Bowie

From time to time (usually in the throes of manic musical obsequiousness - a state I find myself in often) I ponder the magnificence of David Bowie and the impact he has had upon my life in regards to injecting my thought patterns with a certain slippery androgyny and a penchant for changing directions often, and with little regard for current trends in the use of sequins in female cowboy hats.

By androgynous thought patters I suppose I do mean, literally, possessing both male and female characteristics, but my true intention with the phrase is to indicate a willingness - perhaps even a hunger - to see the other side.  This has led to incredible amounts of frustration and twitching eyelids.  Prejudices are easy and simple and clean.  However, I make it a point, should I feel one festering inside myself, to examine it and try to understand it, if not flat out reverse it.

Sometimes reversal is not possible, but I believe it is a worthwhile goal.  And prejudice does not solely constitute my feelings about other people or things, but my feelings about myself, as well.  It's fun to try and tear things apart and evolve - I maybe make a pretty solid hard rock album somewhat akin to a lighter, more literate Black Sabbath (Lavender Sabbath?), and it's successful and the motivation is there to repeat the formula that brought the most success with the least amount of sacrifice and pain.

But what do I do?  I go all introspective singer-songwriter and write songs like "Changes" and "Life on Mars?"  And THAT is even bigger than the hard rock thing, but before people really even have time to get completely familiar with this new sound, I have gone in another direction yet again, staking out a territory somewhere in between my previous two records and covering it with a thick salve of Vaseline, glitter, sequins, lip gloss, mascara, and general hairlessness.  That move makes me a legend.

Perhaps nothing that came after equaled the widespread cultural impact of Ziggy Stardust, but I keep shifting - keep evolving - as if afraid of standing still.  Like I'm trying to outrun something.  I couldn't possibly have done it any other way.

As I embrace my inner David Bowie, I try not to get lost in the clouds of hazy cosmic jive or my fear of Americans...my fear of the world.  I make it my goal to attempt to understand the opposition, and perhaps even relate to them.  Sometimes, if my worldview is rightfully shaken up enough, I may even embrace them outright.

And yet, the process is unending, and in the end I suppose I am bound to fail.  Bound to crawl comfortably into the nest of prejudices that seem to engulf so many of us eventually.  That I will become one of those old people who can't refer to anyone who isn't the same color as me without mentioning what color they are is scary to me, but even if I go in the other direction - pretentiously and self-consciously embracing diversity to the point where I look down my nose at anyone who isn't as "open-minded" as myself - I suppose the writing is on the wall.

In fact, that latter option is what I find myself struggling with more and more.  I am a hipper-than-thou 'tard butt most of the time, and I'll admit it.  I hate those who hate others.  But is my pose truly one of a diverse acceptance and worldly love of brother, or is it merely as shallow an affectation as those who hate based solely on race, religion, or creed?  If, by hating those who hate others, do I not, in turn, end up hating the hated as well?  And is not my hate of others truly a reflection of a hatred of myself?

How do I hate me?  Let me count the ways...

Just kidding.  Not enough time for that right now.  Meanwhile, that still, small voice in the back of my head I call Bowie croons on.  For his love is like the wind.  And wild is the wind.  "Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel," he says.  "But, Bowie, life is so short - my time so brief - what in the world am I supposed to be doing?"

"Oh, baby, just you shut your mouth."

Part of the experience of life is figuring out where we fit inside the spectrum, and to attempt to make sense of the world around us and those in it.  The world is incomprehensible, but it's cake compared to the antics of mankind.  And is there a Starman waiting in the sky who'd like to come and meet us but for a fear of blowing our minds?

I wish I could pick one answer or another and just stick with it.  But the Bowie inside my head won't let me.  And I suppose that's for the best.  Rigidity causes cracking and breaking - flexibility is much healthier, in life as it is in skyscraper construction.  I plan to continue the endless process of introspection.  When I sense the wheels of glam beginning to spin, I will head off to a mental landscape of plastic soul before heading to a spiritual Berlin for an extended period of chilly electronic experimentation.  Eventually, I may end up walking the streets of New York carrying oversized shopping bags, flitting between the pillars of commercialism and whatever Zen fortress of solitude I have constructed for myself, having blissfully removed myself from the public eye.  But always inside...thinking, and plotting the next move.

As if I could control it.