Goodbye

Souls Rising by Angeline of the Art Matènwa collective, 2010

Death is inevitable.  It happens to the worst and, unfortunately, the best of us.  It cannot be avoided and it is a common denominator of the experience of life.  Why then does it seem certain times are plagued with an onslaught of people crossing over?  Are there really times (war not included) when there is more death than others or do we simply notice it more when it touches us personally?  2016 so far has been one of those times when it seems like the grim reaper is leerily waiting around each and every corner.
     Perhaps, we are collectively hopeful and positive when we pass into a new year.  It's a beginning, a fresh start, a single step onto a year long path that leads to a place where the streets are yet unnamed and the possibilities are endless.  We make resolutions and promises and set goals and try to bring a newfound excitement and joy onto this path that, hopefully, leads to an actual Emerald City.  So, when death clobbers us repeatably over the head with its gnarled claw grasping a fatal hammer it startles us.  It seems heavier, darker and more tragic.  Like, for instance, when someone dies in a brutal and icy collision on Xmas Eve it somehow seems so much worse than if it happened on a lone Wednesday in February.  Really, it is no better or worse on any given day but it is definitely more noticeable near a holiday.
     It isn't just people in the public eye - Lemmy, David Bowie, Angus Scrimm, Natalie Cole, Alan Rickman, Glenn Frey, Dale Griffin - but also a dear friend's mom, another dear friend's longtime associate and the list goes on.  To quote the Butthole Surfers "strangers die everyday."  Callous perhaps or maybe just pragmatic and true.  This world is overloaded with billions of people so thousands must pass every day, it's just statistics and, well, life.  Obviously, David Bowie has hit me the hardest and as I write this I am actually pretty numb still.  His death was very unexpected to me and most people except his closest loved ones.  He is the most iconic figure to ever leave this planet while I am on it.
     It does seem that 69 is the most common number amongst a lot of these deaths.  Sure beats the ripe ol' age of 29 that seemed to be the (un)lucky number for so many rock stars of yore - Janis, Jimi, Jim, Kurt.  I saw Patti Smith perform her legendary album "Horses" in its glorious entirety a few weeks back and, she too, is 69.  Doesn't seem like she's going anywhere any time soon and she also didn't seem old.  She's still rocking out and spitting on stage in true and original CBGB's style.  69 is too young to go but no one can ever accuse Lemmy and Bowie of not living life to it's fullest.
     The most grievous and heartbreaking loss that I have experienced in my life was my beautiful Grandma Molly.  She was the coolest, healthiest, most open minded and spiritual person I have ever known.  Health was her #1 priority and she spent a huge percentage of her time preparing her meals, sourcing perfect ingredients, finding the right combinations and taking the essential vitamins.  She made her own sunflower milk decades before you could buy Silk at every local store.  The news that she had cancer hit us all so profoundly - her the most I imagine.  It made no sense, nothing she did in her life was carcinogenic except, perhaps, living in NYC.  She was 92 when she passed which is, by NO means, young but I think (unfairly to her & ourselves) we imagined her immortal.  I have had this conversation many times with my Mom and we have come to the conclusion that since cancer was, inevitably, the thing that would take her out of this life that most likely it would have happened at 52 or 62 if she had eaten fast food on a regular basis.  My point being that she actually did prolong her life by many, many years by sustaining a lifestyle that was kind and gentle on the body, mind and soul.  My eyes are welling up with tears as I type this because I miss her everyday yet still feel so blessed that I had a such a strong role model that was literally in my life and not just on a record sleeve.

Kooks

David Bowie's "Hunky Dory" 1971

David Bowie does not belong to me.  In fact, I never even had the chance to meet him.  Still, upon hearing of his death, seemingly out of the blue and completely unexpectedly, the other night I had a visceral reaction.  I felt as though I had been kicked in the gut and yet strangely numb at the same time.   How can someone who's technically a stranger have such a deep and everlasting impact on my life?  How does one describe or even truly understand an icon of this magnitude?  What is it about David Bowie that speaks so directly to my soul?
     There are those moments in my life when things just clicked.  Moments when all time and space came together in one swirling tornado of feeling and being.  Moments when I was 100% certain that everything would be alright.  One of those moments came from listening to my 1st David Bowie album.  Sure, his music decorated the soundtrack of my youth with his radio hits being the confetti on the cake of my childhood.  Songs like "Let's Dance" and "China Girl" were prolific and, of course, I knew them by heart but I had not yet connected the dots of the mind-blowingly genius timeline of his life.  So, the day I bought a copy of "Hunky Dory" more than a decade after its release and brought it home my life would be forever altered.  The cover alone was enough to make me question everything I had ever heard or seen about gender and sexuality.  I knew I was gay, I knew society deemed this as wrong and I knew that I loved to dress up and look different than the people that walked the streets in my school and hometown.   When I put on this record and heard those gorgeous melodies and poetic verses I realized that I was not the only one who didn't feel like a cookie-cutter mall employee.  I wasn't the only kook out there!
     "Discovering" Bowie is like finding the holy grail of the underground.  It's like tapping into a consciousness that up until that moment I had thought was a solitary and private way of thinking.  Hearing "Hunky Dory" in all it's timeless glory was like opening a giant box full of glittering treasure and sailing away on a magic carpet of color and emotion.  The dull grey existence that I was faced with in upstate NY in the 1980's was suddenly transformed to a flashing rainbow like I had fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in Oz (my blog so I can mix up as many metaphors as I like!).
     In my teenage Moonage Daydream David Bowie was my father.  In many ways I actually learned way more about who and how I wanted to be from Bowie than I did from my actual dad.  My dad was like a roadmap of how I didn't want to be whilst Bowie was a blueprint of a magical life that I could be my own architect of.  He was beyond gender and sexuality and was more like a glorious alien being that could be or become anything he fancied.  Of course, Bowie belongs to the stratosphere.  He belongs to the cosmos and to the universe and, therefore, he is many, many different things to millions of people.  That is part of his absolute wizardry - the godlike chameleon that speaks a different language to each person that listens.
     So far in my life this has been the biggest loss of public persona.  When Elvis died I saw my father cry for the 1st time and it broke my heart.  When John Lennon died I saw my Mom weep for his untimely loss.  I understood at a young age how these larger than life figures can unite and bond people and societies together.  Perhaps that is the ultimate goal of art to break down all barriers and unite people in the process?! All of that being said David Bowie was my personal hero and, luckily, I will have his music to guide and comfort me until my time is up too.