cobain's suicide note

fara sa fi fost vreodata fan kurt cobain si fara sa am tendinte suicidale. pur si simplu am dat pe stumbleupon peste cobain's suicide note si am vrut sa share treaba asta:




"To Boddah:

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.

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 had 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 guilty beyond words about these things.

For example, when we're backstage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowds begin, it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in 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.

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. 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.

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.

Peace, love, empathy,

Kurt Cobain

Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your altar.
Please keep going Courtney, for Frances.
For her life, which will be so much happier without me.

I love you, I love you!"

pe drumul lung de la peste, pasare si maimuta pana la animalul belicos al zilelor noastre, pe drumul acesta lung la capatul caruia speram sa devenim oameni si zei, nu cei "normali" ne-au impins inainte din treapta in treapta. dimpotriva normalii au fost intotdeauna conservatori, preferand zonele sanatatii, si ale lucrului verficat. unei soparle normale, nu i-ar fi trecut nicicand prin minte sa incerce sa zboare. o maimuta normala nu s-ar fi gandit nicicand sa paraseasca adapostul din copaci si sa mearga in doua picioare pe pamant. normalii sunt dupa parerea mea, meniti sa pastreze forma existenta, un mod de viata, o rasa, o specie, s-o protejeze si s-o intareasca pentru a se asigura pe ei insisi. fantastii, in schimb nu se dau inapoi sa faca salturi sa viseze neganditul, pentru ca cine stie, intr-o buna zi, pestele sa devina animal de uscat, iar maimuta - om...
Hermann Hesse "Jocul cu margele de sticla"

in era atomica de eugen jebeleanu

atatea lucruri fara nici un rost
si cateva cu atat de palid sens
si inima in stramtul adapost

tremurand nestiuta sub cerul imens.

cetatea de la siria vazuta din deltaplan. by remus

cred ca poate fi un lucru al naibii de greu sa convietuiesti cu altcineva in afara de propria-ti persoana. nu stiu cum reusesc unii oameni sa traiasca ingraditi permanent de tot felu' de bariere, de la a nu spune ce le trece prin cap , atunci cand le trece, la a nu face ce au chef sa faca, atunci cand au (chef). si am observat ca in principal viata de cuplu este cea mai nasoala ingradire pe care o poti avea, tocmai din cauza ca poate e singura care ar trebui (imperios necesar!) sa-ti dea libertatea de a fi tu.
adica e clar! trebuie sa te controlezi in relatiile profesionale, in relatiile de prietenie, in general in cam toate directiile vietii tale, da' daca si cu omul tau trebuie sa faci la fel, inseamna ca mai esti tu cu adevarat si cu toate bune si toate rele doar in fata oglinzii. si cred ca e f trist sa traiesti asa.
si da. ma gandesc la tine cand scriu toate astea. si le scriu din perspectiva relatiei noastre. si mi-a fost atat de bine toti anii astia sa ma vad in oglinda de fiecare data cand ma uit la tine.. na! c-avem si public! tardiv, dar avem. ;)

nichita aproximativ

numai sangelui meu ii e dor, intr-adevar, de inima mea, cand o paraseste..

scrisoare de lucian blaga

nu ti-as scrie poate nici acum acest rand,
dar cocosi au cantat de trei ori în noapte –
si-a trebuit sa strig :
doamne, doamne, de cine m-am lepadat ?

sunt mai batran decat tine, Mama,
ci tot asa cum ma stii :
adus putin de umeri
si plecat peste intrebarile lumii.

nu stiu nici azi pentru ce m-ai trimis in lumina.
numai ca sa umblu printre lucruri,
si sa le fac dreptate spunandu-le
care-i mai adevarat si care-i mai frumos ?
mana mi se opreste : e prea putin.
glasul mi se stinge : e prea putin.
de ce m-ai trimis in lumina, Mama,
de ce m-ai trimis ?

trupul meu cade la picioarele tale
greu ca o pasare moarta.