In Utero

Source: Unknown

Source: Unknown

 

 

 

Source: Unknown

Source: Unknown

Source: Unknown

Source: Unknown

My dad has never been shy about playing his music for me, so I grew up listening to bands like New Radicals, Foo Fighters, The Beatles, Linkin Park, and, of course, Nirvana. It took a while for the obsession to develop. I think that it was around late freshman year that it really got to me. There was something about growing up and playing Heart-Shaped Box on guitar hero, or seeing the house where Kurt killed himself during a trip to Seattle.

Happy birthday, Kurt Cobain. You are truly someone special.

I don't want to pretend to myself that you would have liked me if we had met. I think that you were the kind of person who didn't really truly like a lot of people- and the people that you liked had a special quality. I don't know why I look up to you the way that I do. I suppose that this kind of hero-worship is dangerous, but there is something in your lyrics and your story that resonates somewhere inside of my brain.

I hope that you felt nirvana somehow, somewhere, and that your last moments were quick. I hope that Frances Bean Cobain is happy wherever she is, and I hope that Courtney isn't at least being a crazy bitch at the moment (bless her).

When I listen to Nirvana, I hear something between the hoarse lyrics and screaming guitar and Dave Grohl pounding the drums. Something that I've been wanting to say, but never knew how.

Happy birthday, Mr. Cobain. I broke out the flannel and Chucks just for you. I hope you're proud.