I woke up this morning with a song in my head. It's called "Stardust" and if you've spoken/texted with me recently, you can guess the artist. The chorus contains theses lyrics: In a stardust cloud, hey, rock-n-roll king is down
Stardust is the glittery debris left by a cosmic act of magnificent destruction. It's also the surname of David Bowie's tragic rock hero. No coincidence, I think.
It seems to me that all the really good
rockstars have something messianic about them, something of the splendid martyr. Here I am,
they say, and I am powerful and poetic and I will feel your pain for you and make it into something beautiful, even if it destroys me.
So we flock to them, eager for the absolution, and the ecstacy, longing for immortality from the touch of their hand. We perpetuate the myth, because we are human, and silly.
I may have reached this conclusion because I've been reading Heinlein. Does understanding obsession lessen its power? Also, I hate typing in the morning, because my stupid MS tremor is really pronounced. I need, like, Copaxone-Flakes for breakfast. Lol. >:(
Current Location: chez moi
Current Mood: contemplative