Then she turns her back on me, walking on, well, sideways that I make a quick rush as if I could miss my life, the train of fate. I stop at a nice distance that I’m not breathing into the girl’s neck in a sexy way and not as far that I’d have to guess what the words actually could be. Peace, love, empathy. Kurt Cobain Frances and Courtney, I’ll be at your altar. Please keep going Courtney for Frances. Frances? His daughter. Right, for the rotting future generation. But then I’m no father. All I have is a girlfriend, who I actually do fucking love. But that’s just it. I follow her more, slowing up keeping up her pace only at a rather safe distance. For her life, which will be so much happier without me. I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU Then I stop. That’s it. READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 5
To Boddah Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand. I struggle for half a second, as my eye looks down the orange shirt. Kurt Cobain. It’s his suicide note. I open my mouth to call out the blonde girl in orange. Then even every black head dressed in pink, purple, black, white, whatever seems orange to me and every hair strand natural Oslo blonde. I follow her, my eyes scanning the next phrase. The girl turns into a book store and so does her orange shirt. I don’t catch a glimpse of her face but I don’t need to. I follow her, keeping a distance like a perverted stalker, watching his victim, plotting how sweet his plan could be. READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 91
I liked orange it wasn’t as depressing as my nature, so basically it made me happy. Fucking retarded. The people were also good looking two, with no lazy eye, while the other remains wide open and they also seemed taller than me. Not that I care about my height. About my eye my parents told me when I first woke up with the eye patch on my eye, literally, I dubbed in two and cried my fucking kid heart out. I’m a stalker. I walk on, basically running as she speeds up as I get distracted by several Norwegian girls making faces at me. I don’t understand them as I do not consider myself good-looking with my lazy eye, unlike their most likely healthy ones and dyed hair unlike their natural. The suicide note girl turns left into another shop. I follow her to see it to be filled of antique useless, to me, stuff, but she studies it fascinated, her eyes sparkling as she grabs something older than the world itself.  The blonde girl stands still so it’s my perfect chance to read the note. READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 16
Kurt Cobain. It’s his suicide note. I open my mouth to call out the blonde girl in orange. Then even every black head dressed in pink, purple, black, white, whatever seems orange to me and every hair strand natural Oslo blonde. I follow her, my eyes scanning the next phrase. The girl turns into a book store and so does her orange shirt. I don’t catch a glimpse of her face but I don’t need to. I follow her, keeping a distance like a perverted stalker, watching his victim, plotting how sweet his plan could be. I wasn’t deaf, even if I was three quarters blind. I watched her, kneeling down, as she’d make a quick turn that could reveal me, my hiding place and my intentions which could be easily mistaken by something not as harmless. Soon enough after buying some book which was in a language I didn’t understand, most likely local, she headed outside. I saw more blonde people, more orange bursting as if I was in some utopia surrounded by people with real blonde hair no need to dye and dressed in orange. I liked orange it wasn’t as depressing as my nature, so basically it made me happy. Fucking retarded. READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 4
I wasn’t deaf, even if I was three quarters blind. I watched her, kneeling down, as she’d make a quick turn that could reveal me, my hiding place and my intentions which could be easily mistaken by something not as harmless. Soon enough after buying some book which was in a language I didn’t understand, most likely local, she headed outside. I saw more blonde people, more orange bursting as if I was in some utopia surrounded by people with real blonde hair no need to dye and dressed in orange. I liked orange it wasn’t as depressing as my nature, so basically it made me happy. Fucking retarded. The people were also good looking two, with no lazy eye, while the other remains wide open and they also seemed taller than me. Not that I care about my height. About my eye my parents told me when I first woke up with the eye patch on my eye, literally, I dubbed in two and cried my fucking kid heart out. I’m a stalker. READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 7
Kurt Cobain. It’s his suicide note. I open my mouth to call out the blonde girl in orange. Then even every black head dressed in pink, purple, black, white, whatever seems orange to me and every hair strand natural Oslo blonde. I follow her, my eyes scanning the next phrase. The girl turns into a book store and so does her orange shirt. I don’t catch a glimpse of her face but I don’t need to. I follow her, keeping a distance like a perverted stalker, watching his victim, plotting how sweet his plan could be. READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
Thursday August 3rd, Oslo See Kurt Cobains suicide letter on the back of someones t-shirt for the first time. Follow the girl around various shops trying to read it. Something about being moody. everybody here is blond and good looking. and all they wear is orange, my favourite colour.-Thom Yorke READ MORE THOM YORKE FANFICTION AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 4
Is there suppose to be one whenever we smile at a person we remember or when we stare down at those black hair steaks near the feet as more gets trimmed? What if we had danced with the person before? What about the hiss you hear when you die and then a body takes you out of the water, your blood the pool you were drowned in with boats of corpuses floating above, as you know that you had done it. I curled more, keeping my eyes shut, trying to blind out wherever I was going. I knew it, anyway. I didn’t really care, I just went, feeling the car turn left, right or straight/forward. It felt so soothing that I felt no pain at all. But then death had been upon my face, stroking it. But then what should I have felt? Soul cancer. Let it be something unreal instead of the banality which had hit me, let it sparkle, let it fade in the night, as I observe. Let me pretend that I have soul cancer receiving something green into my mouth, which sparkles READ MORE PAPERBAG WRITER AT GRASPTHESANITY
♥ 33
Thursday August 3rd, Oslo See Kurt Cobains suicide letter on the back of someones t-shirt for the first time. Follow the girl around various shops trying to read it. Something about being moody. everybody here is blond and good looking. and all they wear is orange, my favourite colour.I walk around, plunging my hands deeper into the pockets of my jeans, as I let strands of my dyed blonde hair fall on my eyes. I don’t care much about the left as I can’t see that clearly and the bangs above my right are cut enough to see. So I go on, past the souvenirs, wondering how much time I have left for sightseeing.
♥ 8
I still trace my fingers where the teeth had been upon the first kiss, peeling the next orange with another scent devouring the room in the same orange patches.
♥ 32
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