August 19, 1997


Quite often I find myself gazing upward remembering the year of lost innocence, not just for me but for everyone who followed. I believe that we had so much in common but I cannot be sure as I know only what I see and hear. Too many times have taken me back to false happiness and it is there that I feel closest. What a shallow statement to make, but not if perceived in the right manner. It is during these “phases” that depression is at its worst and the need for an escape is mandatory. There is no dark side, there is no hidden secret, there is no false identity, it was nothing more than human nature and society as we know it is ignorant to believe otherwise. Death can do so much for an ego and isn’t it ironic how a person can become a legend only after life is over? Come on, and I thought I was being shallow for considering drug use as means of a connection. Beauty was obvious, and from this beauty we expect perfection, we believe in the impossible, and when it became painfully aware that perfection cannot be obtained, we criticized. Not even in that famous circle could reality find his way, it’s like the eye of a hurricane, in the middle there is only oblivion. Like every other face in the crowd I was left in disbelief, finding answers leading to homicide rather than a simple series of mistakes. Yes, it was all too much, but using death as an excuse for money and ratings only concludes my theory. We thrive off misery and misfortune, and like vultures, we glide through the sky waiting for tragedy to fall to the earth and then we race to finish the remains.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist