Is that jeb bush? He's still trying to be a tough guy but he's getting further and further away from center stage, he looks pretty snazzy in that new suit though. His comeback's gonna be YUGE, we're gonna build a tumbleweed folks, we have no choice, the failing new york times printed an obituary for a dog last week, FAKE NEWS, the dog was a hot dog sold in times square, what a disaster! I have so many friends there, vendors, vending machines, vengeful vicars, may god have mercy on my bleached wig, jimmy cartwheel forged the birth certificate.
David Bowie is turning himself with a precise sense of the inevitable and with no real explanation of how he is doing it into a subterranean asexualist, abstract folk-rocker, cubist cabaret singer, mysterious creature from an outer space of his own making, acrobatic conceptualist, moon mad narcissist, romantic historian, frightened recluse, desperately glamorous post-structuralist, electric pin-up, reckless dramatist, exotic superstar, arrogant self-promoter, transcendental light entertainer, pretentious psycho-preacher, exquisite dandy, shadow chasing shadow, frivolous dilettante, role playing stranger, tortured soul singer, alienated bombed out avant garde crooner, underworld trickster, impudent charlatan, existential drag queen, whimsical intellectual, experimental merchant, luxury consumer object and fortune teller
Happy Birthday to you in heaven. Death is an illusion as we know. You're silhouette is so stationary. But moondust will cover you. Angel or devil, I don''t care. For in front of that door, there is you. THANKS FOR ALL, Dave.