperate and sad character that i am more than happy to have put distance between.
my hand to god/vishnu/allah/satan, and may god strike down princess gia if i am lying: never, have i ever hit a woman. (well, there was that crazy homeless woman who was about to attack kate, but hey, i didnt know it was a woman so i dont count that one.)

i just spent a few hours drinking tea with my brother discussing the traits of our father we see in ourselves, and i mentioned how i received an email from one of my other ex-gfs this morning (happy birfday, morgan) who made a comment about this entire "character assassination" campaign lindsie has been on. how immediately she takes to trying to fuck my friends because she knows how much it will hurt me. and hey, ive taken a lot of blows during this thing but the one i simply will not stand by and ignore are these allusions of violence towards women. any and all girlfriends will vouch for this and anyone who truly knows me or my character will know that i would sooner shoot myself in the face than raise a hand to a woman. i take great pride in the fact that is one of the few traditions of my father that will end with me, so i take any accusations of the like to be more than insulting and offensive but rotten and indicative of a person with a black soul.

also, if you guys could do my a favor and please do not email her or try to contact her in any way. please dont IM her, email her, visit her site or hack her accounts. she thrives on the attention and it is only making things worse on my end. and while i apologize that my hand has been forced to defend myself on something as so public as this, the best thing we can all do is to ignore her and hope that she moves on to the next rockstar.


again, i apologize that i have to even write this but i hope you understand.
thank you,

christopher

i typed the words then i erased them.

thats how much it hurt.

have you ever been sitting alone on a train or in a window of a coffeeshop thinking to yourself about how one day you will write "that" blog post? the one you know is coming. the one that is so inevitable you plan out the beginning, middle and end. what lines you would use and what would leave the most impact upon your readers?

this is that post.

its exactly how i expected it to end, you know? most of you are familiar with my last girlfriend. whether you met her at a speaking or from my writings, you know just how much i felt for her and the depths of my belief in her broken life. hell, a good chunk of my 3rd book, notes from the deep end, was about her. to say that i loved her would be an understatement. 3.5 years of never-ending infatuation. one would think there comes a point, especially in long relationships, where the light stops shining. that that person becomes a simple prop in your life. couch, television, girlfriend, nightstand. but she wasnt. i still watched her sleep and was amazed by her laughter. i touched her as often as she would allow and i would hold her even when she didnt hold me back. i paid for her, i supported her in directions most men wouldnt and i accepted her past because like ive always maintained, i judge a person based upon who they present to me now and what they desire to become. i knew it was a huge risk. everyone told me so. from you, to my friends to her friends to my family to her family. but im sure you guys know how it goes. no one sees how it is in the dark. in bed at 3am when they are so willing and vulnerable and talk of dreams and aspirations. you didnt see that. her. in the light of that darkness, you didnt see that little girl.

despite the odds, i fought for her. i believed in her even when she gave me every reason not to.
i talk a lot about believing in people because very few people have believed in me. i have this idealistic notion that maybe if i give back more than ive gotten that i can make my corner a little better. but like an abused animal that you take in, when it bites you because thats all it knows, you cant really be surprised.

i know some of you follow her writing. i havent read any of it since the post that was 60% truth, 20% exaggerating and 20% lies. but again, its how i expected this to one day go down. just sucks that this is all so public. but hey, its my fault for putting so much out there. the consequences for making this a window into my private life. but i havent really addressed it. i wanted to try and be the bigger man and hold my head up despite the mud-slinging. but for those of you who actually follow the drama and entertainment show, i feel that i am allowed to state my position. and really, its just a fucking blog, right?


i guess what im really getting at is the fact that i just cant shake feeling like a fool. i went against my good judgment and the combined opinion of the people i trust the most. i didnt take my own advice and this is why i ended up getting bitten in the end.
but i wont die. i will laugh today like i did yesterday and i will heal soon enough and i will thrash forward once again. and one day i will meet someone who knows how to say "thank you". someone who will hug me first. someone who will text me goodnight. someone who wont steal from me. someone who will appreciate the emails, the texts, the kisses, the little surprises. someone who will welcome me in their bed. someone who wont go try and fuck my friends the instant we break up. i will believe in someone again.

and i will continue to walk into the burning houses of women. and i will still hold them when they dont want to be held. and i will still hold out this dented and rusted brown heart of mine. because just like the ones that tried years ago, and the ones before that and the ones before that... none of you fuckers broke that shit. not one. and even after giving this thing every ounce of energy i had. year after demoralizing year saying, "all i am is a boy asking you to love him." i am ready, willing and eager to fight another war.

because all this fighting and believing will pay off one day.
it has to.

and today is a good day. because today marks something special.
the day that i stop hurting and begin healing.


that made me smile.


I don't regret the time we spent, but I do regret the day we met.
Because I've learned my lesson and I've learned it well, now there's no more secrets for you to tell.
For all it's worth. I'm still dreaming and feeling without you.
-bookworm, kid dynamite



- and i still kept your story in the book because its one of the last good memories i have of you.
even you cant take that from me.


11x17 poster

As a child I would attempt to retrieve apples from water without the use of my hands. I revived this tradition with lemons, in the sink. They were hard to catch without breaking the rind.