Blackstar in the Constellation of Pisces

by Christos Polydorou

I’ve spent all last year mourning David Bowie, one year later, there is no sadness left. He was just a singer, you might tell me, to dismiss my drama, or perhaps to comfort me. Sure. Just a singer. In a world of no heroes. In a world crammed full with monsters. In a world full of plastic and those tiny beads in cosmetics, sure, David Bowie was just a singer.

To me, David Bowie will always be an icon of creativity, innovation, invention, but ultimately defiance. Defying the sheer absurdity of being alive but walking dead.

Grief is not the thing with feathers. Grief is the thing with gills, fins, and a tail. It is difficult to catch, of course. But until you get it, you will become one hell of a fisherman.

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