~starman~

January 13th, 2016

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I think just for today I will avoid beating the now weighted path I’ve trod every few days of the last years–to the library and, by default, Bowie’s house. It feels strange, maudlin even, to mourn in this way a man I’ve never met. I share a glance with the occasional bleary-eyed oldster coming from where I’m inevitably going–there are no young folk to speak of and no platform boots necessary to recognize the kooks. Standing in the glitter, cigarette butts, stray boa feathers, it strikes me that I do mourn David Jones, but am here to honor a fellow ponderer and artist, immortal Bowie.

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