David Bowie

I have been inundated with an inexplicable grief by his passing, and I have tried to understand why.
I have read a thousand people's words and feelings, and they have all resonated within me.
But what has emerged, in my mind's eye, is that there are fundamentally two different ways to have experienced Bowie—the one not being better than the other, just different.

The younger ones among us all connect him with a movie, a video, a performance. Like Labyrinth's Jareth. Or the strangely made-up and white-faced puppet of Ashes to Ashes.

Us older fans? We remember the smell of the cover of Pin-Ups and Hunky Dory, as we put the needle down, time and time again, from the beginning of Song 1, until Side A had been memorized, and it was time for Side B.

I remember lying on my teenage floor, crying for no other reason than being a teen, and listening to the sad sad saxophone notes, speaking straight into my heart.

MTV kind of killed the egocentric music-experience I was used to having. So I stopped watching music videos all together, and kept listening in my car instead. 

For me, there is purification and release of pain while driving alone in your car with the music up so loud it shatters all your inner monologue. Now, my friends, I am done mourning David Bowie.

 Now, I shall go on and celebrate life.

 Thank you all.



Image made by filtering several times and then repositioning an existing image, using waterlogue.