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, August 22, 2010

Welcome to Seattle.

Dear Kurt,

A few days ago I got back from Seattle where I spent a few hours hanging the flyers in hopes that your case will be re-opened.

I hung them sporadically and randomly. Hoping that I would be granted enough sunshine for a few days for people to read them.

I watched one man approach as we walked away, a glimmer of satisfaction in my heart that hopefully, your soul, through my hands, would be granted peace of mind.

Another girl saw your photo on the page as she passed and said, "Wait. What about Kurt Cobain? Can I have one of those to read?"

It felt good to feel as though people still care. Later that night I hung one outside the bar where I was drinking, and later I casually stepped outside for a cigarette. I watched as a guy approached the poster and read it from start to finish.

My heart soared with satisfaction. Just the idea of reminding people of your beautiful soul sixteen years later. A soul that had no intention of being remembered as some suicide statistic.

In the span of two days... I visited your birthplace... And the place of your death. And as I taped the flyer to the bench on your old property -- staring up at the window of the house where your life was claimed...

My heart broke. I took a few puffs from my smoke before I crushed it out on the ground -- and noticed all the other cigarettes smoked in that exact location. All the people who came to pay their respects to a man we could all relate to, smoking those cigarettes in contemplation asking themselves why?

Asking why... Why you, Kurt?

Why you?

Peace, Love, Empathy,

Justice Seeker

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Welcome to Aberdeen.

Dear Kurt,

Just entered Aberdeen for lunch. We will be passing by your sign -- "Welcome to Aberdeen. Come as you are..." And I will be posting my campaign propaganda across its surface.

I haven't forgotten, and you deserve justice.


Saturday, August 14, 2010

Another lonely birthday....

Dear Kurt,

My birthday just ended twenty minutes ago.... and I spent the night alone in a hotel room -- drinking. Would you be surprised?

It's a hundred percent true that a writer falls in love with their subject. And I feel that. I feel tremendous love for this person that I don't even know. But I have such a profound need to defend him -- if others appear to be using him. My heart breaks. And it hurts. But he looks at me as the enemy. But until he sees my side.... that's what I'll always be to him. The enemy.

I will be in Seattle soon. I count the moments......

Peace, Love, Empathy,

Justice Seeker.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Sleep deprived in Washington... (dc)

Dear Kurt,

Tonight I drank too much and then I sent an email to a very important lawyer about how I drink too much and that's too blame for all the jerkoff emails I send him. Smart huh?

What's wrong with me? I'm so uncool. I'm an idiot. Everything I touch turns to shit. I wish you were still here so you could give me a lesson on coolness. Cuz tonight I flunked. And yesterday... and tomorrow.

If passion, soul and heart was gold-plated.... I could buy my own country. Hope is running thin...


Friday, August 6, 2010

If that's a masterpiece... I should be swimming in offers...

Dear Kurt,

Tonight I completed watching a film entitled "Last Days" that was loosely based on the end of your life. In a word, it was a disgrace. The director basically had you flopping around as if you were indeed some deluded mental case, the last media status of your personality that Courtney tried with all her might to imply.

But the real facts (which were nowhere in this interpretation of the end of your life), clearly prove that you were of sound, mind and body. And went as far as describing you as the happiest you'd ever been, with a profound sense of clarity.

Not some vagrant wandering about, muttering to yourself with your head hung low. Nice job Gus Van Sant. Oh, and I love the gay interlude that you threw in which contained no real purpose other than to distinguish it as one of your films.

The DVD box states critical acclaim: "A real masterpiece!" And I really have to wonder at this point.... do filmmakers pay journalists for these high accolades?

In a related topic, I may finally get my chance to visit Seattle soon.... and I will be gracing telephone poles with my campaign spread.

Peace, Love, Empathy,

Justice Seeker.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Off topic in Hollywood.

Films I wish I'd written, but sadly someone else took credit:

Thelma and Louise
True Romance
The Runner
Count of Monte Cristo
Veronica Guerin
Waking the Dead

Just to name a few. And I'm sure each and every one of these has lead to an inspiring break-through for my actual scripts. Many similar in style.