Another entry inspired by a message board. This time, it's the forum at Fame Tracker which serves as fodder for this update.

Since I've been thinking about death so much lately, here's a list of famous people deaths that really got to me. Fun times.

1) Kurt Cobain. This is number one for a reason. I was only twelve, I think, when he committed suicide, but it still fucked me up. You see, my grandmother had been diagnosed w/cancer around the time Heart Shaped Box was getting a lot of airplay. You know the line in the song..."I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black"? In my warped little head, that line served as a comfort. That started my love of Nirvana. Then, he killed himself. I heard the news on the radio in the car when I was on my way to a doctor's appointment. I had to see the doctor because I had tried to kill myself by taking a small handful of Tylenol and couldn't stop throwing up two days later. My mom had no idea. She thought I was sick. Well, I was, actually. Just not in that way. Anyway, hearing that news and having failed at ending my own life and remembering that song and my grandma's cancer...everything came together and fell apart and I cried. I guess his death came at a very fucked up time for me and I...I don't know. I'm rambling. I think this is almost too personal for words.

Anyway.

2) Joey Ramone and Dee Dee Ramone. No words right now.

3) William S. Burroughs. I so wanted to meet this man and had convinced myself that he had somehow cheated death by doing all those drugs. Maybe he had embalmed himself or something. I heard the news on the way home from having an awkward dinner w/extended family. I had already wanted to cry and now I had a concrete reason. Yeah, he was eighty-three, but I was still in shock. People like that don't die. They vaporize or beam up.

4) Allen Ginsberg. Another person I really wanted to meet. I had only found out he was sick two days before he died. In a weird coincidence, he died the same day Kurt did, several years later.

5) John Denver. Not because I was sad or in shock, but because that was when all that freaky ass shit started happening. For months, I was convinced that John Denver's ghost was haunting me. I am not kidding. Things started to move around at night. Candles and little turtle figurines would slide back and forth on my desk and dresser. I would wake up to some unseen hands groping my, um, rack. Like I said, freaky ass shit. I was also dropping lots of 5 dollar acid during this time, but that is totally not relevant.

Look at that change in tone. I'm good.

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