God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of ‘parties’ with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.
And then her email closes with a reminder of their first meeting, the hope of other fates. “You know, I still,” she suggests, “have a different ending (for him, for me): it’s the one where he controls his own damn poignancy, and also kisses me goodnight…”
On behalf of Dave, Pat, & I, I would like to thank you all for your concern at this time. We remember Kurt for what he was: caring, generous, & sweet. Let’s keep the music with us. We’ll always have it… Forever. Kurt had an ethic towards his fans that was rooted in the punk rock way of thinking. No band is special, no player royalty. But if you’ve got a guitar & a lot of soul just bang something out & mean it. You’re the superstar. Plugged in the tones & rhythms that are uniquely & universally human: music. Heck… use your guitar as a drum, just catch the groove & let it flow out of your heart. That’s the level Kurt spoke to us on: in our hearts, & that’s where he, & the music, will always be, forever.
And yet does it not all come again to the fact that it is a man’s world? For if a man chooses to be promiscuous, he may still esthetically turn up his nose at promiscuity. He may still demand a woman to be faithful to him, to save him from his own lust. But women have lust, too. Why should they be relegated to the position of custodian of emotions, watcher of the infants, feeder of soul, body and pride of man? Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. From the moment I was conceived I was doomed to sprout breasts and ovaries rather than a penis and scrotum; to have my whole circle of action, thought and feeling rigidly circumscribed by my inescapable femininity. … all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger or assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.
Sylvia Plath (The Journals of Sylvia Plath pp. 29-30)