ashes to ashes, funk to funky

On Monday morning, as I was driving to my first day at the new school, I found myself in tears.
David Bowie was dead.
The news took me totally by surprise.
One moment, I was listening to music.
The next, I was crying, having just heard the news.
Every time I thought about the great loss to this world, I cried.
He was barely 69 years old.
David Bowie was special to me. His lyrics made me think, made me smile, made me dance! Such a remarkable voice and mind! And although his voice remained unique, his music and style were in constant flux.
Surprise!
Change was his modus operandi.
He continually morphed into new genres, new personae, always skipping ahead to light the way for others.
Change was always good.
Perhaps, this latest change was into an aged Starman, longing for home.
The last video, for "Lazarus", ends with him entering a space we could not view, closing the door on this world.

Then, tonight, I was working online and had the television still on, having not bothered yet to turn it off.
A talking head came on, one of the late-night desk jockeys, for a show I never watch.
"What a week it's been for male Brits," he began.
I paused to see what would follow.
Alan Rickman was dead.
What???
I burst into tears.
No more mischievous twinkle in his eye or sly henchman's smile? No more mellifluous baritone filling the air, making you wish his bad guy character might actually prevail?
Even my ex knew how much I adored the man. He recently texted, saying he had just seen my "buddy Alan Rickman" in a movie filmed here in Savannah.
I wish I could have seen the actor when he was in town. I doubt I would have been able to say anything. Then again, perhaps I would have had a similar encounter as with Alan Ruck at 2009's Dragon*Con.
No way to know now.
The man has died.
His age?
69.
Just like David Bowie.
Actually, not quite.
Alan Rickman would have been 70 next month.

As I searched for solace on the British Broadcasting Corporation website, a headline kept vying for my attention.
"Colossal star explosion detected", it read.
A star had become a supernova and was being billed as possibly the "most powerful ever detected".
That definitely had my attention.
At its peak, it shone "with 570 billion times the brightness of our Sun".
I kept reading.
Guess how the star was detected?
ASAS-SN.
That brought a smile and a happy thought.
Perhaps the man who had played one of the most memorable hitmen ever was joining forces with the Starman, who had also enjoyed a turn as an incredibly memorable hitman?
I could imagine them being good friends in the next world, as both had been such compassionate, cheerful souls on this Earth.
Most definitely.
And with that reassuring image, I am off to bed, to dream of better mornings in my once upon a time.

Wait up a second! What's with the photo?

That was the result of another happy thought, as well as a mighty fine coincidence.
The photo appeared on the upper part of the front page of my newspaper on New Year's Day.
Yes, that would be the newspaper I still happen to subscribe to, even though I keep saying I'm going to stop doing so.
(smile)
When I first glanced at the photograph, I had to do a double-take.
Was that a robot celebrating some occasion?
Was it an alien coming to Earth in a burning vessel?
Nope, neither one.
It's the Palace of Westminster's Elizabeth Tower, also known as Big Ben, with celebratory fireworks still exploding over the River Thames seven minutes after the start of the new year.
In other words, a photo of an icon in England.
How very fortunate for me that I had kept the photo for this blog entry, to mark the passing of these two fine men, men who were also icons of England.

i thank You, God.