The year was 1991.... a young fledgling rock star from Seattle was in pain. A lot of pain. Rigorous touring was not to blame. Soon the young musician realized something was wrong. Very wrong. His wife, that he'd had memories of but never actually met was missing from his life. From that time period in general. Trapped in 2012, she awaits a way back. A way back to change the future... a future that turns into a place with no Kurt Cobain.

A murder plot that turns into the most famous suicide in history, this site is dedicated to the small story of the husband who left a billion clues for the wife who figured them out.

Now her goal is to avenge her husband's death by pinning the murderer's with their crime...

Meanwhile she pours herself into her journal, awaiting the day she is finally reunited with her husband in time.

Letters to Kurt...


Sunday, June 13, 2010

"Kurt I can still feel you more than ever...."


Dear Kurt,



This title was a spray-painted note I recently witnessed in a photograph of a graffiti-filled bench that graces the park on the outskirts of your old Lake Washington property. This phrase is especially touching to me because in a way it represents the purpose behind writing to you beyond the grave.

In a way, some of us like to believe in doing things like this, we are somewhat keeping you company. Or as I stated in my first entry, letting you know that we are still here for you -- that you haven't been forgotten. That although the ones who took you away reaped the financial benefits of it, the ones who shed a tear on your behalf and the lack of truth and justice behind it, feel that your soul is still present.

At least in our hearts. And that's an even greater benefit.

I've been away from home for four days now... and I miss my guitar. I will have exactly one night to practice before I whisk off to another location where there are no familiar faces.... no one who knows my heart.

I'm eager to get back to Los Angeles, the only place I've ever felt a contentment to make a home, and build a normal life. See the same people, day after day. The same scenery night after night. The majority of the world is used to this. They find it boring and dull. But to the ones who have lived the opposite for so many years -- such as your self with your touring, we know how unsettling the bouncing around can be.

You stated in your journal that you couldn't "wait to get home"... then in parenthesis, you either wrote "Whenever that is" or "Wherever that is", your handwriting was a bit off. But I feel it was

"Wherever", and you were unsure of your place and where your home and heart was as well. A definite level of unsettled feelings plaguing your life.

I adored reading through your entries and the personality that shined through so distinctly. You reminded me of myself quite a bit with your obvious need to be extremely thankful, apologetic, and the desire to let your friends know that you appreciated them and cared that they gave you the chance to be in their lives.

The fact that you signed every letter with "Love, your pal" and on some occasions even adding "Best pal" was unbelievably adorable. Still signing notes this way in your mid-twenties.... made my heart swell inside and think over and over -- what a miraculous loss.

I've also recently watched a video of the band performing at a small club during the beginning stages of Nirvana, where you took it upon yourself to crowdsurf off of the stage, and somehow, the situation got out of hand.... and the bouncers had a hard time getting you back out of the crowd and onto the stage... that when they finally did -- The HUGE security guy starts punching you.

As you go down, he then proceeds in kicking you while your bandmates pull him from you. You stand there, like a sweet, innocent, confused little boy. And it reminded me of the time just recently when I was in Kansas City and innocently asked to use the bathroom in a public store, and I ended up receiving the same treatment.

When I saw that video of you, it was the first time I've felt as though I'm not the only one who has bizarre things like that happen out of the blue. They usually only happen to sweet, undeserving people -- kind of like your death.

Why is it, that such people with hearts of gold end up screwed.... when people with grey ones seem to live on forever?


Peace.... Love.... Empathy,


Justice Seeker.

No comments: