Good Grief

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

- Oscar Wilde

Here’s the prompt list I’m using in case anyone wants to join me in this challenge:

It’s too late to be grateful It’s too late to be late again It’s too late to be hateful The European cannon is here

Thinking about David’s death today, I came across something I wrote some 30 years ago, reflecting on my Ziggy Stardust photos:

“I experienced Bowie above all as a piece of living artwork, constantly modulating and mutating like a series of startling reflections in a cracked mirror. He was fascinating: Ziggy Stardust was a new breed of rock n’ roll operative, a rogue hitman with his own agenda, a post-moderrn heartthrob with destiny on his mind, a dreamer of dada with glitter in his soul. He was the Scarlet Pimpernel in fabulous drag. He was what the times needed and a whole lot more.”

This city feels so cold

I walk her streets faceless

Trying to remember all the wrong turns

That delivered me here

I cry and beg

To go home

As if I ever had one

I’ve only ever lived in borrowed houses

I try

To settle into cavernous silences

I tell myself I’ll be okay

But no matter where I run

My heart still sifts through my fingers

Pulverized into dust

I try to do what’s expected

But it feels fraudulent

I try do do what’s right

But it feels lonely

I try to build something

From all this sorrow

Lots of peeps on this post have asked things like “so what do I do about this?” which the twitter thread gets into but I know many will find the article more readable and it expands further and has additional resources. Check it out!

“ Yes, I have ghosts, not all of them dead / And they dance by the moon, millstones white as the sheet on my bed “ David Gilmour / Yes, I Have Ghosts.