Excerpts from Vol. 4

The following are randomly-chosen excerpts from each of my books. If you like these,  also check out some excerpts from Writings: Volume 1, Volume 2, and Volume 3.

Writings: Volume 4

(includes writing from Searching & Broken, Useless Toy)

8.14.2002. This is so fucking typical of my life.
What the fuck do you care? I stare and stare, into empty eyes, an empty soul. A deep hole filled with the most shallow speak I’ve ever heard. There are no words to describe my heartache, my funeral, my wake, the lake of fire that I burn in every night. Watch my corpse fry in the starry sky. Smoke and flesh and burning blood. Sinking into the mud, buried by your lies, burned by your eyes. I cry and you can’t hear shit. You’re too busy staring at the biggest dick, the coolest hair. It isn’t fair. My life was lived for you. I am dead now. You can’t ask how, you already know. There’s no other place to go but nowhere. I still stare. Your soul is empty. I’ve seen it closely. You don’t want to know me. Slowly I rot away. You’re so happy, your smile is glued to your concealer-smeared face. I’ve lost the race. I won third place. I stare into nothing. Our kisses lasted for all eternity. You stab me in the eyes. You live for these nights.

*****
It’s Christmas Eve 2002
The palindrome year
I worked all day at the record store
My ride was 20 minutes late
I left with a migraine
I sat outside and watched the cars fly by as I waited
I secretly and oddly hoped that the cars in the turn lane with the red light
Would get rear-ended by the cars going straight
Somehow get in the wrong lane and cause an explosion
It’s 7:46pm
I wonder where the magic went
It’s been long gone forever
I have very few friends
I don’t care
Some girl bought me a book for Christmas
I hardly know her
Seems like a decent book
I got a movie theatre gift certificate from my boss
Best kind of gift if you ask me
Tomorrow night I will see her again
Seeing her keeps me alive
Holding her keeps me happy
I want to be with her, always

*****
We sat in the car at the stop light, and analyzed the movie we had just seen. What’s great about her is how alike we are in that way. We both are annoyed by the same plot mistakes, among other things. We laughed about how the movie went on and on and should have stopped at 90 minutes instead of stopping at 120 minutes. We thought about how everything was out of sync and little scenes that were completely unnecessary. It’s moments like that, at the stop light, and on the drive home, that make everything alright. As insecure as I can be, I didn’t feel more secure, laughing with her, right then.

*****
Since you’ve gone
All of nature’s colors are desaturated
The world is less vibrant
That’s what happens when you lose your best friend

*****
It will end, and she’ll come back to me. She’ll be crying. So will I. It will end, and she’ll come back to me. She’ll want to taste life and taste other guys. She will, and she’ll hate the aftertaste. I sit here waiting patiently. I am a friend. I am silently waiting for it to all be over. I play it cool and try to hide the pain. In my mind, I hold her close and wipe her tears away. She cries on my shoulder and says “whatever was I thinking?” I just smile and stroke her hair. It will end, and she’ll come back to me.

*****
Memories with her
Playing guitar and singing for you at the beach. All the songs you loved. You holding me for a long time, the day I had a nervous breakdown. And after, when we went to see White Oleander. Seeing Punch-Drunk Love in the movie theatre and walking out of it, holding hands instinctively. Kissing in your car, during the pouring rain, in the middle of the night. And how you wanted me badly but we had to wait. Kissing you on my bed, rolling around passionately. Making each other dizzy. Stopping to catch our breath to look at each other and say “wow.” Sitting on the beach, in silence. Holding each other and listening to the waves and the sound of our kisses. Laying in my bed, listening to all three Jets To Brazil albums in a row. Caressing each other’s arms, and nothing more….. fuck. I can’t type anymore. I want to lay down and die. I need to die. I need to cease this pain. God help me.

*****
The 20 degree night brings on thoughts of you
My clock reads 11:11 again
We were so perfect
I was so good to you
His birthday is in 6 days
You will give him what he wants
What he demands
I’ll be sitting there that night
Rolling a ball of string in my fingers
Staring at my bean bag chair
As I’ve done so many times before
Staring and listening to Antenne
The most depressing band I can think of right now
Antenne and their cover of Nick Drake’s “Black Eyed Dog”
This music is perfect
The melodies and noises are my pain
They distill it so it isn’t harmful anymore
A wanted transformation
The pain becomes air
And all of nature’s beauty

*****
I took a short drive late at night to the local convenience store
I listened to instrumental hip-hop
I thought about this amazing woman I know
A potential relationship so close, then yanked out of my hands
I kissed her neck and she melted
I whispered in her ear and said romantic things
She melted some more
I drove around and died
I know she was sleeping
Probably didn’t think twice of me tonight
She used to, though
A short month ago
I don’t know what the hell happened
I drove around and said out loud
“Wow. I’m really fuckin’ lonely.”
No one heard me
No one gave a shit
I got to the store
Bought my donuts and potato chips
As I was driving home, I thought
Wawa stores will be open even during the apocalypse
The machine keeps running
We all die alone
It sucks, sure
I met an amazing woman who floors me in so many ways
And I don’t look good enough for her
Or I’m too intense, too nice, too whatever
Fuck it
Another lonely night ends

*****
Those types of guys always win the prize
Certain types of guys with gorgeous blue eyes
Big cocks, with hearts of copper
She’ll leave of course, nothing will stop her
The tears you cry, they’ll turn to dust
You’ve never been an object of lust
Looking back, everything died
They never loved you for who was inside
You wish to end it all, but no
You know no one will care if you go
So why give yourself the satisfaction
Plenty to do, so shut up and take action
Invisible, even with someone
Would you pull the trigger if you held a gun?
Dreams are dreams, they’re nothing more
The windows closed, they locked the door
Immersed in art, immersed in sound
Friday night, no one’s around
Your own reflection, wink and smile
Feel the nausea, taste the bile
She left you empty, without a care
She ran her hands through someone else’s hair
She broke your heart and now she’s gone
Life goes on
And on, and on

*****
3.2.2005

Life isn’t poetry
She’s not perfect
Neither am I but I’m certainly better than him
Two nights ago, endless smiles
Last night, silence
Tonight, “stay away” yet again
Fucking seesaw
Ping-pong
I’m adorkable
Yes, adorkable
Someday she’ll want me
Someday she’ll kill me
again
I am hanging by a thread
And you’ve got the scissors
Happily snip-snipping
Randomly
Trying to sever the thread
It’s your game
Oh! Check it out
You got it
Here I go
Falling
Falling
Splat
The sounds of Jets To Brazil echo into oblivion
It’s “Sea Anemone”
It’s the first day of my second life
It’s the last day of my last life
I’m dead
I don’t have anything tangible
Just good convo
And an appreciation for an adorable, yet suicidal livejournal icon
I have all this
And it amounts to zero
Because I don’t have you.

*****
2.21.2006. No one feels music like I do. I don’t just listen to music, it envelops my entire being. I transcend all the stupid bullshit in life when a song is playing. No one feels music like I do.

Today at work, I listened to the Kings of Convenience album Riot On An Empty Street and it was just so wonderful. Lately I’ve been spinning the Trespassers William album Different Stars and it’s so gorgeous and sad, great lyrics. I love Anna-Lynne Williams’ voice. We chatted a bit online, and she was really cool and nice.

I feel music so intensely. The other night I was showing someone Third Eye Blind’s “Motorcycle Drive By” and Jimmy Eat World’s “Kill” and the breakdown in Coldplay’s “Fix You”…. I just felt it all… like incredibly… I remember doing the same thing when I showed Elissa all the music I burned for her, singing along to it as we sat in her room and spun the discs on her iTunes. I remember everything. And it all matters.

I try to write music that transcends, that touches people with honesty and real emotion. I don’t put anything phony into my music. It’s all me, it’s all honest. I don’t put anything phony into anything I do, because I don’t have a phony bone in my body.

*****
Its been over a decade
I’m finally living my life for songs again
The melodies are what make life worth living
The harmonies on the vocals
The sparse, gentle guitars
The organic percussion
Played unconventionally, but always fits just right
I used to want to share things I write with girls
After sharing, they’d get uncomfortable
They didn’t understand
They never will
It’s like songs
So many people don’t feel them the way I feel them
It’s such a shame to not be aware
To not be filled with passion
To not be able to understand or enjoy
It’s like only eating completely bland noodles your whole life
Meals that simply keep you from starving
With nothing to savor
The pity I feel for all those who don’t get it
Ignorance is bliss
Colors are necessary
Emotion is paramount
The passing of time is depressing
Songs matter most
Funny how a pretty and catchy 3 minute song
can make life perfect and worth living
Something so simple and pure
Something so few truly understand

*****
A wise friend told me recently
Focus on what you have
Not what you don’t have
The way I feel about that motto is
It’s a cop-out
It’s a way to tell yourself that you are not destined for greatness
It’s simply telling yourself to settle
I prefer to think about what I don’t have
And what I will never have
And these things are many
I will never have six-pack abs
No matter how well I diet
No matter how much high-intensity interval training I do
I will never be able to kiss someone stunning
Someone like Kathleen Robertson, Kaitlin Doubleday, Elisha Cuthbert
Someone like Katie Aselton, Anna Faris, Amy Smart
Someone like Christina Hendricks
I will never be able to kiss someone like that
I will never have musical success
I have seen many friends go on to do such wonderful things
Such as get signed to Sub-Pop
Or tour Switzerland
Or run an art gallery slash record label in Brooklyn
I will never have this
When I was actively playing out
I would constantly get compliments about my drumming skills
I have not been complimented like that in eight years
When I was actively playing out, the opportunities came like a flash flood
Music has been mundane since
Friends have asked me to move to New York City
Or San Francisco
Or Seattle
Or Los Angeles
Saying I belong there, not where I currently live
I have declined
Knowing that the grass is always greener
Until you arrive, and find that the grass is dead and brown
Just like it is in the place you left
I will never make more than $35,000 per year
I will never make a million in my lifetime
I will never be in films, although I’ve always wanted to be
I am average, or worse, ugly
And average or ugly people don’t act, usually
There are always exceptions
But not in this case
I will never own my own house
I will never know what it’s like to play in front of 5,000 people
Cheering and thrilled they are there to see me, play live
I will never know what it’s like to play in front of 500 people
Cheering and thrilled
I will always be an audience member
Needle in a haystack
A dust speck on the sticky floor
No one will know that I could drum for any alt or indie rock band
Any of them.
I’m capable, and I know it
This is not arrogance
This is experience
No one will know I could be their guitarist and co-songwriter
No one will know I could handle all the basslines
with ease and harmonic creativity
I’m the guy in the audience, wishing I could be on stage
I read about actors wishing they could live normal lives
Wishing they could work a regular job and
Rent a house in Bucks County, Pennsylvania
Raise a normal family
I read about how they love the “realness” of the east coast
“Real people, real life”
To me, I fucking hate the Real World
The Real World is a fucking joke
The Real World’s where you have to empty the dishwasher
because none of your roommates care to,
and the sink is full of dirty dishes
The Real World is where no one takes out the trash in the kitchen
even when it overflows
The Real World is where, out of nowhere,
a sharp shooting pain runs through your leg
and makes you moan, when you kneel on your right knee
The Real World is where you don’t have electricity for six days,
following Hurricane Sandy
The Real World is where you get rosacea at age 33, for no reason at all
The Real World is where you spend hundreds
on medicine that works at first
And then stops working for no reason at all
The Real World is where you tightly budget your money
so you can afford healthy groceries and stay healthy
so you don’t miss any work days, so your paycheck is good
The Real World is where you need to get a full tank of gas
and need to use your emergency credit card
because you only have $21 in your bank account
These actors and actresses never watch the news
They don’t know what’s going on
Their world is a utopia
They have enough money to do anything they want, whenever they want
If they get sick, they can drop hundreds of thousands without blinking
To receive the best medical care
There are people who take strolls on Rodeo Drive
And effortlessly, happily drop thousands on clothes they don’t need
You are not accepted on Rodeo Drive if you live in the Real World
Where your teeth aren’t perfect
Where your eyes and eyebrows aren’t sexy
You are not accepted there
You do not belong there
The nice parts of Los Angeles
The Upper West Side in New York
The great clubs with perfect sound systems, with you as the headlining act
What do you do when you long for that world
And knowing you will never reach it?
What do you do when you long for that world
And knowing you will never reach it?
And knowing you will never reach it?
And knowing
You will never reach it.

*****

copyright 1990-2090 chris caulder / planet isolation publications. all rights reserved.
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