Tue, 07 Nov 2000
Dear Mr Wonderful,
What WAS David Bowie thinking in 1974?
Dear Thin White Duck,
You know, it was late 1973 and Bowie and I were in Paris, stumbling back to the hotel.
"W," he says to me, he says, "I'm not sure what to do next. I feel like the next big step in the career is somewhere around here, but I can't find it."
I remained silent, staring at the French moon, wondering if that Jagger kid had been giving me the eye.
"It's like my whole life has been leading up to this. I think I'm going crazy. I'm at the top of everything, but I don't know what's going to happen next," said the boy named David Robert Jones at birth.
I cast my eyes down to the glittering rainbows in the gutters. Had I left my rings behind at that party? I remembered taking them off when Juanita asked...
He draped an arm around my purple smoking jacket. "It's been six months since I retired Ziggy Stardust. Six months. I should have a new direction by now, shouldn't I?"
This man needed help. He was crushing my velvet.
"Look," I said to him, "you're crazy if you think you're ever going to have another hit in your life. You stole my fashion sense and you stole my heart and now you've got nothing to fall back on but the broken ashes of a forgotten time that burned in the absolutism of a metropolitan dog with diamond teeth in The Matrix on 23rd street, you bastard."
And I meant it.
He cried. But then I shared some of the stuff with him and it was allright.
I like to imagine that, in 1974, Bowie was thinking of how much he missed me.