David Bowie died today.
I never imagined that this day would ever be a thing. David Bowie doesn’t die. David Bowie changes into something else, something more wonderful than the previous David Bowie. David Bowie is not human. He can’t die.
Turns out David Bowie was human.
I sat on the bed at 7am. Ant had just called up the stairs with the news. Nothing had been said on the radio, they were just playing songs. Then they said. I cried. I cried for 20 minutes without moving from my spot.
Then I cried in the shower.
Then I cried on the sofa.
I cried by text. I swore on Twitter. I’m a heartless cow when it comes to public grief, can’t be dealing with bleeding hearts, so today I just said “fuck”.
I put him on shuffle on my Spotify to walk to work. It played Everyone Says Hi. I cried in the street.
Lots of crying. I doubt I was the only one.
I read Martin of Ruth & Martin’s Album Club’s wonderful post and I cried.
I was born at 2.58pm on Saturday 16th April 1983. A rainy day apparently. David Bowie was at number 1 with Let’s Dance, not his greatest song, but still. David Bowie was at number 1 when I was born.
I don’t remember the first time I watched Labyrinth, I just know that it’s always been there. Wheeled in to the school hall on that giant TV trolley that only schools and hospitals had, and played on a video so well worn that the tracking was a bit shifty.
I don’t remember noticing the bulge. Just one day, there it was.
I do remember sitting on my Grandma’s piano stool in the middle of her living room watching Labyrinth one Saturday afternoon. Just because Labyrinth.
Labyrinth. A school days staple, like trips to St Fagans. Always at least once a year.
I’m not really sure what to do with myself now. I’ve been drawing, but I’m not sure. Lots of staring into space while listening to hour upon hour of wonderful music.
I’ll survive. I lived on the Earth at the same time as David Bowie. That’s something to be proud of.
There’s a Starman waiting in the sky.