If Things Had Gone According to Plan...

I'd be in San Diego right now. I guess that's why I'm overcompensating by blogging everything newsworthy from Comicon on my Write Club Tumblr-blog. I even posted up my assesment of the collection of Thor movie material on the main Write Club blog.

Time to rethink that whole thing. It's much easier for my to scour Tumblr and pull the relevant information and post it there rather than craft a whole post on my other blog. I just want to somehow make money doing what I'm doing, reporting on comic book stories. I know comics better than nearly anyone, having spent 20 years of my life immersed in it.

I'm also trying to create my own. My graphic novel Legend of Liquid Fury has been in limbo for a few years, which I intend to correct this fall as I release a few lettered pages at a time and give my take on Asian film and the crazy kung fu adventures that inspired it. I really just need a stable environment and access to my movies for that.

Once Reilly gets back from San Diego we're going to start up on Power Play, our digital comic which will be coming to iPhones, iPods, and web browsers in the next few months. I can't wait to get into more stories with Mac Washington and the gang (you'll meet them soon) as I feel like Reilly and I have really created a unique cast that resides right here in NYC.

I guess I really can't leave NYC right now. I need to be here, to draw on the power and frustration that this city provides. I just really need to expand my job beyond digital images. It's a pretty dying industry and I really want to write in some shape or form for a living. I'm hoping I can start freelancing, blogging, pitching, get an agent, liscense properties...the dream.

I need to do something. I can't be broke like this anymore. I want a nice apartment. A TV, with cable. Maybe a kitty. I'd like to go on a vacation, even if it's a weekend away upstate. If I keep repeating this perhaps it will somehow come to pass. I'm told that it seems like this is me at my most together. I feel that way, so it's nice to have it confirmed.

Everything's just up in the air. Where will I live past August? Will I have a job at the Daily News for much longer? There's so many possibilities. I guess, it really just depends on what I want now doesn't it? I better figure that out and fast.

K

There's Something About Creative Types

We're a mess, insecure, manic. Well, some of us. We sell ourselves short and keeping forging ahead. We have a feeling we'll never do it, yet we keep striving for some lofty ambition, some unattainable goal.

But there must come a moment where you've done the work, met the people, honed your skill, embraced your talent. Now, you just need to let yourself succeed. That's really the tricky part. I need to re-read things I've written, question the quality, look at my pictures on Facebook to see that, yes, I am cool and awesome, and just revel in that insane life that I've led.

I'm at the point where I know comic professionals, people I was friendly with years ago are now working in the industry. They remember me, and they like me. Some even recognize my skill. I've had rockstar moments where I was drunk in midtown talking with David Mack (one of my favorite writer/artists) and he pulls over Bob Burden (one of the ultimate weirdos from the black & white indie boom of the 80's). That was surreal.

And it might not mean much to regular folk, but it was like hanging out with Gavin Rossdale and him bringing over They Might Be Giants. My best friend draws for Marvel and has for years. He's brought me the Marvel Friends & Family premiere of Spider-Man 3 & Iron Man 2. I sat in the same section as Joe Kelly (a personal friend and longtime supporter), Fred Van Lente, Dan Slott, and Walt Goddamn Simonson.

I'm so close. I can feel the work I'm doing, the work I fit inbetween working an erratic night schedule at the Daily News and having a nervous breakdown from a self-destructing relationship. I have a comic/writing/art blog & podcast, a graphic novel that's waiting for me to finish lettering, a novel that's just about done, and this new blog where I can tell you (and myself) all about who I am and what I'm doing.

Thank you for reading this, I really appreciate the comments and compliments I've received thus far. I promise this is just the beginning. There's so much for me to say and do, and finally having an audience validates that I haven't been wasting the last ten years of my life.

Oh, and I just wanted to touch upon synchronicity. I watched Men Who Stare At Goats, which is based on this actual new age military operation from the early 80's that reinvented the idea of an army. The actual program was called the 1 Earth Battalion and it's run by the original creator Jim Channon.

I was intrigued by his ideas and revolutionary concepts, so I looked him up. Unfortunately he was selling the manual for $15 which is beyond my budget. But I had discussed it with my co-worker Stu one day, and three days later I saw it sitting on his desk. I assumed he found a copy, or knew someone who had it and let him borrow it.

I asked him today and he had no idea who left it there. I hadn't even mentioned it to anyone else.

K

Now the real work begins

Okay, less than $100 for the next 10 days. Roughly $10 a day to eat, but going to need more money for a Metrocard if I don't want to walk 125 blocks every day. But maybe I should, exercise would do me good, and I finally do have good running sneakers.

Speaking of, get your ass to the gym this week. At least take a break tomorrow and go for a short bit. You need to be in shape, anything less than killer abs in unacceptable. But you've also got to somehow get to martial arts classes, but let's worry about that once you're in shape. Show yourself that you deserve to learn to fight.

The good thing is, you've just quit smoking cigarettes. Unless you break down and buy a roll-it-yourself pack, but even that would break the bank as it were. So far it's been one full day plus of no cigarettes, and other than a few twinges here and there, didn't even want one. The summer just makes me so sick, and I think I smoked more than I should've this past weekend.

So cut expenses. Other than the $280 a month to Discover, and whatever the phone bill will be once you work it out with Lauren, those are the only recurring bills, though you will have to contact Capitol One & Bank of America, but those are much lesser amounts. Two paychecks would take care of them altogether.

So other than the $100-200 you have to pay for Aug 1st - Aug 12th, you're pretty minimalized. So just worry about food and getting to work. At $10 a day that'll be $140 every pay period. $27 every week for an Unlimited Metrocard. $30 taken out for the gym.

Get on a phone plan from work, get rid of T-Mobile. If you can afford it, get the EVO from Sprint, or a plain phone and a netbook. Something that can stream Netflix. Oh, I guess cancel Netflix. That's how you know things are bad, but I never watch the stuff so...sigh. oh right and $99 for storage starting September 1st.

So that's:
$240 (Discover)
$99 (Storage)
$108 (27 x 4, Metrocard)
$300 (minimum food)
= $747 plus whatever I need for the phone, so basically just over $800. Ooof.

In the past twenty-four hours I spend $4.50 on a breakfast sandwich & OJ (33rd & 8th, turkey bacon, amazing), ate an apple I had on the way to work, egg roll & chicken noodle soup (gave me a headache) for $3.90, blew 50 cents on two frozen White Castle burgers and 60 cents on a bag of chips, $3.50 on a breakfast sandwich (33rd & 9th, sausage, meh) and just had a quarter of a massive orange.

$12.50 total. Not a good start.

Ugh, this is going to suck. I need to bulk home cook asap, while I still have money left.

No real writing done today, lots of Write Club Tumblr posting, gearing up for posting on the actual blog, and trying to find a moment to get the last chapter of Tower of Brahma written, as well as the pitches for Marvel I want to put together.

I really need to get on the movie script work. Ugh, so much to do and an exhausting day of work is only...8 hours ahead of me. Balls.

Night.

K

From Pimp to Pauper

Paid on a Friday, broke by Monday. I have a restless night of sleep as Discover and T-Mobile kick my bank accounts ass, and I did my own fair share of damage this weekend as well. Just, when you're broke for a week and severely depressed, and SOMEHOW you pull off surviving another week in the city...you want to party.

So after my cataclysmic Wed night and my epic dance-a-thon Thurs, I went out again on Fri night. I met up at Matt's apartment and we hung out on his fire escape drinking green tea & vodka. Then some beers at a bar nearby, then down to the Village for some sushi, the Soho for some more drinks.

I play wingman as he slips in and gets numbers. I know I had a conversation with someone, but other than her age (my own) and where she was from (Jersey), the rest is a haze. From there we do...something? We may've taken a taxi up to Hamachi on 23rd where I met up with LaRaisha & Johnny Speedboat for karaoke.

I woke up the next afternoon, hungover as fuck, late for work, and in Spanish Harlem. I somehow manuevered the area in blazing heat, down to the top of Central Park and nearly pass out as I wait to get a Metrocard. I get to work and want to die. Pale and puffy, sweating through the white shirt and vest I wore the night before.

Eventually the hangover is a dull body ache and a sore throat, but as work draws to a close, I realize I have plans to go out that night as well. The Irish Exit, a new pub on the east side Midtown, basically turns into a dance club. I met up with Reilly & his gf Shauna and tell the girl at the door we're there on Kealan's list, and have some half price drinks.

The place is devastatingly packed. I'm caught somewhere between hangover and anxiety as musclebound bros and fabulous hoes squeeze by every few seconds. Girls jump up on the bar, bubbleguns fired into the air, and even the theme song to Growing Pains gets rocked out to.

I had to open a tab as I had no cash and suddenly after three beers and shots, I'm signing away $40 between girls legs, skirts tossed about my eye line. We skip out of there, walk down to 34th & 3rd, get one last drink at Joshua Tree, singing along with the best of 80's videos.

From there I meet up with LaRaisha and we go to Planet Rose and have a few drinks as well. Only, I didn't realize that my old roommate and his girlfriend were there. I hate them. Immensely. He looks like shit, like something I dragged up from the shower drain when I first moved in with him. I dream of dragging him outside and beating him, or hitting his woman, daring him to man up and try and fight me.

There's an entire book that could be written on how much and why I hate him like I do. But the situation was bound to happen considering that I've been hanging in the East Village a lot lately. From there Larasiha and I hang out on her brother's roof across from Webster Hall. They take turns playing songs on the guitar and it kills me everytime.

I just sit here and press a string of keys as thoughts come to me, vocabulary and grammar just piecing itself together as I do. But to just pick up and instrument, close your eyes, and physically transform into this being that can produce harmonies and notes and move you on a deep level, well, I see why muscians are more regarded, or eagerly appreciated rather.

But so that's that. The party's over (until next payday?) and now it's back to surviving on the mean streets of NYC. This is why I'll appreciate the fame and fortune, because I was here, eating egg rolls & street cart food to survive, sleeping on floors and asking other for help. And one day I will pay it back.

K

Best Night of My Life

So, seriously. This was the best night of my life, ever. I realized something that years of life experience never did. I am a dancer. I love to dance. To any type of music. I just feel it deep within me and express it better than any guy, let alone girl, ever could.

First I went out with Lia and her boyfriend. I got there too late to see him play, but we got Vanessa's Dumplings (aka Dumpling House down on Eldridge). For $1.75 I got 4 fried dumplings and seasame bread. Fuck yeah. It's pretty much the best/cheapest dumplings ever.

Then Reilly and his girlfriend Shauna came by. We had a drink at Fontana's and then headed to Library in the LES, where I ran into Eduardo. I can't even go into how much I love Eduardo here. That's really a whole seperate post. But I got at least two free whiskey shots there, before Reilly and Shauna left, as did Eduardo.

I was left, still somewhat sober with an accountant for Wal-Mart, an Austrian with a British accent and a skill for Japanese. He was very drunk though. We spoke about his job and other foreign things, such as him never sealing the deal with the bartender despite her being the first person he met in NYC.

I left him as he attempted to hit on the chubby tattoo artists, and I didn't even feel bad. I had a smoke as I made my way over to Lit Lounge. I was slightly drunk, the door guy digging my "Hang In There" Rambo-cat t-shirt, and I spaced out four Buds with zeros tips (4x$5 each). But fuck, did I dance.

It was then that I realized that dancing was my true calling. I don't care what's going on around me, I just fucking love to dance. I went from the Ramones, to the Smiths, to Bloc Party, to the Go-Gos, to Ke$ha, then rtan upstairs to face down DMZ, and all sorts of rap that I can't remember right now, but it drew attention.

There was a tattooed slut that started grinding right up on me, although she would go to some guy sitting on the side between each song. I tried to maneuver myself away from her but she'd find me and drunkenly grind up on me. I grabbed her face and made her look me in the eye as she did so, then skipped out as she tried to make amends with her "boyfriend"?

But fuck it. I'm an amazing dancer, better than any other guy that was there, because I danced with reckless abandon. Without a care in the world. And I think that's what I need. Just to fully let go and fuck shit up. Hey, Kurt, make sure you dance once a week. That will help with any and all insecurity issuesm, because I dance better than anyone you can throw against me.

Just try me mothfuckers. I will fuck your shit up.

K

Friendless Loser

And so it goes. Except this time I make an effort. I plan man-dates for tonight and the next three nights, including open bars for Thurs & Fri night. My friend Matt bails on tonight but he's got to be up early, after all who goes out on a Wed night? My cousin is still up in the air.

I went to Charleston in Wburg to see Kevin Colden's band but didn't realize there was a cover, and it seems they just never have the free pizza at night. Scratch that place off the list, forever. I took out the $60 I have left in my account and got a $4 Yuengling and left no tip. $56 after downing the beer and heading out.

I hit up the Commodore, my new fav hipsteriffic spot, and of course I hate everyone, but I hate everyone everywhere, so no surprise there. I get a $3 Schlitz and this time leave a dollar tip. I want to be accepted at this spot, despite loathing the clientele. The 'try-too-hards' and the has-beens trying to impress each other. At least the food is good here.

Not that I've eaten in the last 24 hours, except a bagel from Starbucks along with a giant iced coffee. Fuck it, some days food just gets in the way of booze. Tonight is one of those days, or whatever. But if I did have more cash I'd eat a goddamn burger here with the most awesome fries ever. But I've got 36 hours until I have cash and can eat like a normal human.

In the meantime, let's hate on these fuckfaces. Trucker hats are shit and you should be shot. If you have a mustache tattoo on the inside of your finger, I will chop that shit off with a meat cleaver (esp. if you're a girl). Fake moustaches are so fucking old and it was fucking stupid to begin with. Please get over it before I kill again!

I've been hungry and broke too long. You know how I know? I spy a plate of fries that are barely touched over there, the fatasses who ordered them left them behind. I would eat that shit in a second. Also, I drink drinks left lying about. Around me do not leave your drink unattended. I'll be all over that shit like the high school dropout on your prom date.

Whatever that means. I'm kind of pissed (and lashing out) that I tested who I write like and my two favorite/latest chapters of Tower of Brahma came back Dan Brown. I did get Chuck Palaniuk with one of these blog posts so that's a small comfort. I guess I've got to try and get edgier or wordier or less fucking formulaic. Dan fucking Brown? He's the most functional conveyer of information I've read but he's not a fucking writer of merit.

Whatever. I'll just drink my cheap ass beer and watch 60's pop luchadore movies, where a wrestling match is intercut with absurd scenes of some sort of trepaning/brain surgery. I realize I haven't had a cigarette in about 24 hours and it feels good, but damn do I want one. I feel fucking cheated. This old luchadore movie is pixellating with DVD fail, not scratching out into fuzz like a VHS tape would. The old 80's TV set, the wood panelling, the frosted mirror behind the bar...they mean nothing. NOTHING!

HOLY SHIT THAT'S BRAINS! Seriously, pulsating on the goddamn screen. Brains. The wrestling match freeze frames into some sort of bizarre humping motion and sticks like that for minute after minute. Oh, hold up, I have a text. It's Matt, asking if I'm hitting up the two open bars tomorrow, fuck yeah I am.

One's in Park Slope, put on by Toyota as a pre-Siren Festival event, I feel it will suck. But a quick ride on the G train will get us over to Bed Stuy area where there's a 2 hour Colt 45 open bar hosted by Vice. That's the one to hit, fuck this Park Slope Toyota bullshit. Get what we can from there, raid that spot like fucking viking-pirates and charge forth.

God, the fucking asshole I couldn't stand at the other end of the bar is now sitting next to me. Obviously wasted, thinks he's a rockstar, needs a knife to the neck. At least the little drunk cunt he came in with isn't here to terrorize my personal space. Okay, just spied another DON'T. Bandanas worn backwards with the knot up front. Stupid. They should only be worn as do-rags or whatever you idiots call them. 90's hippy style.

Fuck, I love the smell of fresh mint. I want a bad ass mojito up in this piece. Too bad they're like...8 fucking dollars? Kiss my ass Commodore. Ooh, Commodore, like the Commodore 64. That was my jam, back when life was simple and I was happy and basically mindless. What the fuck happened between then and now? Nothing but god awful shit, with a handful of adventure.

I really should eat something. And probably get a cigarette from someone. Hold up, cute girl alert. Fuck! The guy next to me, aging shithead hipster/rocker, ordered fucking fried chicken and biscuits. I might die right now. Does anything smell as good as fried fucking chicken? NO, IT FUCKING DOES NOT!

He tries and hits on the waittress, who's a vegetarian (STRIKE!) and he waves dead flesh at her in some vain attempt to impress her? God knows. But it still smells good. I may kill him and take it, run screaming through chicken meat into the streets of Williamsburg, a fresh kill notched on my belt.

Oh, so the waittress is proving the Clark Kent secret identity bag. Her absurd glasses actually seem to fully obscure any details of what she really looks like. Weird. I bet with that hair down and in something other than an ill-fitting vintage dress, I might not know who the fuck she was.

More BRAINS! A Lite Brite. A soldering gun. Wtf is this movie?! Fuck this, I'm out. Off to Alligator, see if Rick's still there and maybe get some pizza. Before I die.

Alligator Lounge. Two free pizzas with one beer (some guy gave me his extra ticket), watching some really bad Buck Hunter action with two guys who asked me about the game, a few bad text messages. Shit. My cousin bailed on me. No surprise there. Everyone usually does. I'm fucking pathetic. Alone every night I go out.

I'm going to have to go over into Manhattan and then up into Harlem now to sleep. The idea of that brings tears to my eyes. Makes me think of other sad shit. I want a cigarette. I want drugs. I want anything that makes this not feel so fucking real. That distances me from it so it's an odd anecdote. Just keep writing you lame ass fuck.

K

Solitary Self-Improvement

It's like this weird vacant space in my mind where all worries, concerns, thoughts about someone else are absent. A phantom limb of a relationship, I can still feel the tingles from where I used to extend beyond myself. All that's left behind is this amputated heart, pumping blood nowhere in particular.

I know it's for the best. I'm a paranoid lunatic. Sickeningly insecure for some reason. Females and males all seem to proclaim that I am indeed attractive. I know that I'm the best lover possible, also proclaimed by those I've been with. And I'm fairly smart, considered funny and charming, polite and empathic.

But somewhere after the Honeymoon period (which I seem to speed through, overindulging and overdoing it) I fuck it all up. Self-sabotage? I feel like all I've ever wanted was to be with someone, to find my true love. Expectations are what ruins most everything in my life, and this is no different. I look past character flaws, so eager to please, assume that any problems are solo my own.

I seem to be the best version of myself when I meet someone, but after a certain point I take away the good things, no longer feeling that intense passion. The more rope I give someone and the more they don't reciprocate, the more I withdraw. I hold myself to an insane standard, expecting nothing less than perfection in all aspects of my life.

So then I take offense to small slights. I am wounded by insults, sarcastic jokes, thinking back to years spent feeling like an asshole as I took the verbal abuse of girlfriends, friends, my father. I do have my father's martyr syndrome but with more than my fair share of sensitivity and open wound gushing. You can see the hurt on my face when you say it. That reaction is why they do it.

Why can't I be normal? Introverted yet wanting to be extroverted. I can't seem to shrug off all the inconsequential comments. They linger and feed on my insides. I massochistically whip myself with every awkward moment. I seem to enjoy this, want this, comfortable with this role of victim. It does save me from making others victims to my own behavior.

I have been the one that was insensitive, the one who hurt others and did whatever I felt, all while proclaiming my innocence. I'm not better then the other assholes I hate on that have hurt the girls I've been with. Just another mistake that causes them enough grief. All I can hope is that I'm such an asshole that they realize that they don't need to suffer such men.

Self-growth. That's what I see as the benefit of any relationship, no matter how traumatic. And usually I'm so prepared for the end, having spent weeks gearing up for the final act, that I don't feel much of anything once it's over and done. But now, and one other time, I'm the one that can't deal, that has the obsessive thoughts, that wants another moment with someone that we'd only wind up fighting in.

So it's time I actually learned from this pain. My time to improve myself. I know how I want to be, I just don't know how to get there. Over the next few weeks I'm going to try and dissect myself like this and find out where I go wrong and what I need to do to get it right. I've indentified the pattern, and I've done things different so far, so what comes next?

K

Daily Kurt: the Weekend

So I worked all day Saturday, and am now heading into work on Sunday Night. I went out Friday night with Reilly to hang out with the writer and the editor he works with at Marvel. We had some beers, hotdogs, and watermelon salad, with a dose of 9-11 apple pie left over from the fourth. After that we went out to a bar down in the financial district to be extras in a pilot this girl was putting together.

I was a total sweaty mess which has convinced me to chop my hair off. Why I grow my hair long in the summer I'll never know. I tend to just shave it all off in a heat stroke freakout. I guess it takes about a year to grow back to this length, but fuck that, I looked like I was balding with a giant cranium.

But the experience was awesome, once my hair dried. We got to watch the most expensive piece of equipment I've ever seen in action ($50k camera), and one of the most together crews do their thing. We got a couple of free drinks, which my broke ass appreciated, and made friends with the bartender who invited us for 1/2 price drinks at a new douchey spot in midtown next Saturday night.

Reilly and I wound up leaving with three of the other extras and I was my usual quiet self until one of the girls mentioned Buffy and I geeked out of course. Nothing to say unless it relates to the dorkiest of the dorky. Oh, there was also this really bizarre Sorceror's Apprentice game outside the Trump Building. That's a very odd part of town.

Saturday at work was really draining. It was busier than I thought it would be and after gorging on some chinese food I really got sluggish and grumpy. I wanted to go see this band Nobody Beats the Drum at Brooklyn Bowl, but I passed on it. Partly due to social anxiety, and partly due to having no money to spend on the Brooklyn brewed beers there.

This is where writing in a blog and having a desire to share everything becomes a tricky place for me. Something bad (relatively minor considering my last year) happened but I don't feel comfortable talking about it. It involves someone else and suffice to say it ended poorly. I hope I'm not saying too much, if anyone's even reading this. I just wish I could talk about it with someone.

I guess that's why I write. I have this overwhelming desire to communicate, to express myself. Maybe because my parents never talked to me, never told me anything, never guided me through life or told me they loved me. I had/have so many feelings, emotions coursing through me, and if I don't get it out they'll consume me. I've often had boughts of severe depression and after writing a chapter in my book, it disappears.

But just a week after starting this blog, my new life, I think I've finally seen that I really need to do this right and I need to do it alone. Well, not alone, I'll need to connect with friends. Let those moments with guy friends really resonate, not retreat into a female co-dependent relationship situation, like I usually do. I need to finally be alone.

Sitting in my new apt, on the air mattress that I now own, trying to get an internet connection to stave off the loneliness. Fight through and be by myself long enough to realize that it's not so bad. That I'm not so bad. That I don't need to be crippled by insecurity, jealousy, self-pity. So many others see me as someone much stronger, and at times I feel like that person.

It's just a matter of making it stick. Let's see how we can make that happen.

K

Daily Kurt: Day #5

Up early, spent the day at Starbucks in the East Village with my laptop sucking up their newly free wifi connection. I wanted to get work done, but other than posting up the last chapter of Tower of Brahma and going through my Tumblr dashboard, I didn't get much of anything done. But I do seem to be picking up some followers now (and even won the Grace'n'Michelle caption contest).

Oh I also seem to have won a copy of Night of the Living Dead: Reanimated, which I really wanted to see and review for Write Club. It's a very cool project where different animators reimagined every scene in the original film. Should have that by the end of the month. (With all this winning I should play the lotto, that'd really solve all my problems right now.)

Money, ugh. I was debating if I had enough to eat after checking my bank balance. Just barely. So I grabbed two dollar slices and ate them at the bus stop. After a whole day sitting with two giant coffees, eating only a bagel and an OFD (old fashioned doughnut), I was a tweaked out mess. Oh, and this Starbucks didn't have a working bathroom.

So I ran to the Astor Place one, severe bladder damage taking place. I haven't had to pee like this since I saw Lord of the Rings (had to go before they left the shire, was crippled in pain by the end, but I refuse to miss a second of any movie in the theatre, except Something About Mary...fuck that movie).

Back to finances. I'm broke but at least I have living essentials and Discover and T-Mobile will start being paid off. Of course I need to get my TD account out of the negative, and start paying Bank of America and Capitol One, and deal with SallieMae. But I have a place to live for the month that's already paid for.

I sat in Washington Square Park for a few minutes formulating a plan. No time to go back to Harlem. I'm heading out to Reilly's studio and I think we're going to have some beers with Fred Van Lente. Then we'll head over to the Financial District to be extras in a pilot, staring the girl who does Ash Ketchum's (Pokemon for you adults) voice.

Should be a fun/interesting experience as I would love to do more extra work and learn more about filming. I also took my vacation days for Reilly's bday weekend at the Jersey Shore in August, and then I'll head back up to MA with Boston for a nice peaceful week of working on scripts. Ahhh. Five weeks to go.

K

Daily Kurt: Day #4 (drunk edition)

Adventures in Awkward! Alone! In a bar in Williamsburg, because I'm too scared to go home to my sublet in Harlem!

See! Passive Aggressive texts with new roommates regarding wifi.

Hear! Incessant self-pity and cries for help come from my mouth.

Smell! The body odor as I plan to walk the hotter than fuck streets until dawn.

God, what a pathetic loser. And part of me writes that sentence so you will reply with a half-hearted sentiment that will temporarily alleviate the immense depression that consumes me. But what does that do? A patch on a sinking ship? Maybe.

It's me grasping at straws, throwing whatever sticks at the problem, hoping I can stay afloat for another day. I'm such a fucking loser. I have this mental block. I can't just talk to people, I chastise myself for every miscalculated attempt to integrate with humanity. I feel the need to cry underneath every moment of my existence.

I know I'm fortunate, been lucky, had shit handed to me on a silver platter, but none of that seems to matter. I'm here again, buried so deep in myself and spouting nothing but bitterness. I'm getting drunker and drunker, which at least keeps the hunger at bay for awhile.

I hate everyone too much to function. I have this crazy desire to be social and liked, yet I fucking want everyone to die screaming. I can not stand even myself at this point. This is why people must be made to work until they are near the point of exhaustion, both physical and mental: we can not be trusted with free time.

It's then that we don't even know what to do with ourselves. We must face ourselves and our failures, our short-comings. We see firsthand the horror of who we are. Every flaw is magnified. I hate myself ten thousand times more with every casual glance inwards. I think of people who genuinely like themselves and wish I could fake that kind of delusion for more than a moment.

The fucking weirdo in the corner typing away on his phone. Little do they know what I'm writing. That I've just finished the second to last chapter of my novel. Here I am writing, hoping to be a Beat Poet, in the soulless vacuum of hipsterdom. Irony seeps from the pores of the fake wood panelling.

I have a tab open, which perhaps I should close but where would I even go that would be any better? Nowhere. Hell perhaps. Bed most definitely. But I've got hours til I can safely head up to Harlem. At least three. Maybe I'll just get a pack of smokes, despite it being so hot as to make me seriously contemplate quitting, and walk the entire city until the sun comes up.

Ahh fuck it. The hipsters are breaking open a pinata, one wears it like a hat, while the others take pictures. There's very little difference between the average hardcore hipster and the ultimate douchebag. A delusional shift in style is all.

I've made the requisite bad decision drunken mistake texts and emails. Isolated myself in a corner booth as I judge everyone around me. Hoping they don't notice as I take a drunken headshot of myself. God, what a fucking loser I am (and this time I'm not hoping you'll correct me).

Daily Kurt: Day #3

I have a fan. The heat is unbearable, but at least there's a breeze today, and I fit a few hours of sleeping in AC last night (thanks!). I got a beard trimmer to get this facial hair off of me, and I'm up early for my second day of the new schedule, and the last day of my work week.

It's rough working such an erratic schedule. No stability in my sleep patterns. I'm usually awake when no one else is. Asleep when everyone's IMing at their offices. Having the middle of my shift stress as others go for Happy Hour. It was so weird getting out "early" last night (at 11pm), and actually seeing people still out and about.

I don't have much of a social life anymore. Haven't in years really. The friends I do have are busy with their significant others or making plans to do whatever it is people do. At least I saw Reilly on Saturday Night when we hit up the Commodore (my new favorite bar) in Wburg. But with two days off coming up, I wonder what I'll do with all that free time.

I really need an internet connection (haven't had one in my living space for six months) in order to get more work done. As it is, I'm not sure how I got as much done in that time as I have. I really need to get back on the ball with WRITE CLUB, my comic/writing/art/misc. blog/podcast, that Tim has kept running for the last few weeks as I finally get my life together.

I have a few things I want to review, Elizabeth Seward's Free Song Mondays, Erin 's short film VLOG, and this indie clothing line Rocket Science. I love living in NYC for the synchronicity of creativity here. Just as I've been starting to focus on animation I was sold a copy of independent 2D animators work this morning on the subway. For one dollar I got a DVD of their work...material to review for the blog, indie creators to help promote, and networking with potential collaborators.

All just by being here and riding the subway. So I'll watch the short films on it and review them. I'll keep writing these daily entries. Hopefully I'll finally finish this epic second-to-last chapter of Tower of Brahma. I'll start the outline for the new comic/animated video. Maybe even start a video series on YouTube (all the cool kids are doing it), just wish I had a decent computer to edit on.

In the next day or two I'll give a rundown of the projects I have going on and a better explanation of who I am and what I hope to accomplish. Also, probably a lot of remuniating upon the idea of sharing personal information via blogging, and how hard it is to be totally honest here despite how desperately I want to be.

But for now, I'll just be lying in front of my new fan, in the dark, up in Harlem, until I have to go to work where I can post this up with some new pictures.

Stay cool people.

K

Daily Kurt: Day #2

So I'm fitting this in just a half hour before the end of day two. Been a quick yet long day. After leaving work at 5am I got home to set up my air mattress, throw on sheets, shower and pass out, only to wake up sweating to death in an apparently record setting heatwave.

Then I quick-stepped to work, melting in jeans and a button up shirt through Harlem with its open hydrants and slew of kids making their way to the skate park at 145th & Riverside. No time to go get a fan, ugh. Then the trains took twice as long as they did before to get me down to 34th.

But the first day of my new shift went okay, although I feel the tendency to go postal a bit more. I fear what the stress of the tail end of day shift and the start of night shift will do to my work demeanor. At least it's overly air conditioned at the Daily News.

Inbetween work I spent some time reblogging stuff on my tumblr 'BRAIN THRUST', which seems to be paying off. I'm gaing new followers every day and it seems a handful of people read day one of this blog, so thank you for reading! It's hard to build an audience on the internet when you're not a topless underage girl.

I tacked on a few more paragraphs onto the latest Tower of Brahma chapter, but still have a bit to go. I'm anxious to start on a new script for what will be either a comic or (hopefully) an animated music video. Get to that on my days off. Just remembered that Starbucks now offers free wifi so guess where I'll be on my days off? Starbucks on 9th & 2nd Ave, my fav one of course.

As I got out of work I saw a slew of girls all dressed up in ridiculous prom dresses or whatever, and I guess it's because Lady Gaga was performing at MSG tonight. It just reminds me that my ex fucked her DJ who was a published writer. I try not to let that get to me, but ti does. Mainly for the fact that I'm still struggling to have my stuff read online for free.

But it's coming together. Boston is up in Northhampton loving his new job as a Park Ranger, getting writing done, and has fallen in love (again) already. I also found out that Grant Morrison's documentary will be premiering at New York Comicon so now I don't feel so bad not going to San Diego with Reilly now.

Tomorrow should be easier and more productive, and then it's two days off where I'll be working all day and doing up some Video Games & Beer with Stu Horvath. If I can I might try and check out the new Midtown Comics (ironically in the Financial District) and maybe grab some stuff from storage.

I'll also try and get back to daily Improv Writing where I take two suggestions and craft a short story around them. It was a great writing exercise and a fun way to involve the audience (you guys) more.

Thanks for checking up on me. Now I'm off to do some stuff I can't talk about on here before I pass out.

Night!

K

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

Today's Song: 'You & Me' by Lifehouse

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

K