Gone, but never forgotten. Ryan Bell shares what Kurt Cobain left him…and us…more than 20 years after his death.
—
Kurt,
I prefer not to conjure up a mental image of the 48 year old you. It’s also hard to think that you were only 10 years older than me when you offed yourself Hemingway style. The bizarre forgiveness of death that freezes people in a perpetual state of fondness confounds me. My memories are stuck at when I was 17 and you were 27. You’ll be forever shrouded in flannel and denim pants with the knees blown out.
It was April 5, 1994 when the radios were ablaze and the candles were lit. I STILL hadn’t gone through puberty, my father was going through a bankruptcy and I was a junior in high school. The awkwardness of your death that was so much like my own life; confusing, alone and surrounded. Without further pomp I’d like to list out the 3 things I still think about regarding a Mr. Kurt Donald Cobain:
- Flannel
Last week I tossed my favorite flannel shirt in the trash. The innards melted away on a hot pan during a camping trip and it became scratchy and unsalvageable. The damn shirt had a story too. I’d bought it from a Goodwill in Boston on an ass-freezingly cold day. It was already pilled, faded and threadbare before. It had all of the metrics of a perfect 90’s shirt and I loved it to the point of aneurysm.
It was something that you would have worn.
The comfort of being sad…
Is used flannel.
I need to find a new crappy old flannel shirt to fall in love with and wrap myself in when I’m down. Shirts like that can be wonderful assistants to sadness. The shirt takes my arms as I slip into it and it holds me. For some reason it’s just easier to cry in flannel… I should go and get some Ben & Jerry’s…
2. In Bloom
My god sister, Erica Deblasio, was in high school and happened to be the coolest and prettiest girl that I knew when I was in middle school. I was small and awkward and had about a million zits before I was blessed with my first thin pubic hair.
But…
One night in the grey carpeted basement of her home she had me listen to Nevermind. It had just come out and it was magical.
I was so awkward and I didn’t think that anyone loved me… or even liked me.
Listening to that album with Erica was the first time that I felt that I shared music with anyone… maybe anything. I felt involved and I felt understood and, for the first time, I felt like I was allowed to be angry. I remember Erica closing her eyes to the music as I watched her head bob. It was the first time I thought that being cool was directly related to not giving a shit about being cool.
You helped me to be a tad cooler and to accept that I was the small guy with zits and no pubes.
Thanks man.
3. What Else Should I Be…
You wore dresses and stood up for women, victims, homosexuals and anyone that could be hurt BUT you did so in a way that made bullies look like assholes. I think that some of what you did helped our culture to become a little better.
In a terribly greedy way I’m glad that you’re gone. A small piece of whatever’s inside of my heart shaped box would die if I had to read your Facebook updates or follow you on Twitter. You’re the strange dead hero of my youth and I’ve not come to terms with you yet. In the grand scheme of things I don’t really want to.
I want you to be my scoliosis, a rock in my shoe that’s not quite uncomfortable enough to sit down and attend to… I want the pain of you gone to be the thing that remains.
Kurt, you helped one of the most confused generations get through a transitional decade. It was a period of our lives that seemed like it was going to last forever. Maybe we were all a bit awkward during that awkward time as we spent $120 on Doc Martins and $10 on the remainder of our wardrobes during that period of my life seemed like it was going to last forever.
Now I’m an advocate for women and I help run a community for recovering artists. I connect with people that have problems because I have problems… I also realize that everyone is a little messed up no matter how much they hide it so I tend to not be scared to be me. As a little bonus I also shot up from 5’3 to 6’2 my senior year ended up with some pubes. So I got that going for me.
—-
(Editor’s Note: Ryan A Bell is the Founder of www.zeromoderation.com and is a dad blogger and podcaster at www.daddyissues123.com. Look out for his next article, Twittercide, in which he talks about killing his Twitter profile and what happens. Follow his brand new @self at @ryan_a_bell)
Photo: Dave Parker/Flickr