David staged for himself an immaculate death, hot on the heels of a new album. What class!
Cue the retards, lining up to offer their pathetic, bewildered take on what he meant to them.
I can hardly bear to watch.
‘Pop genius’ pronounces Cameron. Fuck you to the bottom of the ocean Cameron, you prick. He was way more than that. He was a prophet, a seer, a living breathing signpost, an alien on this planet, a karma chameleon and fifty times the man you’ll ever be. Take your lips from his name!
Am I sad? Fuck, no. Am I shocked? About what? The fact that people die? No, I’m fucking pleased for him, it was the death he would have wanted and the death he deserved.
David dies and suddenly the world seems that bit stupider, but the death of an icon will always tend to bring ignorance into sharp focus. The world was dumb yesterday, it’s dumb today.
These days I allow it to entertain me but occasionally my frustration seeks an outlet.
‘Ground Control to Major Tom your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong, can you hear me Major Tom?’
Brave New World, that has such people in it.