Thursday, March 31, 2016

Cobain did take a big H shot to the main vein and blew his head off as well, just to make sure the job was done well

"You won't believe even in god but the devil worries you." 
 -- Kerouac, Old Angel Midnight

This quote always reminds me of my father because he's a self-described Catholic but only in the sense that he doesn't want to have any real or perceived repercussions from the devil, whatever that is and whatever he means by the quantification of the word 'devil.'  Whenever we get into discussions about this particular business, it's not god, but the devil that worries him, that he actually believes in, that he actually fears in some kind of strange way, and I don't see how one could exist without the other because they are just both so extremely unlikely, sorry Mike!  But I guess I generally rationalize it as something my dad grew up with, indoctrination that my dad sustains although he thinks that sort of thing can only happen to Democrats, he listens to FoxNews, he's the type of guy who never admits someone else could be possibly be right, and I make light out of it now only because he is my dad and he has so many other virtues.

He is so funny, without meaning to be, which is better than me and the reason I brought this up was actually because I think my dad might have passed some of his general, unsubscribed terror onto me, undeservingly, at least I like to think, and it was not in the believing in magical supernatural things, like gods and devils sort of way, or in the FoxNews is interesting sort of way, but I really mean in the staunch pessimistic sort of way, like things are always going to be stacked against me general mentality, and this unnatural affinity for having vivid, horrible nightmares, nightmares that now effectively terrorize me, satirize me, deride me, they keep me up so late! I can only appreciate them in day time hours, when the dark doesn't render me paralyzed in my interest in moving forward or investigating, watched too many horror movies as a kid, they all ended in, beheading or gutting, or something equally disturbing, lured by all of the vices that nowhere kids get hooked on, looked on as the loser in this American story, boring to be included in the national glory of a country that is way more interested in protecting greed than individuality, money over creativity, claiming interest in national security, economics over history, there's an indignity in calling us part of the American citizenry, as if it was anything more than complete ridiculousity.

Chivalry has always been asked for but rarely accepted in the era of feminism, prevent them from speaking for us, trust that whatever they evolved into is not what the early protestors initially subscribed to, I've read their literature, it's like scripture, worse because it's indecipherable, they intentionally make it hard to rifle through, hard to translate into actual words, feminists and god people are hard to understand, comprehend, I've never been able to pretend, that I get it, sick of it, all the people who tell me how I'm supposed to live, give up all your control and just let people exist, resist and maybe you'll actually feel better about yourself, or else, I guess there's also the constipated persistence, the ugly guy you married, and the continued empty lies you might actually conceive a child at fifty going on sixty, pity you didn't put getting a guy before your career when they were still leering at you at young age of thirty-two.  I'm an asshole for telling the truth, for being honest, I guess I've heard this before, chastised for being unethical, while those who wish to make an example, example out of me, they hide behind government titles, entitlements (that is supposed to be unique to my generation), they bide their time appealing to stupid Americans of which there are plenty, try to send me (little me) to the paying machine, please, go after me and you will easily see, I'm worth nothing, nothing at all besides my writing.

I read all the artists and writers that called out to me, like Cobain, his biography, all the attempted suicides, kind of mesmerized me, ride that glorious sentiment, don't try to prevent it, some are not meant to withstand it, I've only been given the bare minimum of talents, and many I've wasted, being wasted, or tasting, sedating with drugs I'd taken from people that would say after the fact that I somehow manipulated them or charmed them just in order to steal from them, I would say 'fuck them', but maybe I did put them in an untenable position, sit with them and they'll probably tell you something similar, like I've been hiding under words.

Prove that I have something to live for, I'll match it with more, sore over those with so much more than me, taking the main vein shot straight for reverie, sever all connection between brain and body with a shot to the vein followed by one to the head, read about it after the fact, me being just a kid when Cobain shot his head off, lost in all the romantic notions, I still understand his solution.

Despite all his fame and success, and writing talents, he called it all in, with that main vein shot of china white heroin, he blew his head clear off, just to make sure the job was done well, sell it all for money and Courtney, short changed him, all the talent and all the shame, same people who ride bitch next to all the big ones, still feel kind of sorry for the poor pathetic ones, the ones who finally found him, but at the same time, got to respect his undying commitment.

I want to say "Josana," but I'll say "Amen" instead.


1 comment:

  1. actually, there is good evidence that love killed him. check the fake note.