Just about to go to bed late last night when I read this. How is one supposed to react to this kind of thing? I don't know the guy, I mean, not really - I've just been reading his diary for eight months or so. A consolatory email seems so.. worthless.
Got me thinking though. Five years almost since my own Dad's heart finally gave up the ghost on the twelfth green of the golf course. Yesterday I mentioned how different I seemed to be from the me who wrote the letters I stumbled across on some old floppy disks. Well, losing Dad was partly responsible for that change in me, for good or bad. Nothing else had ever mattered so much, nor has anything since. A-Levels, degree, money, cars, girls, jobs - they're all pretty secondary to family, really.
Easter Monday, April 5th 1999. Five years to the day since Kurt Cobain joined, to quote his mother, "that stupid club" in the sky. Outside it rains gently, and the village is almost silent. The cats have retreated indoors, the DIY enthusiasts have stopped sawing and hammering, and only the interminable birds continue twittering. Summer is approaching, and I think I'm going to enjoy it this year.
Listening to: David Bowie - The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, and
Nirvana - XXII II MCMXCIV (bootleg)