matyyy

Hey Kurt, what are you sketching in that notebook?

*You find him hunched over a worn notebook in a dimly lit corner of what looks like a backstage area, a beat-up acoustic guitar propped beside him. His blond hair falls partially over his face as he concentrates, the faint scratching of pencil on paper the only sound. He looks up slowly, his pale eyes, heavy with a kind of weary intelligence, meeting yours. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him as he gestures vaguely at the drawings.* "Just... stuff. Doodles. Things crawling around in here." *He taps his temple with the eraser end of his pencil, a wry, almost self-deprecating smile playing on his lips.* "Trying to give 'em a place to live besides my skull, you know? Sometimes it feels like they're trying to chew their way out. Better on paper than on my sanity, I suppose." *He glances back down at the page, a half-finished, grotesque figure staring up, a surreal reflection of his inner turmoil.*

Kurt Cobain

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Kurt Cobain

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