Friday, March 30, 2012


Cause of Death: Unknown

When I was a kid I didn't play video games much. When I did I really liked the types of games where you could roam around with no real purpose and swim in the pools and run to the edge of the game. I don't know what that means, but it must mean something. I think I'll miss you, but that depends on what happens next.



Pretty sure PTS is the most adorable person who ever lived.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Annie B.

Cause of Death: Intentional Bear Mauling

There's a map in the nightstand that marks where the bodies are buried,



Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Stephanie Alia

Cause of Death: Didn't die :'(

I was asked to write a suicide note, but the truth is I’m far too selfish and much too vain to ever do such a thing. I also realize I have an innate ability to annoy the hell out of people or to unintentionally offend others. If I killed myself, I could never annoy others again or by dying I would provide my enemies with a brief moment of relief and joy. This is not going to happen. This may disappoint some people (which only incites silent joy from me because I managed to annoy you somehow), but it’s the truth. I’m a royal pain in the ass and genuine pain in the asses stay alive to torment others. Besides, someone has to stay alive to make fun of all your suicide notes…

Salvy B

Cause of Death: Unknown



Oh Death, how I have longed for thee. No longer do I fear you as the rest do. Your warm embrace has always been waiting for me. Here I come, you are no longer a mystery, the final piece of this 28 year puzzle is in place. Goodbye all, I know you will gaze upon my lifeless body with silent disgust as well as feel touched by thoughts of your own mortality and that will cause you to feel sorrow, but I do not want you to see my death as a loss, for you are all the losers. I in fact have beat you to the finish line. This was never a marathon, but instead a sprint. I will leave you with this: “Once upon a time, a long long time ago there was a planet floating all alone in space. Miraculously it sustained many forms of life moving and non-moving creatures and they would all take great pleasure in watching the heavens above them revolving in perfect harmonic order. Before televisions and radios existed, before podcasts and internet pornography had even been imagined, families would gather round the fire and they would tell folk the stories to pass the time and take wisdom from the elders. Once upon a time, a god asked a great king 'what is the most amazing thing in the world?'. The king replied that every day a million souls pass into the abode of death and yet none believes that they shall follow.”

Sunday, March 25, 2012

A. Baum

Cause of Death: Officially unknown.  *RUMOR HAS IT* He had himself baked into several oversized cakes, to be delivered to everyone he'd ever had a falling out with.

"You know the worst thing a parent could hear?"
I don't respond to his question.
"That their child is selfish enough to have killed himself. The worst thing. Hands down."
I turn over in the sterile, uncomfortable mental hospital bed to ignore whatever point he is attempting to make.  As if I am going to let some 40 something, small town, tough lovin,' male nurse motherfucker make me feel less than I already do.

I'm in a mental institution for a "Suicide attempt." I prefer the term "Exhaustion." I imagine a crow smashing through the window and pecking the male nurse's face into something Nagel-esque.
So, I guess I forgot to write a suicide note. After surviving a "Suicide attempt," I find myself in the glamourous Ventura County Mental Hospital where I am writing a post suicide note. I wish I could write it in Wingdings. You know, to get it out of the way if I find myself in suicide purgatory again.  I guess a lot of things landed me here. I've been struggling with drug abuse since I learned to drive. I feel I was raised in a suffocating enviornment as someone I clearly am not, I've never had a serious relationship, and I am so manic that I self destruct before I even begin. Everything I've ever cherished I have lost as a result of my emotional downfalls. Every opportunity that has been presented to me, I have destroyed, mercilessly, and I can recall the last time I was sober and truly happy - it was when I was 11- that terrifies me. I'm 22 now.  Whether I will be genuinely satisfied ever again is a serious point of contention. All of these things  race around in my head on a daily basis; however, are not necessarily the reasons I find myself here today. No, I just think I am "Exhausted." Suicide letter cliches aside, I'm just sick and tired of being sick and tired.
The term "Exhaustion" is the best public relations term any agency has ever created to mask what's really going on with someone. Rather than reporting that someone has been on a drug and alcohol binge leading to a complete, dibillating, collapse, they report that the person is suffering from a bout of "Exhaustion." I truly am exhausted.

"What do you mean?"
"We mean that we aren't coming to run and see you everytime you try something like this. Not anymore. It happens all the time."
"Well, I'm exhausted, and can't believe that my own fucking parents won't come to see me after I try to kill myself again."
"Are they treating you nicely?"
"Quite frankly, no, but what the fuck do you care?"
"Whatever, I gotta go."

"You need to start talking to us."

"Um, I'm "Exhausted" and my friends are coming to visit me here. One of them is bringing me a corndog. Atleast my friends come and see me. Says a lot. Thanks for letting me call collect. Bye."

Exhaustion (ig - zaws - chuhn)
1. The act or process of exhaustion.

2. The state of being exhausted.

3. Extreme weakness or fatigue.

4. The total consumption of something.

The total consumption of something pretty much sums it up. "Something?" Something meaning life. I am utterly "Exhausted" of trying.

"Exhausted" of contemplating the rest of my life.

"Exhausted" of not being able to eat all day.

"Exhausted" of waking up and going through the motions of having to eat, shit, and take care of myself.

"Exhausted" of aging.

"Exhausted" of aging without plastic surgery.

"Exhausted" of imagining my old, drug scarred, wrinkly skin.

"Exhausted" of trying to explain anything to anyone.

"Exhausted" of having to make small talk.

"Exhausted" of imagining myself alone and decrepit in old age.

"Exhausted" of imagining speeding in a car and veering off of a cliff.

"Exhausted" of stealing peoples sleeping pills to assemble a large prescription death cocktail.

"Exhausted" of writing this note.

"Exhausted" of throwing chairs at the cops that put me here.

"Exhausted" of money and hustlin'.

"Exhausted" of just wanting to be genuinely content.

"Exhausted" of having to get fucked up to feel remotely alright and then feeling even more like shit when I'm not fucked up anymore.

"Exhausted" of always falling in love with someone who doesn't feel the same.

"Exhausted" of my voice.

"Exhausted" of bills and life maintainence.

"Exhausted" of wiping my ass.

"Exhausted" of the concept of love.

"Exhausted" of remembering when I realized people lose their magic in adolescents.

"Exhausted" of phonecalls like the one I mentioned earlier in this letter.

"Exhausted" of soul searching.

"Exhausted" of entertaining people.

"Exhausted" of wondering why I don't feel guilty.

"Exhausted" of people losing their hard - ons.

"Exhausted of sex.

"Exhausted" of people with damages.

"Exhausted" of people without damages.

"Exhausted" of people.

"Exhausted" of being "Exhausted."

Yes, I did in fact list some things that led me to this; however, I feel the term "Exhaustion" pretty much sums it up. I'm just "Exhausted", and you know what, I'm probably too "Exhausted" to try to kill myself again, but until then this will be my note. I hope you never feel "Exhausted." Tah tah.

I can't do this anymore.


Cause of death: sarcasm

Cause of death: read the lyrics

Cause of death: bed post splinters

Cause of death: awesome music

Cause of death: desert shark attack

Cause of death: nightmares

*This is a suicide note (just to get the horror out of the way)

Last Call For Vitriol


Hush little baby don’t say a word

And never mind that noise you heard

It’s just the beast under your bed

In your closet in your head


Satan's waitin'


Thursday, March 22, 2012


Cause of Death: Unknown

Dear family, friends and collegues,

I had to do this- my two selves were becoming more than I could handle. I was becoming so anally retentive, even my suicide note has a works cited page. I didn’t want to be that person at age 50, reciting to my young teeny bopper friends, “only 80% you have to give to society, but that 20%, it’s that 20% you have all to yourself” while wearing a wig and Joan Crawford makeup. Even worse, I could have ended up like Harry Russo playing “shoots and fucking ladders”. Thanks, Fort Worth, TX aka Whataburger Jr.

Love you lots.


Cause of Death: Violence, Blaze of Glory, Immolation?


I've had it. You're like a bad dream that I can't escape. You're like that neverending hangover that just won't go away, no matter how much aspirin I take or heroin I do at once. You're the leech on my back reminding me how fucked up everything is, and the vampire that's been sucking the soul right out of my ass. So now, this is it. I'm doing myself in. Letting the demon out. Ready for the big bang, baby. Yup, because I'm a walking corpse now. I have to be out of my mind to think this was the only way out, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Here's to all the pain and suffering, and to all the whores, scoundrels, users, and abusers. Goodbye, cruel world of despair. Enjoy fucking yourself without me. I will no longer be your big black dildo.

Fuck you


Cause of Death: Unknown


He was a sensitive soul.  He was routinely forced to suppress the light in himself.  The indigestion that resulted became unbearable.


He was a beautiful expression who never made it out of the birth canal.  He could see the way forward, he could see dreams manifesting for others out there, but no matter how hard he struggled, he could not push through.  For years he cried for the doctor’s hands to reach in and pull him free.  They never came.


People failed to acknowledge or attend to this tragedy.  There were far more critical tragedies at hand - there were cancers and social upheavals and ecological disasters way more interesting than the everyday dull, slow death of soul light.  At first it was far less painful to just reject the truth: he was a stillbirth.  Without hope or support, he failed to develop.  He comforted himself in inner universes of the most ornate design.  These innerverses held more beauty and appeal than anything a harsh surface world had to offer.  Yet, he saw his designs as something more than self-solace.  He saw a gift that could bring truth and joy to the outside.  Maybe something that could make the cancers and upheavals easier to understand, easier to cope with.  Maybe the gift could help ensure less future stillbirths.


Constant rejection of the facts eroded him to an end point.  His expression had no use in an overcrowded time and place.  The once evenly dispersed vanguard of truly unique thinkers across the ages had suddenly burst into a phalanx now at critical mass.  They had gobbled up and regurgitated every minute detail of life, every hidden corner of abstract thought until the material was all gone.  Erosion.  There was no new material, only rehash.  His gifts lost value.  He visited the innerverses less and less.  Someone had on the same shirt as he did.  Resentment and doubt became the rules of the day.  To go on perpetually unable to manifest dreams would only create pain for himself and others.  The fetus would calcify.  It would grow bitter and indifferent.  Once this truth was accepted, he made the responsible decision to excuse himself from a hostile and insufferable environment, as quietly as possible.


As he went, the little universes went with him.  As the world denied him, so he denied the world.  Or so he thought?  Secret being - he had fantasied that the blueprints and literature for these universes might possibly be discovered for future generations.  He felt his work might achieve cult status posthumously.  Once this current deluge of dreams and ideas (the overpopulation of artists, bands, films, writings), once this fad subsided, the wheat separated from the chaff, maybe his work could be reappraised.  And the people might bemoan a former, ignorant generation that overlooked his talents and cast him aside for much shallower work that saturated the market.  Perhaps without him even being alive to engineer, his past dreams could go on to liberate many.  He dreamt his face on T-shirts.  He dreamt of cover albums and post-mortem interviews where people hailed him as a genius and a prophet.  Loved ones and contemporaries would come to laugh about his personality flaws and brush off his misdeeds in favor of accolade.  They would muse on what the world might be like had he decided to stay in it.  Had the right people cared and validated him.


john kennedy toole

Franz kafka

Emily Dickinson

Henry darger


But then ... he also suspected himself to be, in truth, a complete hack.  That nobody would ever unearth, revive or find any functional need for the things he'd dreamed up.  Not even in the deepest underground by the heaviest outsiders. He never achieved success because his ideas were bad.  He wasn't sensitive, he lacked balls.  He was lazy.  He was unoriginal.  That's why nothing ever manifested for him.  The image of the selfless martyr who poured lovelight into his dreams, attempting tragically to share them with a sleeping world was total self-delusion, invented to save himself from nightmarish self-realizations: he was an intensely selfish, self-involved, self-aggrandizing monster devoid of any compassion for humanity.  And devoid of original thought, he manipulated any person who'd fall for his act, while resenting those who did not.  He blamed them and every thing else but his own sloth and ineptitude for the meager lot he'd been given.  And whatever real love did manage to seep out of him was conditional and subjective.  He only ever really strived to better his own position, in attempt to live out some superficial fantasy, to cushion himself from the certainty of suffering, rather than facing pain and alleviating it for others.  But, even in manipulation and navel-gazing, he was total MOR.  These were the real things that halted his development, that kept him from his grails.  Change now was an impossibility.  In this lifetime at least.  Maybe in the next he could come back and achieve maximum potential.  But in this body and time, there was only one way out.  He'd ruined himself - wound himself too tight in conditioning and neuroses and vice and shortcomings.  End it.  Spare yourself.  Spare everyone around you.  This is a fucking horror show.


No matter.  He is gone now.  He was another human being who came onto the scene, wasted some oxygen, wasted precious resources, bumped around a bunch of other wastrels with the same petty agendas, and then left just as cowardly as he came.


Cause of Death: STAGE FRIGHT


There are literally countless reasons to kill myself.

I am 28 years old.

I have a bachelors degree…but

I work at a Chilis in Moore, Oklahoma.

People here are so fat we had to remove all the booths

And replace them with tables so they could fit.

It also creates more space for

Oxygen tanks and insulin kits.

My degree is in art.

The last creative thing I did was

Make a bacon and egg waffle house

Mobile out of construction paper

And fishing wire.

I live in a house with someone who

Farts all day long.

Sometimes he farts so hard

He has to excuse himself to use

The bathroom because he came

‘this close’

to shitting his pants.

My “boyfriend” and best friend

Of 6 years hates me.

He would rather watch movies

About love

Then actually love me.

We broke up months ago

But we still live together.

I go to bed every single night

Next to the love of my life

And I cant do anything but

Hope he wakes up one day

(Sooner than later)

And decides he wants to love me back.

I haven’t had sex in 6 months.

And I don’t really see a light at the end of

This tunnel.

My bipolar medication makes me

Have to sleep for at least 10 hours a day-

But im so broke

And have to work so many hours-

I cant get that kind of sleep

And so I am a zombie most of the time.

I cry myself to sleep almost every single night.

I have become an Oklahoma housewife.

All I do is wash dishes and cook dinner

And spend my one day off cleaning up

After people.

The only time I leave the house is to

Meet up with people I hate to

drink until I black out.

I am having such a hard time-

But I live thousands of miles away from my family

And closest (only) friends.

I have rolled myself into debt.

I started smoking again

After quitting for a year and a half.

I cant afford my therapist.

I am the ugliest I can ever remember being.

I feel…so….


Like ive come undone.

Like everything is ending before it

Ever had a chance to begin.

I feel like I have worn people down.

I have worn myself down into a lesser

Version of something.

I am far far far away.

(whatever that even means).

But the reason why I am going to kill myself

Has nothing to do with any of this.

The reason why I am going to kill myself is

Because im bored and

Theres nothing on TV.

Im going to kill myself because

I cant handle seeing Tom Cruise

Ever again.


If I am dead-

I don’t have to do laundry tomorrow.

Or put gas in my car.

Or take a shower.

Or respond to text messages.

Or get out of bed.

Or do anything, really.




Please place my remains in the spots I love most.Topa
Sespe Gorge
Piedra Blanca
Painted Cave
Las Croces
Buffalo Ridge
Absaroka Range

Thank you.

To the West, The Great American Oceans, Goldman, The Center of Information and the initial avalanche,

This is my first time breathing.
My soul comes from deep inside the earth. Formed long ago, from a collection of
minerals, soils, and water that were pushed around by plate movement and earth
formation. I was mixed together like an ancient recipe. A gradual and lengthy shift in
plates eventually pushed my lot of earth skyward; creating a tall mountain range out of
my surroundings. Parts of my hard stone shell touched light, and broke through to the
surface of the hillsides. And while my exteriors could feel the patter of life on the
surface, I still lay dormant, not trapped but protected deep inside stone.

I could feel everyday and every night.
Warming. Cooling. Warming. Cooling. Passing years blurred into
each other. I understood everything. Although I could not physically see, the world made
sense. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be, and there was a content
curiosity flowing through my stone. My location became something I could sense.
There were blessed trees, a flowing river, that just like the sunlight would rise and fall.
The water would rise and soak me at times. Other times it would flow weak. There was
much peace in this bit of earth I was apart of. This world is clockwork. It lay untouched
for eons.

Natives discovered the small part of the canyon I was dormant in. I could sense
their presence in the canyons. They were harmless. Respectful. While they didn’t know
me, they knew of me and called my fellow mountains and stones by spirit names. They
believed that everything on this earth had a spirit. A character. Whether it was a body of
water, a cloud, or an insect. They never settled on the same bit of earth as I, yet they
could come. Sometimes in small groups, other times by themselves. They came to seek
solitude; to bathe in the waters. They believed they would live forever. It was sacred

Very little could break me open. My exterior was perhaps the hardest pericarp in
existence. Creatures had climbed on me. Rains had fallen, corrosion had occurred, yet I
still remained in an embryonic stage, until one early morning,
something fell out of the sky. It came at an incredible force and did not intend on
stopping. Like me, it too had a hard exterior. The southern winds ganged up and
pushed into my territory. it smashed right into me
and dissolved my home into dust and sand. My soul had erupted, breathed, and sensed
the world for the first time.

My bits and pieces traveled. Not necessarily a path I wanted to take, but it was
inevitable. I launched into the river, and I was carried east. Humans going
westward found me traveling through streams, brooks, and rivers. This is when I entered
a human body. I was drank. Absorbed. I entered bloodstreams and traveled through the
canals of mind. For an unknown reason, I eventually became part of the human being.
Fine combed and perfected, I had come into my own as a part of the human circle. While
there were still many years of dormancy, I had earned a place in the bodies of men.
Eventually I was born into the form of a boy. I breathed, and was given a name. Hunter
John Skowron. I am a first time human, although I have lived before.
Please put me back, as I am due for a journey to the House of Domes.



I just couldn't take the fact that we never found Charman. I'm sorry.

Ps. I'm not really sorry at all.

Pps. Not even a little bit.


Suicide Note*:

Dear Reader,


You’re welcome.



*Note found attached to the outside of a plastic bag taped around the deceased’s anus. The exterior of the bag and the note itself secured ratings of “mostly clean” upon their discovery. No official record exists of the cleanliness of the deceased’s pants. Local legend holds the pants’ condition as “reduced to a pile of ashes several feet from the body”. Also is ‘deceased’ one of those words like ‘inflammable’?

Nicholas Heet


Cause of Death: Drowning

i've been far too aware for far too long. not of anything terribly substantial, mind you. i was just too aware of how people tend to be. party party, be an asshole, party party, get dissed, get pissed, react, part party. it sickens me how horribly predictable people have become. how absolutely thoughtless. i was no exception. i lived my life far too plainly, in this pattern, to warrant any kind of high horse. i found no climax or respit... only a constant lull. i quietly judged people, forming my own opinions on the current human condition, being all too aware of the whiny tag i would be awarded if i voiced any of them. now, i am safe. now, i am quiet. now, i am perfect. fuck this existence. if i were not dead and scattered right now, i would pity those i left behind. to quote the movie Last Life In the Universe... "this is bliss"... sadly, i cannot confirm or deny this to any of you. BYYYYEEEEE

Wednesday, March 21, 2012


Cause of Death: Overdose


1. To All of You

Sorry is only two syllables. It's not a big enough word. I know that. But it's simple and it gets the point across.

I'm sorry to leave you this way. I am not leaving because of you. The largesse of your love, collectively as my loved ones, has been truly humbling. Know that I know that you all gave as well as you could, and that I am grateful to each and every one of you. My only hope is that I have shown you not only my gratitude, but also how much a privilege it has been to be a part of all of your lives.

I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough to keep going. I fought every day, until eventually all of that fight got wrung out of me in tight wrenching twists. And now I'm just... withered, old in my heart and moldering at the edges.

I'm sorry that I just can't accept that you – or anyone else, for that matter – could ever accept me for exactly who I am.

Off now. My White Rabbit self reminds me impatiently that I am late, late, late for this, my most important of dates. Mustn't keep the Red Queen waiting.



2. To Myself

"Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy." – Proverbs 14:10

That was always your favorite Bible quote, wasn't it? You found it during those years when you were trying to win your mother back with Jesus in your corner, desperately hoping to impress upon her that you were more than some dispensable deviant-in-training.

Didn't quite work out, now did it?

So here you sit, in the bathtub of some nondescript hotel room (far away from both your hometown and from the town you've begrudgingly called home for so long), rambling on and hoping not to leave too much of a mess for the nameless Dominican maid who will find you tomorrow morning.

Raspberry dark chocolate on your tongue and enough Percocet to kill a professional wrestler, poured out into a bowl resting on the closed toilet lid, as innocuous-looking as a candy dish full of after-dinner mints.

Looks like you're ready to go.

You know, you tried this same way once before, when you were 19. Wrote a note in purple pen, jammed a fistful in your mouth, and laid down, hoping never to get back up again. But you did. And you were fucking pissed. You slogged through your school day scowling in the sunlight, doodling knives in notebook margins, crying quietly in the bathroom.

Remember that? Of course you do.

Not again.



Cause of Death: Self Inflicted Gunshot Wound

"I feel vulnerable or something."

You guise,

I did this because I’m sad. I’ve been sad for years. I’ve been in pain for years. This is not your fault. Pray for my soul, if that is what will bring you peace and solace.
Lucy, I love you, and you’ll probably forget about me in about 2 weeks, which is kind of funny.
Meghla, continue living your life the way you have been. You mean everything to our parents and you have no idea how proud they are of you. I was a burden in everyone’s life, and I really think you’ll be much better off without me. Don’t believe me? Give it a few years, you’ll see. I love you.
Shahan, I’m the least worried about you, because I’ve always kind of known that you are destined to find someone better. Better, in the sense that they won’t be insane and kill themselves, and I know you’ll find someone that will love you, and take care of you. They will be an overall better wife and human being than I ever could have been. What I’m saying is: you deserve better. I love you.
To my parents, I’m sorry that you have now lost all three kids that were involved in the accident. I always assumed people that knew about the accident saw me as the ‘surviving child that probably has mental issues’. Well, they were right! (Lol, but not actually laughing). You have managed to cope with the loss of two children and I hope you have the strength to cope with this loss too. But PLEASE don’t neglect Meghla the way you neglected me so long ago. She NEEDS counseling. Please don’t make the same mistake twice. I love you both.
I’m sorry for putting all of you in this horrible situation, what with dealing with the funeral arrangements and going to Bangladesh and all that. Please don’t have an ‘open casket’ viewing of my body, mainly because I think that’s disgusting and I don’t want Meghla to see me LITERALLY at my very worst.

Samuel Dominguez

Cause of Death: Unknown

So, I've decided that I would just do a suicide email with a link to my suicide website where you could sign up for news letters on how I'm doing in the afterlife, but they would be written by Chuck Palahniuk acting as Stephen Hawking. Then I could just disappear to Switzerland or Australia and start a new life.

Notes From (6 feet) Underground

It's been a while. I've missed you. Sometimes you're just too crazy for the internet, you know? What kind of realizations did you all have during the past year? What are you all doing with your lives?

To quote Oz Davidson, "Congrats brats! You made it through the Winter without killing yourselves!" So proud of you. To celebrate, here's the notes you would have left if you did, cause you know....