If you’re a long-time reader you’re probably aware that this isn’t my real blog. Or at least, that’s what my closest friends tell me. I keep a journal that I call my Super Secret Blog, and occasionally I really like something I write there and feel comfortable sharing it.
I mentioned yesterday that I’ve been writing letters and notes in my sketchbook and layering over them so that they are hard to read. I like doing this because it helps me get things out of my system (better than typing on a screen) and the texture of the note serves as a background texture.
Here is a letter I wrote to David Bowie the day that he died. I painted over this in my sketchbook but I typed it out on the Super Secret Blog so I would have it. The promise I made to Bowie has helped me get through the last couple of weeks of buckling down and writing / making / doing — I realize this is ridiculous, but whatever works, eh?
I need this much cool to finish my graduate work. Thank you, Herb Ritts, for this glorious smoking Bowie portrait from 1993. <3
Dear Mr. Bowie:
This is rather silly, isn’t it?
I was listening to a podcast early on this evening and it suggested to address your journal to somebody. I thought that it would be helpful if I addressed to you.
We never met but I admired — no, present-tense — admire you and all of your creativity and spirit. My journal entry to you is not meant to be a fan letter, but, instead, a one-way conversation. Perhaps in another lifetime you will receive this transmission.
Today I woke up to the news that you were no longer of this world and the breath was taken from me. You didn’t know me, but I think you knew what you meant to all of us misfit kids out there. You were always 100% unapologetically you. Even in the haunting last images.
I think I was taken aback and severely saddened [by the news of your death] because I NEED you now — more now than ever. You were never with me, but the mere fact that you existed … that you were you … has helped me through a lot of hard times. Everything you did was inspiring to me. I really can’t justify why you spoke to me or had such a grand importance to me … but I’ve been oh-so heartbroken since you’ve been gone.
I want you to know that I promise to work hard and to produce as much as I can. You made so many pretty things in your lifetime. I want to make just as much even if I’m never recognized for doing so.
I haven’t opened Blackstar yet. If I do it, it will be real. I still don’t know if I can handle it. A world without you, Mr. Bowie, is a world I don’t know how to live in.
Love on ya,
I think I may have to change my official blog signature to “love on ya”.