Delighted was the waking Kurt. He thought, "Direness, familar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me."
Kurt was as giddy as a spinning top; action is always confident.
Today was the day Kurt would search for Nirvana. He started out by searching for his syringe.
The syringe! Like a gunfighter's pistols, Kurt's syringes had been valuable companions in his out-of-body Odysseys.
The heroin went into Kurt and Kurt went out of his body and into immortality.
He levitated into clouds, where he found paradise.
For a year, he drank coffee, listened to heavenly music, consorted with women of sublime beauty, and viewed the most colorful paintings of all, those painted by God.
But a year ended, the heroin started to fade, Kurt returned to Kurt and the top was set to spin.
"There is nothing serious left in mortality," thought Kurt.
"It's better to burn out than to fade away."
With that, and the help of a friendly shot-gun, Kurt Blowbrain bought a ticket to cloud-art-heaven.
And he should have died tommorow; there would have been a time for such a word.