27

David Bowie passed away today. The entirety of my social media feeds have been filled with tributes to him. An endless stream of tweets have linked to essays, quoted lyrics, or simply shared a favorite song; the majority of what my friends have listened to on Spotify today has been something from every era of Bowie's 40+ year career; Facebook friends from different social circles that have never met each other (and probably never will) are posting the same links to music videos or articles about the Thin White Duke. The anecdotes that have been shared aren't morsels, but a nourishing feast to honor the legacy of David Bowie.

I am no different. A friend texted the news this morning. I woke up, read some responses online, then wrote my own tribute. David Bowie released 27 studio albums*. I wrote a short story, inspired by the album covers of these records. Each record gets one line. If you want to follow along, I recommend scrolling through NME's chronological list of albums with proper credit given to the  photographers, fashion designers, and other artists that contributed to the myriad of mystique personas that Bowie donned.

*Includes two albums with Tin Machine. Does not include soundtracks, live albums, compilations, etc.

☆☆☆

Michael Robbins, 'Alien Vs. Predator'

I finally got around to reading Michael Robbins' poetry collection, 'Alien Vs. Predator'. I'm familiar with Robbins who taught a class I took on Romantic Poetry four years ago at Columbia. He knew a fuckton about poetry, as well as hip-hop and metal; he looked like a guy that would know a fuckton more about poetry than he did hip-hop and metal.

His own poetry is quite absurd. Lots of plays on words, lots of contemporary cultural references, philosophical references, poetic references...you get the idea. The poems are very abstract, in the sense that you shouldn't expect to read a poem and come away with any cohesive sense of what you just read.

Overall, I enjoyed the collection. I don't read a lot of poetry, but I'm sure I would read more of it if I knew more people that wrote like this. It was fun to read, and fun to read out loud and I found myself laughing while reading more than anything in quite some time. I decided to take some of my favorite lines, and rearrange them into a new poem. Since I could never write a poem that referenced Sartre, Star Wars, Joy Division, Freud, and David Bowie, I'm letting Robbins do it for me. If you're intrigued by these lines, check out some of Robbins' unbastardized work on the Poetry Foundation's website and follow him on twitter. Looking forward to another collection set to be released later this year. 


'Ode to AVP'

If hell, like Soylent Green, is people,
every little hermit is the one true God.
She's not the droid you're looking for.
This baby is disgusting. Fuck you, baby.

Hold me close, tiny reindeer.
I get my news from Meerkat Manor
I think I left my uterus in your uterus
Please don't get me started on astronauts.

I measure my pleasure in AMBER Alerts.
Let's put the Christ back in Xbox
by licking the nun and kicking her habit,
the elephant of surprise.

You shouldn't drink diarrhea
unless you bring enough for everybody.
Life is but the interpretation of a dream.
Gently, gently down the drain.

This is Uncle Tom to Ground Control.
Love will tear us a new asshole.
Now I'm required
to register as a sex pretender.

The business school has softer
toilet paper, so I do my business there.
Sing "Crimson and Clover" over and overy
to the dollar dollar bill and yes yes y'all.

Sunday Funday (#fuckyourgrammys Edition)

It is raining outside. I ate a sandwich earlier from a Mexican restaurant. I finished reading A Moveable Feast last week (yes I know it's by Hemingway; no, I'm not including it in my 52 books). I have a hangover today. What that means is I rewatched multiple Arrested Development episodes and prowled the Internet for new music. So here's some musical treats for you:

Beck. Covers David Bowie. With a 167 piece orchestra. Some stupid car company had something to do with it, so I can't embed, but I promise it's worth the extra click. SOUND AND VISION. Stupid car company actually had a cool idea though; this is the first in a series. Consequence of Sound has full details.

Netherfriends x Fess Grandiose. Hot jams, funny opening, and a silly little video.




I didn't post this Jamaican Queens video last week, so here you go:



Three and a half years ago, I stumbled across a bizarre and surreal singer/songwriter named Natti Vogel at a venue in Beijing. Weird mix of Amanda Palmer, Fiona Apple and Oscar Wilde. It was just him and a keyboard, and was exactly what I needed at that point in my life. Having rediscovered him, I found out he is a part of something called the Bushwick Book Club, which writes albums based on books. Their most recent session was about Slaughterhouse Five, my first favorite book. Natti is featured on the compilation.





And oh, some guy named Nick Cave is releasing a new album. It's streaming on NPR right now.