Strung out on heaven’s high

You know, I really sort of thought he was immortal.

I would have laughed and said not really. I didn’t really think he was a vampire, or a fae. Not really. Not rationally.

But part of me, I think, believed that he was. That he was something more than a mere human. He’d turn up with a new, still-young face, a new persona, revitalized and eternal.

He was there in my formative years, strutting onscreen in tight pants and wild hair, making me realize that maybe you didn’t have to be in a rigid box of gender and sexual conformity. Making me realize the power of my own weirdness. Launching a sexual awakening I still remember very fondly.

I danced to one of his songs at my wedding as our first dance.

Even now part of me is in denial. I half jokingly say he went back to his home planet. That he went back to the realm of the fae because his work here with us unworthy mortals is done.

It seems strange to mourn a man who I’ve never met. Nevertheless he and his music touched me so deeply I wouldn’t be the person I am today without him.

I cannot say for certain what happens after we shuffle off this mortal coil. I don’t think anyone can. I hold to the idea of reincarnation and I hope that his next life is one of creation and music and art. Otherwise it would be a terrible loss to the world.

And so, I leave this here in mourning, selfishly wishing I’d gotten more, and grateful for what I learned from him, and what I have still, holding it preciously as treasures.

Goodnight, David Bowie.

All my love.



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