I Will Never Touch You

The three of us sat in the room for two hours, talking and taking lunch, a Jamaican fish dish with avocados stuffed with shrimp and a Beaujolais neuveau. Behind the stage, along a concrete corridor, there Starman sits in silence wearing three tonne NASSA jodhpurs. Hello space boy.  A dream, always better more human, more rational, a city room, a wasteland in which a cat has just knocked over a spinning mobile while a cactus sits in the window. Moments of delicious madness – quiet, mysterious and strangely magnificent; you don’t do things by halves do you?

The weapon of the wild boys is the Bowie knife. It sped everything up, hitting through the tangle of expectation and image that threaten to slow him down. Julian Priest warns to be careful, Kierkegaard observes that despair is not what prompts one to change oneself or to try to flee in to another self, it is what arrives when you realise that after all, you cannot escape yourself.

No, I didn’t know that was their weapon, the name Bowie just appealed to me when I was younger. I was into a kind of heavy philosophy thing when I was sixteen years old and I wanted a a truism about cutting through the lies and all that.

Christmas day 1977, a secluded restaurant in Grunevald. The singer has pulled his cloak over his head.

The dandy, in his account, self consciously adopts poses and embraces artificiality and theatricality as key markers of identity. Charles Baudelaire, one of the major French proponents of dandyism, remarked that the dandy must aspire to be sublime without interruption, he must live and sleep before a mirror. The head of Mishima, which hung above his bed. A copy of Fritz Lang’s biography. A line and a half from Little Richards’ Good Golly Miss Molly as we stand before the urinals and he goes home with Jasmine, the only real girl in the place that night.

Moon rabbits, a kiss by the wall.

I change my mind a lot. I usually don’t agree with what I say very much, I’m an awful liar. I’m not sure whether it is me changing my mind all the time? People are always throwing things at me that I’ve said, and I didn’t mean anything. You can’t stand still on one point your entire life.

Visconti riggs up three microphones.

One night, I rammed the dealer’s car again and again, then I drove around the hotel’s underground car park at 70 mph, screaming above the screech of the tyres. I wanted to ram the car into the concrete wall.

The mobile spins to its collision.

Later, my sister calls to tell me about a dream she had about David Bowie. As they are about to kiss, he says… we can do this and carry it through, but I have to let you know that I don’t love you – its only sex. The dream is so intense she says, that she actually believes that she has actually slept with David Bowie. Professor Tim Bliss, who recently won the Brain Prize for neuroscience, places memory at the centre of all human actions and predicts that it will be possible in the future to implant memories that never happened into the mind, calling this the Marilyn Monroe effect.

Cutting the scene diagonally.

The much loved sixty year old drag queen Viola was encouraged to sit on my knee, crooning German love songs in my ear. Oscar Wild said that: man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth.

Yes, to the stranger playing cards in my room. Encounters in foreign parts which immediately become separations, textures that do not exist. I am only the person the greatest number of people believe I am. So little of it has anything to do with me, so I just have to do the best I can with what I’ve got, knowing that it has a complete second life by the time it leaves me.

I say nothing directly, his world is beyond my understanding. He showed me pictures and played me sounds.

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