My Suicide Note

Hi. Sorry I put you through this. I just couldn't deal anymore. I needed more than I got, wanted more than I would receive. My life wasn't bad exactly, but I made it bad for some reason. Not sure why. Maybe I thought I wasn't worth it. I definitely gave up hope that it would ever be good.

I would have done this a long time ago, saving you all a lot of grief, but I just was too afraid of pain, terrified of trying and failing, as I did with so many other things. I can't connect with you. Even when I do I find ways to make that go away. Invent reasons to invalidate and erase any and all good.

I guess I just really don't want to live, don't want to be happy. I guess I don't know how. I hate myself in such a deep, twisted way that I feel I will never climb out of that hole. No ray of sunshine, no hope, no tender words will ever get me to come back from the ledge. So, what's the point?

I'll just look to any and all of you for validation, then invalidate any and all responses until I get the answer I'm looking for. You've got to just do it, Kurt. Just kill yourself and be done with it. Even this note you're writing is just some sad, pathetic excuse to elicit an emotional response from someone. Anyone.

But it doesn't matter. Nothing will get better. You'll never get help. That's all.

I'm going to walk around until I finish this pack of cigarettes and then find some way to end my life. I've contacted those I felt who would help sway my decision. Probably did it after midnight on a Wed night just so no one would contact me. Fuck it.

I'm out. I love you, those I loved. I hate you, those I hated. None of it matters anymore as life will continue on without me. Don't bother shedding a tear, this is what I wanted. It was only a matter of time.

I guess that's it. I texted those that mattered with whatever I had left to say. Not much, really. Now, it's just a matter of going through with it and not waking up tomorrow to do this all again. It's been real people.

Be nicer to each other.

Love,

K

The New World: Order (Day 1)

Today is the first day of my life. A life without co-dependent behavior, without passive aggressive abuse, without anxiety and indecision. I am moving forward and this will be my daily writing that chronicles my rise to power.

I slept on the floor of my new sublet up in Harlem. It hurt. I have bruises on my hips but slept decent. Didn't hurt that I was exhausted and passed out around 6am after hanging out at McGarry's on 9th & 33rd with co-workers last night. A quick, gorgeous taxi ride up the west side highway at dawn was a great way to kick it off.

So I woke up and tweeted a shopping list of essentials. I went to Bed, Bath & Beyond, swallowed my anxiety (both of shopping and crowds) and bought an inflatable mattress, dark blue sheets, a pillow, and a dark blue towel. Later I'll grab some soap, toothpaste and toilet paper from Duane Reade. And most likely a fan from Rite Aid asap.

Right now I'm back at McGarry's to have a beer and a chicken sandwich before work. I figured now was a good time to kick this thing off. Take stock of my life as it is, and where it needs to go. There is so much to get done and I've already wasted too much time getting my act together.

It's a day past July 4th, Independence Day, and I am no longer living with an ex that made my life miserable. We tried endlessly to make it work but every time I'd fall apart, somehow lose control of my emotional capabilities and freak the fuck out. She's leaving for her parents' house in Pennsylvania today with the help of her new boyfriend.

My worldly possessions (VHS tapes, bootleg Asian movies, and a ton of comic books) are now in storage outside the Brooklyn Navy Yards. Boston Scott, my true hetero-soulmate and writing partner, has given up his life of danger as a Florida policeman to be a park ranger back up in Massachusetts.

The plan is to live in this sublet until mid-August when we celebrate Reilly Brown's birthday down on the Jersey Shore, then I head back up to Mass with Boston to spend a week there relaxing and scoping out the area. I'm not 100% ready to give up living here but I am entertaining the notion.

Then hopefully I'll have somewhere to live by September 1st, or at least some places to crash. By then I should be stripped down enough to truly live mobile. In the meantime I really need to focus on what needs to happen self-improvement-wise. But I'll get to that.

As for today, I've gotten the basics done, I'll head to work and hit up the gym afterwards, then go back uptown and sleep in my first (pseudo) real bed that I've ever bought for myself.

Today's Song: You & me, and all of the people...

Today's Project: Finish Tower of Brahma Chapter 63 pt.II

Today's Picture: I have no idea but there were a lot of bees around it, on 22nd by 7th.

K

Day 2. Project Rebirth.

The comics are all moved into the living room, books are assembled into piles, clothes stacked on my chair. Not bad for just a few hours. I got a good nights sleep, and feel pretty motivated, eager to start my new life.

The next two days, I will organize more, empty out that room, have all the boxes stacked by the door ready to be carried out. I'll go and meet my friends Doug & Stacey for breakfast tomorrow, then come back and do some work, then meet Jeff to pay him for the sublet.

Tonight I will re-write the article on the tourist lanes, work on the Write Club! logo, do up another Write Club Funnies, and when I get home watch Futurama and write up a review to post tomorrow night. I'll prep reviews for Unknown Soldier and Greendale, and get back to Improv Fiction.

Also, I need to finish the Tower of Brahma chapter 63 post, but it will need some time to sit down and wrap up the second half of my entire life. Maybe I should post it as is. I am also going to plan a party, my first Facebook invite, for July 9th to celebrate the completion of my book and the start of my new life.

Start a new blog for Suburban Loser. Ready posts to go up atuomatically every Monday starting July 5th. Start Liquid Fury blog. Ready a page a day starting July 9th. Start posts for the blog. Get back to TenTon. Start talking to Reilly about promoting Power Play. Design a logo.

Begin work on Mustang Frankenstein. Finish Pryzmalite Massacre. Outline Deadbeat, Union Squared, Time & Space, and Working Title. Research something once a week. Fiction book once a week. Grab a stack of comics and scan them in and try and sell them.

Figure out what days off would be best. Talk to Christian about when I can come up and visit. Find out Boston's deal, Brothers Price's deal with Wburg, and look into Wendy's house in Bronx. Get a new tattoo.

Get guitar from dad, learn it, rock out, start a band.

Summer Solstice. 2010. Rebirth. Day 1.

Today is the first day. I will begin this day as the first step on that journey of a thousand miles. My mind will stay sharp, clear, and on task. I will not deviate from this set plan until I see "Boston" Scott Morrill in Massachusetts, Christian Laura in New Paltz, Michael D'Amato & Gary Foster on Long Island.

I will not give into self-pity, depression, or mania. I will remain cool headed, detached, and driven in my goal. Everything that has come before was to set this stage. I know need to walk out front and center, and deliver my lines. This is everything I have ever worked for in my life, all I ever wanted.

I will clean out this room, place all my belongings in the living room, prepare them to be moved by next week the latest. Find the best storage unit. Less up front and more expensive is okay. 5x7 minimum. Pack essentials into a backpack. Make sure computer bag is set to be fully mobile.

Call credit card companies. Find out the essentials. Ask about loan or debt consolidation. Worry about IRS in the Fall. Count on paying rent by October. Push for November. Find best way to sell comic books. Talk to WildPig convention organizer.

Work on screenplays by July 5th. Start posting Suburban Loser first Monday. Begin researching Amateur. Edit one chapter of Tower of Brahma a week, remove it from online. Start Liquid Fury tumblr. Tie blogspot into it, new twitter name. Script Power Play #2. Start music/animation project.

Read one book a week, weekly visit to storage, switch book, get batch of comics to scan & sell. Gym three times a week. One night of research. One movie night. Find cheap food to buy weekly. Write something every day that is personal and non-fiction.

Plan ridiculous trip for bday. Leave NY by NYCC.

Do more magic and meditation. Prepare rituals of your own design. Burn all that you longer need.

Redefine yourself as you truly are.

Love,

K

Daily Dosage - 6/18/10 8:02am

I'm kind of annoyed with people today, so trying not to feel lonely and desperate for communication. Maybe I'll just go see A-Team instead.

I started doing a daily improv writing exercise, where two random suggestions from FaceBook peeps are weaved together into a story. It's been really helpful so far, and I feel like I'm reaching more of an audience and creating a backlog of offbeat material.

I gotta touch base with Ben to find out about the design aspect of the 'zine. Finish the new Write Club! logo. Re-write the article on Jeff Greenspan. Prep for the second to last Tower of Brahma entry. Find reference for new grindhouse style hotrod road webcomic.

Ugh, whatever humanity. Leave me alone to write. Now if I only had a wi-fi connection.

K

Daily Affirmations 6/16/10 1:32am

This uncontrollable loneliness strikes me each night as I look at Facebook, AIM, Gchat, Tumblr, for someone to talk to. The night shift is not my friend, and any other friends I may still have are on the opposite schedule.

So I will take to writing a blog entry when these moods strike. Amazing how hard it is to sit down and write when this lethargy takes hold, midway through my shift, my energy all but gone. I know I'll be awake in four hours when I get home, and asleep as everyone wakes up.

It's now nearly 8am and I've read some Green Lantern Corp comics, looked at porn, and read my latest chapter in the Tower of Brahma. It is nearly perfect in its structure and execution. This chapter (61.i) represents me really accomplishing what I set out to do.

I wanted to take the seven deadly sins and deconstruct them, first in the abstract (superego) sense where we can refer to the masses, then I (rushed) threw some of my own personal "sins" or self-pitying guilt trips in at the end. The more personal side of my writing, the individual, needs to be better integrated into the narrative.

I also used the major chakras running down our torsos, as a way of triggering the final release of the sins of man from my body. Tossed together with a vague backdrop of a collapsing curtain of reality and the unicorn third eye spike protruding from my forehead. I went with instinct on color/animal associations and I think it paired up nicely.

The backstory for this chapter is that of the entire plot of Tower of Brahma, which is what I was writing toward. What is the point? What is the meaning of life? Why shouldn't I just kill myself right now? I wanted to know the true answer and while writing (all of this book was written stream-of-conciousness with loose outlines in my head) I decoded whatever it was that I needed to know.

Charles Crown writes a book while undergoing some sort of existential crisis. From rest stops in Jersey to Suburbia, Long Island to NYC, Colombia, LA, San Diego, San Francisco, Florida, Massachusetts, Philly, and Pittsburgh. To the brink of insanity, a psych ward, medication and alcoholism. To Freemasons and killing his father...he experiences an adventure.

To help process the information, he creates two fictional secret agents, Fenris & Spider, who are out to destroy the Universe. Spider is the mentor, the killer, the silent dark rogue ninja with a bad attitude. Fenris is the sad, sensitive, oblivious, stark raving madman novice. What is their mission? Can a coherent plot be developed by a writer who is losing his mind?

What is the Tower of Brahma? A mythic Hindu legend. 64 discs of gold atop one of three tiers. Move a tower to another tier one disc at a time, with never a larger one atop a smaller. This repititious puzzle forever occupying the hands of a monk, shuffling discs as his mind wanders.

It is a mathematical concept called recursive, developed by a 19th century mathematician who no doubt wrapped the Hindu legend around it to make it sexy. It stuck and becomes the basis for computer programming, developing the ever expanding nature of computer data processing, setting free the mind into the furthest reaches of abstract math.

What did ending the world mean? A quote from Matt Groening on the end of times is paraphrased as such: "When I die, that's the end of the world for me." No more participation in the mass hallucination that passes for reality means that reality is done. Meaning that each perspective of reality is unique and a unvierse upon itself.

There's part of Faust, De La Guarda, Beat Poetry, bad action movies, experimental films, drunken insanity, altered states of conciousness, paranoid schizophrenia, therapy, hospital visits, broken hearts, lost friendships, despair, loneliness, depression, manic behavior, ranting, raving, depraved debauchery, and on and on.

This book is the past 6+ years of my life. And in two weeks it is over and done with forever. I will get my answer.

Sugar on the LES

I've come and gotten a chicken noodle soup and a buger at my favorite all night diner in the LES 'Sugar'. I used to order the burger from here and take it home to my East Village apt all the time. I used to even order it delivery. It was that good.

Now I'm fairly drunk, and I could have gone over to the Regent Diner over on Suffolk & Houston and gotten some gravy fries as I've done several time over. But I wanted a Sugar burger, as they are unrivaled at most places I've been.

Sitting at Sugar I see at least one girl that should be stolen away from her douchebag boyfriend who's got a generic set of tattoos down his arm and a tag still on his Yankee cap. I want to punch his face until he's under the pavement. I wish to destroy him.

That applies to most guys in the area, if not all of NYC. They think they're hard, and maybe I do too, but if I'm not then this guy certainly isn't. And there's no way he should be running his hands along the thigh of a hot, young short-skirted chick. But he is.

She gets up and changes spots beyond my vision, but he's still there, along with the others who really need to be destroyed. Young, expense account assholes, who have nothing but to feel like they need to be part of the counter-culture movement. But instead they're just propagating the status quo of hipsterism over functionality.

I just want food, sustenance, something that'll taste good that I can go home back to Brooklyn with that'll carry me over til tomorrow. And it finally arrives. The chicken noodle soup was amazing actually, best I've had in awhile, but now my burger is here.

I go to the bathroom and when I come out my table has been cleared. I go by the register and no one is there. The door is open. I run for it, making my way to the nearby deli to get a ginger ale, then cut the corner to the F line at Delancey.

It's the first time I run on the tab, and I don't feel that bad, figuring the richie fucks will cover my balance, but either way I don't expect to be in the LES to eat again, especially after I've moved out of the East Village where my asshole ex-roommate lives. One last quality place wiped off the map of where I can eat.

Hopefully it won't be the last.