My idol, my Ziggy, my Thin White Duke, my Bowie, has died. Though I think, somehow, all that he was will rise from the ashes of his body like some great ethereal, well-dressed phoenix and continue making art someway, somehow. I have loved David Bowie since I was about 13 years old. I can trace it back to the moment that I learned that Jareth the Goblin King was the man who sang "Golden Years". Since then, bits of Bowie have invaded my life. My love and awe for Bowie, whose work I am still to this day discovering and falling in love with, has encouraged me to take ownership of my oddity, to revel in my weirdness, to proudly identify as an artist, to push myself to experiment and to turn and face the strange changes. Because there is power in his work, and vulnerability, and humility, and courage, and joy. When I found out that he died, I sat down in my room, looked up, and saw his face on the cover of my Scary Monsters vinyl, peaking over at me. The closer I looked, the more Bowie I saw-- not just albums but books, movies, t-shirts, pins, a framed post card my brother sent me from London, a mixed tape my best friend made me in junior high...as I said, "bits of Bowie". My journal, too. Years ago I stopped beginning my journal with the traditional "Dear Diary" and opted instead for "Major Tom", to whom I have confided confidently throughout my eternal adolescence. The last line of the last entry, by the way, dated November 30th, 2015: "We can be heroes (just for one day)". How is it that someone so rich with art and magic could be made weak by something as banal as cancer? But that's the way of it. Even the greatest among us, despite what we may believe, are mortal. Bowie was the greatest among us. The day he died, I got messages throughout the day from family and old friends who, when they thought of Bowie, thought of me. To each of them the only word I could think to use was heartbroken. But. This world was given Bowie, and now some other world must receive him, and to wish that he not be shared would be selfish beyond measure.

When I came home today, my Dad had Black Star waiting for me. And now, I get to fall in love with Bowie all over again.