Friday, September 02, 2011

The Man Who Bought The World


Like an epileptic fit
Being suffered by a puppet
He strides across the room
As if the world owes him a living

Like the skeleton within
Who dancing a grim fandango
Strings attached to which he offers no resistance
As if the world owes it to him

But who am I to pass
These judgements dressed in stone
Are my strings as loose as I think they are
Am I am owed the world for nothing?


David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold The World" is woven into the fabric of me. As a teenager I was a massive (and obsessive) fan; partly for the way he looked - in the early seventies nobody looked like Bowie. all a copper haired and alien - but mostly for those songs.
"I'd rather stay here
with all the madmen
'cause I'm quite content
They're all as sane as me"
But The Man Who Sold The World (The song not the album) never quite delivers; it fails to reveal what is promised by the title.
The above poem thingy is what happenned to Bowie's enigmatic song after it has stewed in my subconscious for almost forty years.

3 comments:

Harlequin said...

amen from a fellow bowie fanatic. you do his lyrics justice ....

good stewing!

Pisces Iscariot said...

Harlequin: More stewing than eating at the moment - :)

Confessions of a Temporal Lobe said...

Fandango. Oh hell yeah.
Beers to ya!