My wife told me this morning as she left for work & I still slept, and I fell back asleep, fell right into a dream where I was living in a tiny, crowded artists’ commune somewhere in the row houses of Pennsylvania on a steep slope where we had to hang the laundry to dry and there was this older man at the table with two different colored eyes and he made us promise we wouldn’t tell.
He is still & always will be at the table of every group of people imagining a more beautiful world.
Thanks from the weird kids, Mr. Bowie. We wouldn’t have had half a chance without you.
And these children that you spit on – as they try to change their worlds – are immune to your consultations – they’re quite aware of what they’re going through