Bowie was Scott’s. That’s the first thing.
“And your prayers, they break the sky in two,” is the second.
Heathen is the third thing. It’s not on my iPod in its entirety, and it’s all I want to listen to.
Bowie was myth made manifest. That’s the last thing. I grew this story of him in my head from songs and half-read interviews and photographs; now there’s an ending, solid fact and impossible to ignore, and I hadn’t considered that there would be one, so.
I read (you can check out my Goodreads if you want; it's linked on my blog). I write (I’ve been published in Cicada, On Spec, Strange Horizons, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Betwixt, Metaphorosis, Gallery of Curiosities, The Cassandra Project; the stuff that’s available online is linked on my blog). I plan for the inevitable zombie apocalypse and welcome the coming of the gorilla revolution. Or the anarchist rabbits. Whichever happens first. (I also blame my husband for basically everything.) View more posts
Laura E. Price