It’s Not Just About What He Meant to Me

I had no idea how impacted I would be upon hearing the news that a great light has ceased to shine in this universe.  But now, even writing that sentence, I question it:  Will his light ever cease to shine?

I read somewhere among the thousands of words already written today that the connection with Bowie and his music is so personal for each and every one of us that grew up feeling weird, out of place, knowing we didn’t belong.  The appeal was instant, and didn’t only fill our need for far-reaching and fantastic (in the true sense of the word) music – it filled a need for style, for grace, for acceptance, for morphing the things we secretly hated about ourselves into things we could love.

I could tell you about my personal connection with David Bowie’s music, but it would be just so many words on a screen that can be told far better and more eloquently by those of far greater stature in this world than I.  But it was personal.  It has endured through decades.  His words, art, and passion for his craft will continue to inspire long after I’m gone.

Dammit, Starman.  I wasn’t fucking ready to say goodbye, even if you were.  You have blanketed the universe with the magic you’ve given us, and I am so grateful to be the smallest of recipients.


 

  “As you get older, the questions come down to about two or three. How long? And what do I do with the time I’ve got left?”

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One thought on “It’s Not Just About What He Meant to Me

  1. […] I wrote a short piece on how Bowie’s death affected me here, so many great writers and musicians wrote volumes around me about how his music spoke to them.  I […]

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