Monday, January 11, 2016

In Memorial of David Bowie

In Memorial of David Bowie
David Bowie has passed, but he was larger than life.  He created myths and fantasies that he could live out his creations through, that he could reach people through.  The name David Bowie has become a being that can’t die because he is embedded in us, not just in the vinyl we own or the posters on our wall, but in the more colorful and eccentric world we live in because he existed. He does not need tall buildings or statues or large falices to be memorialized.  I remember his successes and his mistakes as proof that we are all aliens in our own way and that only makes us more human.  Our alien nature only makes it more possible for us to be who we want to be.  It will never stop us from being more fabulous than we’d ever imagined.  Without ever saying a word to me, David Bowie makes me feel like I’m beautiful, like I can dress the way I want to, have the friends and lovers I want to, and to be proud of everything that makes me different.  He taught me to embrace change, and that entering new worlds or ideas or spaces can be sincere, and there’s no need to be afraid or to feel like a poser.  It just means I get to experiment with my hair do.  He taught me that you can be a bad ass, you can push the limits while being sentimental in a room full of muppets.  So much of who I am today, and of who so many people are, is shaped by David Bowie and the excellent musicians and artists he brought together. The world will never forget its new found comfort, self esteem, and spectacular environment he helped give it permission to create with his confidence and talent.  His devotion to art was never simply about getting paid or being loved, it was about bringing everyone together and telling them to “give me your hands, because you’re wonderful.” 
If anyone would like to help me figure out how to get to the memorial concert at Carnegie hall, or arrange our own memorial concert and/or a memorial film marathon in New Orleans please let me know.  I know a lot of people who feel the word 'fan' is understatement when it comes to Bowie and I know this isn’t easy for any of us.

Sunday, January 10, 2016

The shredding

The shredding

She’s on the lamppost
Failing to scale the poll I left behind
We’re in line down the john
Golden toilets lined up by the bar
I watch you watch her watch you wishing you would just watch her
I was her
And all those people with their backsides displayed for me
I fight against the corner of juke box machines
We were once a symbiotic trampoline
Our smiles were one jump in the same
Now their smile is for your eyes only
I feel the fabric of my diaphragm shred apart
It’s wooly, dark broange paisley,
I watch you watch her watch you wishing you would just watch her
I was her
The tatters glob between my glabella
Fragments of my silver wolf stare,
Staring you down from across that john,
Calling on your invitation to intrusion,
Your security devices and neglected booby traps
A teenager with too much broken glass on his bedroom floor
You see inside my mind, a film reel I hide behind these wolf eyes
I tell her you’re a sentient dildo,
Knee your insides to the backside,
And scale the woman to the holy ground
That magnifies disgrace.
I Find the place of the infinite where shredding only means perceived particulates
When at we are part of an organismic unit.
I watch you watch her watch you wishing you would just watch her
I was her
But instead, I am
The tear of melted cigerettes
Clinging to granulated cement
From the constricted tube you pull your insides through
My grief is bound and gagged
Pushed into wall paper maps in your beach house
Where you take my lost friends on vacation,
Spattering me at your mercy.
Regurgitating ideas of hatred
I remember fondness in a black and white motif,
A sentimental artifact I wish I didn’t dream of
smashing to your windpipe.
Cruel bastards the act I pray I don’t think
Vandalizing my affections
My exorcism of your discomfort
That stuffs my chest for the thanksgiving turkey.
Ripping your tack plaid buttons down your adolescent chest
Where you can see me, the tattered clothes line
Forgotten in the storm
And hear the fuzzy interception
When I call into the radio with a special request
admit you’re touchless automatic,
trespassing through backyards
the fastest route to nowhere
stick shift, a calm voice, a prayer from my insides to yours
shouting upstream
I'm stuck at a green light