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...


Wednesday, February 15, 2012

"Suicide Note" Analyzation --

Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee.

This note should be pretty easy to understand. (I"D REALLY THINK HARD BEFORE I ASSUME THAT)

All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now.

I feel guity beyond words about these things.

For example when we're back stage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowds begins., it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in the the love and adoration from the crowd which is something I totally admire and envy.

The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun.
(BUT YET ONE IS PROPELLED TO ASK, IF YOU CONSIDER "FAKING" YOUR ENJOYMENT TO PERFORM AS A HORRIBLE CRIME TO COMMITT, WHAT DO YOU CONSIDER BLOWING YOUR BRAINS OUT??)


Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do,God, believe me I do, but it's not enough).

I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone.

(YOU PLANNED ON STILL BEING AROUND TO NOTICE THE DIFFERENCE OF NOT HAVING ALL THE GLORY ONCE YOU WALKED AWAY.... HENCE HOW ARE YOU ABLE TO APPRECIATE SOMETHING WHEN IT'S GONE IF YOU'RE DEAD??)



I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child.
On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone.

There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know!

I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what i used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function.

I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.
(SO YOU'D RATHER HER BECOME A WOMAN WHO BLOWS HER OWN BRAINS OUT? OR WERE YOU SIMPLY CONSIDERING A CHANGE OF PACE AND IMAGE....)

I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.

Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.

(YOU DON"T HAVE THE PASSION TO PERFORM ANYMORE, AND SO IT'S BETTER TO DISAPPEAR WHILE ON TOP, VERSUS FADING AWAY INTO OBLIVION, HENCE WEARING OUT YOUR WELCOME LIKE MANY OLD TIME MUSICIANS....)


Peace, love, empathy.
Kurt Cobain

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