Day three, Wednesday
Woke up. David is still dead (shock). Starting to believe it could all be a gigantic hoax (bargaining). David has a song on his new album called Lazarus. In Christian mythology, Lazarus was restored to life after four days by Jesus. Who is Jesus, though? Lou Reed is dead, Iggy too sober. Ang is still in the Celebrity Big Brother house. Maybe he is hiding himself away (bargaining), him and Richey Edwards and Lemmy all, desirous of a ‘normal’ life after all the flashbulbs. Maybe it is a record company ploy, the ultimate in marketing stunts. Bad taste yes, but we would forgive him. Honest we would. It would be like a more extreme version of the Paul Daniels Halloween BBC death stunt in the 1980s (or what that scary dickhead Derren Brown is heading towards). This is the entertainment industry after all.
Do not feel as angry as yesterday, more confused and deadened and with the feeling everything is pointless (depression). I really cannot face taking either of the boys to their first week at cubs/scouts, not on a night like this. Sorry, Charlotte. And isolated, fuck yeah (loneliness). All these outpourings of emotion in the media (especially in the media) and on the street and in the social media. None of these include me. Not one. Most of the articles talk about how special Bowie was to the writer or to Britain in general or to art or to music or theatre or the world, and that is not how I feel. I feel way more conflicted than that. Confused. Sad. Angry (anger). Is it the death of Bowie that bothers me so much, or the reaction to the death of Bowie? Someone complains at someone else complaining about the public outpouring of grief – like grief should be compartmentalised and kept in neat little boxes: close family member TICK (acceptable), public figure CROSS (not acceptable). It is not grief I feel, though. At least I think not. More like anger, resentment, betrayal, uselessness – oh yes, the death of Bowie has really brought home how useless I am. Is it OK to feel those emotions as well, or only grief? Does it make me less of a man, less of a fan because I have not had tears running down my face for 30 hours straight, because I used to resent the way figures like Tony Blair would claim him for their own during the 1970s? (guilt)
Everyone else seems so sure of themselves, or the few articles I have glanced at. They know Bowie was a genius. (I do not.) They know he was a rock star. (I do not.) They know the importance of believing in Bowie. Not me. Sometimes I used to think he was used as an excuse by the mainstream for their ignorance of the slipstream. Is that heresy now? It was immediately apparent his newest album would receive great reviews everywhere because the media is comprised of Bowie fans. Or is that the whole world? I am not so sure. I voiced that opinion a few days ago (it feels like an eon), but…
The last three days do not seem to have happened. I flit between anger and resentment and a feeling of nothingness. I play Hunky Dory over and over, Ziggy Stardust sometimes too. The singles. I try Low, and recall why it was I hated critics writing about Bowie in the first place. Scary Monsters, yes. Anything after the first Nile Rodgers collaboration, no.
And… eep! No way am I going to listen to his final album right now.
Another thought occurs. Perhaps he died a week ago and the news was only released Monday (bargaining). Timing, you see.
Entertainment is all in the timing.