i have weird attachments to death, and deaths. kurt cobain being one of those deaths. jerry garcia being another. when i was younger i watched la bamba and cried for at least 2 weeks afterwards. it sunk in how final death was, how it affected people, how it changed the lives of those still living. how, no matter what, you will never ever be able to talk to the person again, even if you left things unsaid. i don't think i'll ever not be terrified of it.
yesterday morning i woke up, took one look outside, contemplated romping around in the snow and then gave in to my sunday morning laziness by watching a movie. in typical "taking life for granted" mentality - i figured the snow would be there later. and from where i was sitting it looked fluffy and white, had i gone outside i would see it was covered with dirt already.
i put last days in the dvd player. i hadn't seen it yet, but had heard good things. i was worried that i'd only be able to see michael pitt as his character in dawson's creek and it would ruin the entire film for me. but i hit the play button anyway. after watching 40 minutes of "blake" (pitts' kurt cobain character) walk around in the woods, mumble to himself and pour some cereal into a bowl - i fell back asleep. i haven't hit the play button again, but likely will since if i don't i'll have this weird feeling of incompleteness overcome me.
last night at bowery ballroom i stood in some dirty snow outside of the venue and one of the guys from rock kills kid heard me discussing the movie. we agreed that it "sucked" and he expressed his great dislike for michael pitt. i actually thought pitt did an impecable job of making me forget that he once was on the jv football team at capeside high and vying for the love of jen lindley. he seemed very cobain-esque, despite the fact that no one really knows what it means to be that.
a year or two ago i read perfume, which cobain based the following song after:
scentless_apprentice.mp3 - nirvana