The Ghost of Kurt Cobain   Author: 973  Category:(Ghosts) Created:(10/2/1999 3:46:00 PM) This post has been Viewed (19280 times) California, USA One year, I was actually haunted by the ghost of KURT COBAIN from spring through early fall. Though his was the first ghost I have ever SEEN, I am unusually PSYCHIC and have had many SUPERNATURAL experiences, so such occurrances rarely frighten me. In APRIL '96, I was under a lot of stress from medical and complicated personal problems, and a heart condition I have was much worse. The arrythmias from VALVE DISORDERS (superventricular tachycardia and frequent irregular and ectopic beats that made my chest feel like a percolator), endered me pale, weak, trembling, short of breath, and bedridden most of the day. When not asleep, I amused myself reading through old journals or listening to music (I was too short of breath to do much phone talking). Even the pounding bass notes made my heart go HAYWIRE, so I had to keep the volume low. I had never been to a NIRVANA concert or read any books about them. I got into the band quite late in early ' 95, when I finally bought their popular CDs NEVERMIND and IN UTERO. On 4/17, I was going over Nirvana's lyrics and noticed Kurt Cobain used a lot of MEDICAL references and social conflicts I could relate to in my present life. I also grooved on certain breaks and vocal sounds that strongly expressed EMOTIONS I felt. So I began, spontaneously and without thinking of what it would lead to, my own little musical STRESS-MANAGEMENT PROJECT: isolating stanzas from NIRVANA SONGS and taping a medley to TELL MY OWN STORY, all the while staring at Kurt's fold-out photos, the only pictures of him I had. He was so cute, it was hard to believe HE WAS DEAD. For some strange reason, this really threatened some people I'd been having ONGOING TROUBLE with. I could feel their anger crackling all around me and I suddenly became unusually frightened. I had to take it easy, for I couldn't tolerate much emotional stress in my condition. So I rested and prayed for the best, that no one would act vindictively toward me. It was during the third week of April that a gentle, humorous male spirit voice began waking me up from my naps. I'd been studying the songs Radio Friendly Unit Shifter, the beginning of which reminded me of the 911 crew, and Heart-Shaped Box--"I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for a week"--when suddenly one sleepy afternoon I heard: 'And also with you,' one phrase from the ROMAN CATHOLIC HOLY COMMUNION PRAYER, which goes: Priest: THE LORD BE WITH YOU. Congregation: And also with you. P: LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS! C: We lift them up to the Lord. P: LET US GIVE THANKS TO THE LORD OUR GOD. C: It is right to give Him thanks and praise. The voice was light and laughing, as if everything I was going through was a joke I, too, would one day look back and laugh at. I couldn't fully understand it, but I heard the phrase a couple more times over the next several days. Then, the night of April 24th, jolting awake frequently from being too keyed up to sleep, I saw a glowing image superimposed against the ceiling. It was KURT COBAIN, standing amongst the audience in a dark concert hall. He was looking left towards a silent, unseen stage. In his upraised hand was a match beckoning an ENCORE. The golden light from the tiny orb lit up his handsome young face, which was proud and approving. He appeared to be in his early twenties. As soon as I noticed him, he turned and spoke to me reassuringly in a "cool," brotherly manner I assumed he reserved for fans. Then, saying he had "to leave now," he flickered out just like the match he held. 'He'll be back,' the communion voice softly entoned. As if on cue, Kurt materialized a second time in all his golden glory and rehashed the previous scene, again speaking with practiced support. "Where is he?" I asked sleepily in my mind, confused. In answer, another image of Kurt lying in my place--only the opposite way, like a MIRROR IMAGE--on my own bed flashed before me. This second view alternated with the concert hall APPARITION, which kept fading and reappearing until, literally shaken by the experience, I finally drifted off to sleep in an whirling daze. A few days LATER the anonymous spirit voice instructed, 'Play "4+20,"' on the edge of a dream. Out of curiosity I got out Deja Vu, by CROSBY, STILLS, NASH, AND YOUNG late that evening. Full of snap, crackle, and pop from wear and tear, the album was one of the earliest I'd owned as a kid when I was just getting into FM radio and the virtually unknown Elton John. The requested tune happened to be one of my favs, so I played it again and again, reminiscing over each solemn note as the crickets chirped and the sweet scent of blossoms breathed into the room. Then, pulling the drapes back from the open window to blow off the premature summer heat, I stretched my frail body out on top of the covers and drifted into slumberland. It must have been about 4 AM when a sharp male voice startled me into consciousness. 'Hi!' Cobain's ghost exclaimed, as if he were an old friend saying, "Wake up, Sleepy Head!" I could just make out his hazy form in the candle glow of the nite lite. Slouched back in a chair in the far right corner of the room, he had one stocky leg loosely straddled over the other. His faded blue jeans were ripped at the knee, his thick hiking boots scuffed, and his wide, angular jaw all stubbly. He struck a match on his boot heel with cowboy deftness and lit a Camel cigarette. Concentrating on drawing out the smoke, he nodded at me with familiar toughness. I quickly fell back to sleep, my dreams full of his presense as if he'd never left. As the week progressed, the spirit voice asked for more songs to be played, mostly oldies: "Pictures of Matchstick Men" (THE STATUS QUO), "The Court of the Crimsom King" (KING CRIMSOM), "We're Going Wrong" (CREAM, Disraeli Gears, my very first album at age 10), "The Lemon Song" (LED ZEPPELIN), "Walk This Way" (AEROSMITH, Toys...), "Burning Down The House" (TALKIN' HEADS), "Baba O'Riley" (THE WHO), "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love" (VAN HALEN), "Would I Lie To You?" (EURYTHMICS, 1985 ), "Wax Ecstatic" (SPONGE, 1996), and others. I also got a lot of help or, I should say, COMMANDS, regarding my "project." 'Don't play that, yet. Play this one... Start here...End there,' often laced with earthy MUSICIAN'S SLANG I couldn't comprehend unless supplied Kurt's own definitions. During our Nirvana sessions I poured over his photos; how could the REAL Cobain be in MY apartment?! One afternooon I was feeling somewhat better, just RELAXING on the bed, listening to a rousing rock song with the HEADPHONES and really getting into the music, having fun, when suddenly I had one of the most wonderful JOURNEYS OF THE MIND: Kurt excitedly thrusting a great black Fender bass into my arms as if inviting me to jam. The unexpected weight and length and metallic coolness of this "SPIRIT 'GEETAR'" (to use Kurt's habitual country drawl) surprised me; being rather short, my left arm could barely reach up its neck, and I almost felt tired "holding" it. But just as quickly as it materialized, it disappeared! The "MEISTRO" granted me several of these fleeting METAPHYSICAL EXPERIENCES, designed to enlighten and cheer me up when I was no longer healthy enough to do all the things I always wanted to, like learn guitar. Another concerned mountain climbing. ('What else would you have done?'> Just as I was ruminating over never making time for this passion when I was younger and in better shape, Kurt zapped me atop a steep precipice on Mt. Rainier. How fierce and cold the wind was! It beat mercilessly at our muffed faces, freezing us to a standstill. And the height was just dizzying; I couldn't bear peering down into the dark chasm that seemed to pull like a great magnet. Luckily I wasn't really there, but still on my comfortable old bed, which made me laugh. I got out Kurt's pictures again. He was so cute and funny and kind-hearted, I wished he'd never leave. Soon after while resting quietly, I began seeing a vivid but DISTURBING IMAGE in the back corner or "blind spot" of my right visual field. It was Cobain, handsome and DEBONAIR, but disheveled in an expensive white linen shirt, psychedelic silk tie, and beige slacks. His wavy dark-blond hair was sun-streaked, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard a shade or two darker. He was sitting on the ground, his back against the wall, SOBBING profusely as he gulped Cutty Sark nonstop from a short, wide CRYSTAL COCKTAIL glass. His reddened face, wet with tears, was as shiny as his golden hair as he cross-examined me bitterly over offhand thoughts I'd had THAT OFFENDED HIM. 'You said I was short. Take it back!' I tried to reason with the spectre in my mind, but got nowhere but exhausted. Clearly, I had a DRUNK celebrity ghost on my hands surprisingly full of fears I'd never fathomed . Every now and then he leaned to the side to puke and I was shown a puddle of VOMIT. 'Whaddya MEAN I GOT A SHORT MAN'S COMPLEX?!' We went around and around on the same petty issues, Kurt muttering through an OCCASSIONAL HICCUP OR GAG, until I thought my head would burst. Finally, sleep intervened. 'DON'T STARE AT MY PHOTO!' my strange visitor barked as the glaring scene faded to peaceful black. An important warning not to cling to the world of the dead, but to take every opportunity to finish my work for THE LIVING. How it changed my life: I have a much greater knowledge of LIFE AFTER DEATH and a unique understanding of PARANORMAL PHENOMENA. You can join Unsolved Mysteries and post your own mysteries or interesting stories for the world to read and respond to Click here Scroll all the way down to read replies. Show all stories by   Author: 973 ( Click here ) Spring is coming