“We were in, I think we were in Ames, Iowa and I asked this kid, his name was Freddy and he played bass in the band that opened for us. They were like, they were, I think the best band in Ames, Iowa, right? So I said to Freddy, ‘Hey Man, you’re hip to the scene, where’s the action around here and…”
“Oh baby, you are crazy, I just love you man!” yelled Janis. She sat down on Jim’s lap, leaned in and plunged her tongue into his mouth. Jim crossed his eyes and made a face that screamed “not interested.”
“Aw, listen honey, this is my heaven too and if I wanna ball then you’re gonna ball!” Janis tugged on Jim’s left shoulder, hard, until she pulled from him another Jim Morrison. She grabbed the new Jim’s hand and led him away. The real Jim continued babbling.
“…and I met this blonde, she was like a farmer’s daughter or something, you know, a stone fox.”
“Oh, I know that kinda chick, man. Hey I wrote ‘Foxey Lady’ so I know what I’m talking about.” Jimi played the riff – wooo woo, wooo woo – on Charlie Christian’s Gibson ES-150 electric guitar – and let out a guffaw so loud that Sid was stunned awake.
“What? Where?” he spluttered in confusion. He turned his head from left to right in quick motion, soaking in his surroundings. “Oh yeah, I remember” and he free fell backwards into his beanbag cloud. Suddenly, a spike appeared in his arm and the plunger went down. As he drew it in, a figure appeared in the distance and Sid squinted to get a better look. Jim followed his gaze.
“Oh, I know that guy. Good band; they had like two or three albums. You know, they don’t make records anymore, it’s like a little silver disc from space and…”
“Oi! What ya doin’ mate,” Sid called cheerily. “I like your ripped jeans, but, what’s that then, your grandma’s cardigan?” His top lip curled up as he bent over and slapped his knees.
Kurt was a frightened sheep, his scared eyes darting back and forth. They were all here, all his rock heroes – Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Sid Vicious. Was that Janis Joplin straddling Jim Morrison? But Jim is here and he’s talking, but…
“I’m comin’ baby, hold on,” Janis whooped.
“Hey, I ‘eard you used to use my name down there you wanker, signing into hotels as Mr. and Mrs. Simon Ritchie with that slag of yours. I got a right bollocking from St. Peter, he of the pearly gates: ‘Were you down there again Sidney,’ and I was like, ‘Fuck you, you twat!’ Gave him the finger too!” Sid cackled louder than before.
Kurt was nervous as Sid approached.
“Ah, just taken the piss mate,” he grinned as he cuffed Kurt on the head, sending his dirty blonde hair over his eyes.
"Am I where I think I am?” asked Kurt quietly. A minute ago he was sitting in the room above his garage, a needle in one hand and a shotgun in the other.
Jimi spoke. “Yeah baby, this is heaven alright. Nice to have a brother from Seattle up here. How are things down in my old hometown? You know, I skipped out soon after ‘Louie, Louie,’ you know. But up here, everything you want. You just gotta think it.”
“Yeah, you wanna play the hottest guitar, like this one, you just think it and it appears. You want the sweetest smack you ever shot up? Look at Sid. It just happens. It’s sooo warm. And you never run out of bread so you always get to use the best stuff. You wanna fuck Cleopatra, you just…”
In a long golden gown and tiara, Cleopatra appeared behind Jimi’s celestial throne. He looked over his shoulder. “Baby, it was just an example.” As she began to fade Jimi thought again.
“Wait, sugar. Jimi’s gonna need you in about 15 minutes. Don’t go away now.”
Kurt looked as Sid stirred. He was off on an even higher plane. Suddenly, Sid twitched and tossed a full beer bottle Kurt’s way. It flew over his head and descended through the clouds, landing in Pittsburgh.
“Stevie Winwood was wrong baby," Jimi said. "Heaven ain’t just in your mind. It’s the real deal.”
Kurt rubbed his eyes, holding the stretched out sweater sleeves in his palm. “Heaven,” he thought as he jumped backwards onto a cotton ball cloud. Kurt put his hands behind his head and stared up at the brilliant blue sky; the sky stared back at his brilliant blues eyes. He closed them and smiled.
His nose involuntarily wrinkled as it got a strong whiff of cheap scotch. He opened them and saw Janis up close, her face nearly touching his.
“Hey baby, you’re new here, right?”
Kurt nodded his head.
“Wanna ball?” she asked plaintively.
Kurt shook his head.
“Aw, listen honey, this is my heaven too and if I wanna ball then you’re gonna ball!” Janis tugged on Kurt’s right shoulder, hard, until she pulled another Kurt Cobain from the original model. It didn’t hurt. She led the new Kurt off.
Kurt looked over and watched Janis Joplin fucking his other self. He laughed and looked back at the sky. This was good, very good.
Jimi Hendrix died on September 18, 1970. Janis Joplin died on October 4, 1970. Jim Morrison died July 3, 1971. Sid Vicious (born John Simon Ritchie) died February 2, 1979. Kurt Cobain died April 5, 1994.
When Kurt’s mother Wendy Cobain spoke to a reporter after her son’s suicide by shotgun blast, she sadly said of her son “Now he’s gone and joined that stupid club.”
“And so dear friends, you’ll just have to carry on. The dream is over.” – John Lennon