32. Kurt Cobain


Drops of blood spattered on a blank music staff to create notes

I miss the America that played Nirvana on the radio, before every morning commute was spent surfing between a bunch of radio dress-up dolls with their paint-by-numbers pop hits, who never even had the integrity to be homeless once or twice.

I miss the old celebrities from back when fame could still destroy your life. They understood better the value of defiance and the beauty of persistence. I miss musicians who loved the music enough to let it kill them.