But yeah anyways I had to explain to her everything that’s been going on these past few months, and she’s mildly concerned so I have to get another EEG, and when I get the results back I have to go on Topamax (which is used to treat seizures and headaches). And hopefully that’ll fix err’thang that’s wrong with me these days.
“Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they’d bore you or something. Jane was different. We’d get into a goddam movie or something, and right away we’d start holding hands, and we wouldn’t quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a big deal out of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.”—The Catcher in the Rye (via thesoundtrackofsummer)
At some point you will realize that you have done too much for someone or something, that the only next possible step to do is to stop. Leave them alone. Walk away. It’s not like you’re giving up, and it’s not like you shouldn’t try. It’s just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation. What is truly yours would eventually be yours, and what is not, no matter how hard you try, will never be.
i feel the same way as you guys do. if you guys don’t think that i used to sit in this room when he played the guitar and sang and feel so honoured to be near him, you’re crazy. anyway, he left a note, it’s more like a letter to the fucking editor.
i don’t know what happened. i mean it was gonna happen, but it could’ve happened when he was 40. he always said he was gonna outlive everybody and be a hundred and twenty. i’m not gonna read you all the note ‘cause it’s none of the rest of your fucking business, but some of it is to you. i don’t really think it takes away his dignity to read this considering that it’s addressed to… most of you.
he’s such an asshole. i want you all to say ‘asshole’ really loud.
“this note should be pretty easy to understand. all the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with the independence and embracement of your community has been proven to be very true. i haven’t felt the excitement of listening to, as well as creating music, along with really writing something, for too many years now. i feel guilty beyond words about these things for example, when we’re backstage and the lights go out and the roar of the crowd begins, it doesn’t affect me the way in which it did for freddie mercury, who seemed to love and relish the love and adoration of the crowd.”
well, kurt, so fucking what - then don’t be a rock star you asshole.
“which is something i totally admire and envy. the fact, i can’t fool you, any one of you, it simply isn’t fair to you or to me. the worst crime i could think of would be to put people off by faking it, pretending as if i’m having 100% fun.”
no kurt, the worst crime i can think of is for you to just continue being a rock star when you fucking hated it. just fucking stop.
“sometimes i fell as 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. i must be one of those narcissists who only thinks when they’re alone. i’m too sensitive. oh, i need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm i once had as a child. on our last three tours i’ve had a much better appreciation of all the people i’ve known personally, and of fans of our music. but i still can’t get out the frustration, the guilt and the empathy i have for everybody. there’s good in all of us and i simply love people too much.”
so why didn’t you just fucking stay?
“so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. sad little sensitive unappreciative pisces, jesus, man…”
oh shut up, bastard. why didn’t you just enjoy it? i don’t know. then he goes on to say personal things to me that are none of your damn business; personal things to frances that are none of your damn business.
“i had a good marriage, and for that i’m grateful. but since the age of seven, i’ve become hateful toward all humans in general. only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy.”
“only because i love and feel for people too much i guess. thank you all from the pit of my burning nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the last years. i’m too much of an erratic, moody person and i don’t have the passion anymore so remember…”
and don’t remember this, cause this is a fucking lie!
“it’s better to burn out than to fade away.”
god, you asshole.
“peace, love, empathy. kurt cobain.”
and then there are some more personal things that is none of your damn business. and just remember: this is all bullshit… but i want you to know one thing: that 80s tough love bullshit, it doesn’t work. it’s not real. it doesn’t work. i should have let him - we all should have let him - have his numbness. we should have let him have the thing that made him feel better, that made his stomach feel better. we should have let him have it, instead of trying to strip away his skin.
you go home and you tell your parent, ‘don’t you every try that tough love bullshit on me, ‘cause it doesn’t fucking work.” that’s what i think. and i’m laying in our bed, and i’m really sorry. and i feel the same way you do. i’m really sorry for you guys. i don’t know what i could have done. i wish i’d been here. i wish i hadn’t listened to other people, but i did. every night i’ve been sleeping with his mother, and i wake up in the morning and think it’s him because their bodies are sort of the same. and i have to go now. just tell him he’s a fucker, okay? just say ‘fucker. you’re a fucker.’ and that you love him.