While I actively social media-rised with Bowie fans after the shock of 9/11 woke me up to that was where they were living, and I read his published reaction, my years of total Bowie worship were only remembered by relatives laffing at a aunt’s 90th birthday about how i couldnt talk about anything else; and the social media put me in the situation of reading how others were in the same boat.
Then he died; creating an art-form of it. I’d already moved back to the city due to the effect of the Bowie Melbourne Symposium; but was horrified looking from the outside at the extent of alcohol love amongst my friends.
So I’ve just left the rental where I got the phone call; SMA told me to sit down; i said i dont need to you’re going to tell me either a nuclear bom has hit Pari or Bowie died. I’d already run home from after watchin the Lazarus video on pub wifi with headphones on, freaked out as instead of him looking at a pen, I’d visualised a junkie hitting the needle to get the air out; but at home lisnin to the music it enveloped me in sound magic.
I’m off the mainland; surrounded by ‘evergreens’ and seemingly looking back on fifty years in a place i never wanted to be, living a life accordingly; full of now-learnt ‘grace’.
( re-starting blog; these first two posts are from a while back )