BULLSHIT
So, Elliott Smith joins the long rockstar parade of suicides. I'd like to say that I don't even care, or that I'm not subject to that kind of subsexual adoration that happens when the beautiful, tormented male offs himself. But fuck it. I do care. As much as I hate the public sphere of suicides (and as much as I know that this admission in a blog, no less, contributes), there's a kind of strangeness to actually witnessing such a thing. I wasn't cognizant when Ian Curtis killed himself. I didn't cry for Kurt Cobain. But I think there's something else I'm feeling right now; it might be timeliness or something entirely different, but this is it. Goodbye, Elliott. You're making me really fucking sad right now.
So, Elliott Smith joins the long rockstar parade of suicides. I'd like to say that I don't even care, or that I'm not subject to that kind of subsexual adoration that happens when the beautiful, tormented male offs himself. But fuck it. I do care. As much as I hate the public sphere of suicides (and as much as I know that this admission in a blog, no less, contributes), there's a kind of strangeness to actually witnessing such a thing. I wasn't cognizant when Ian Curtis killed himself. I didn't cry for Kurt Cobain. But I think there's something else I'm feeling right now; it might be timeliness or something entirely different, but this is it. Goodbye, Elliott. You're making me really fucking sad right now.
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