Idag är det 17 år sedan de hittade Kurt Cobain död. Jag läser Dave Eggers och han citerar en artikel ur det andra numret av Might Magazine, som kom ut strax efter Cobains självmord. Jag försöker mig inte på nån egen, pajig översättning, vi tar det på engelska.
It’s so hard to believe you’re gone. Even now, I wake with a sense of disbelief. You’re gone. Each morning, I rise reluctantly, wondering whether to live the day or just let it wash over me. I walk numbly, listlessly, drifting like a phantom. I feel apart from my body. I am half a person. You’re gone.
From the start, everybody knew you were different. There was something more there. A mysterious glow, a strange, unfamiliar beaty. But somehow, I felt like I’d known you all my life. Maybe I did. Could it be?
I always believed in you. And I believe you always believed in me. You spoke to me, about me, for me. During some of my most trying times, you shone like a beacon of guidance and strength. A rock. Someone real! I idolized you, I wanated to be you.
Some said you were messed up, disturbed – a bad role model. Some said power changed you, that you couldn’t handle it. They said your style was scandalous, your conduct immoral. And that’s true. You were abrasive, gritty, and tough. You were reckless. A loner. And sometimes you just made me mad. But that’s because I loved you and because, despite everything, I always trusted you. And then it happened. But it wasn’t your fault. It was our fault. My fault.
For everything we put you through, that life put your through, that you put yourself through, I’m sorry. Your struggles with fame, with success, with the press – I know you really never meant to hurt anyone. How can a butterfly cause harm? It is with high hopes and a full heart that I say: Richard Milhous Nixon, beautiful butterfly, fly free, fly strong, live forever. I love you.