If only I could remember the first smile that lit up your face when your little hand got ahold of my fingers. How peaceful you looked, napping in my arms, so safe.
If only I could recall the first words you pronounced, longing to tell me about the exciting new things you had seen.
All those memories are lost to me now, like an old movie that has faded away.
Instead, I see your broken skull- blood streaming out of it like a fountain. I hear your high-pitched voice cutting through the darkness of the basement, trying to explain where you have been. As the lights go on, I cannot help but stare at your hand reaching out for me, pleading for help. I can feel my fingers losing their grip of the cold steel of the gun, and fear evaporates into pain. First published at Cafe Aphra (NFFD, 2015)
For two decades now there have been various attempts to create a documentary that would do justice to and reveal the truth about the life and death of Kurt Cobain. It has proved to be almost impossible to meet the high expectations of both fans and critics. No matter how much drama the media tried to stir around these featured programs, the public still seemed to long for more. Even now that the Seattle police have released pictures from the death scene, there are still voices who are talking murder rather than suicide.
The remarkable accomplishment of Montage of Heck lies in exposing its audience’s voyeurism by feeding into it. The documentary is a collage of fragments the artist has left behind: his music, unreleased songs, home movies, recordings, journals and artwork, as well as memories retold by his family and friends.