To Boddah,

I Hate Myself And Want To Die. That’s what I tell myself. Sometimes I think it would be easier that way, make them all go away. Just because you’re paranoid don’t mean their not after you. This isn’t About A Girl. I sold out to the Big Cheese. I’ve become just another Radio Friendly Unit Shifter, a Lounge Act.

Sometimes I wish my mother would have drunk that Pennyroyal Tea when I was still In Utero. I think I’m Dumb. I sit up here alone because it reminds me of when I used to live underneath the bridge. I thought that was Hell, living off the grass and the drippings from the ceiling. It turns out there is no Hell. There is no Heaven. There is only the Territorial Pissings of men in the Big Long Now.

I put all my love into a Heart Shaped Box. You were my Hairspray Queen, and I’ve been nothing but a sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. You always said I should have Been A Son. You Know You’re Right.

Peace, love, empathy.

All Apologies.

Nevermind.

Kurt Cobain