Teenage Ex?

I was sitting on a two seat sofa outside of the fourth year social area when I first saw M, the hour lunch break was drawing to a close and I said to Godwin after she'd walked past us and out through the double doors, "I think she is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen". 

 

The following day at the same time and place she walked by us again and I nudged Godwin and said quietly "that's who I told you about", and he stood up and said loudly, "her, her, this is the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?" I was incredibly embarrassed. 

 

I had been invited to a party the coming weekend at SW's house and I was sitting in his parent’s living room in front of the fireplace when M walked in. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Someone I had never seen before and now three times in one week!  

 

Ten minutes later we were nestled in an alcove at the top of the landing that was been renovated and we talked all night and missed the party for talking and at the end of the night she said, "so are you going to kiss me?" and I said, "okay then" and we kissed for half an hour. 

 

Her father dropped her off at the cinema the following Sunday evening and we went to see a movie, I can't remember kissing her in the cinema, I was a little shy and I caught the bus back with her to make sure she arrived home safely even though I lived eight miles in the opposite direction. We kissed on the end of her street, I seem to recall. 

 

M and I were together for a full year, I would see her almost every night and once I went on vacation with her and the family to Aberystwyth on the coast of Wales where we stayed in a caravan park for a week. 

 

We broke up when we were 16 years of age, she was September 77 and I was June of the same year. She had expressed to me she had wanted to have different sexual experiences with other partners and said it wasn't fair I'd had two other sexual partners before her. We went our separate ways, I almost immediately started dating a girl on my course at college, and within a year M was pregnant to her boyfriend, I would occasionally see her in town without conversation. 

 

Years later I saw her one night when I was working in a bar called The Gate and when I saw her I skipped out the back so I didn't have to speak to her. When I came back into the circular serving area she had gone and I stood on my tip toes so I could see above the crowd of people that made up the room and my eyes rested on hers. She was smiling because she knew I was looking for her. 

 

The last time that I physically saw her was in 2002 and we had broken up eight years earlier and I was sitting outside of Mex-Millenium drinking a half of lager and she was behind the glass inside the communal area and our heads turned towards each other’s at the same time and we stared almost face-to-face for a long pause. She came outside and walked halfway up the hill and turned and wouldn't take her eyes off me. Her boyfriend came out of the bar, she seemed to regret, he was tall and wide, and they walked off together. Later I learned he was a professional rugby player.

 

M knew nothing about David Bowie. In high school I listened to classic 80's rock, Def Leppard and AC-DC and Guns n' Roses who I had once seen perform at Milton Keynes with SW, before my personal aesthetic changed after marijuana and LSD. David Bowie was in the future, I started listening to him at 19 years of age when I saw Live at Santa Monica sitting on top of a pyramid of cassette tapes in a bargain basement bin in EGS records. I was completing my Pink Floyd collection at the time with three CDs resting on the countertop.  

 

I got around to playing the 50p bootleg a few days later and I was interested in the song Andy Warhol at the time because I had Warhol posters over my walls. One print attached by Blu-Tac to my wall was of his famous silk-screen interpretation of Marilyn Monroe, "talking about Monroe". 

 

It doesn't seem a very thoughtful and considerate song about Andy Warhol; one can understand why Andy ran out of the room saying he hated it when Bowie performed the piece live for him in his Factory Studio. The song would seem very creepy if it were a song about oneself. “Tie him up when he’s fast asleep, send him on a pleasant cruise”.

 

I had thought that I like the song, Supermen because I had a Superman tattoo from since I was in the fourth year of high school. Only years later did I realise how violent the song was and how serious David Bowie was with his lyrics.

 

I had wanted to test a theory of Leary's that I'd known since I read him in my twenties. A couple that pair-bond together at a young age starting off on very similar levels to one another, both socially and intellectually as the years and decades pass by become very different people occupying different psycho-social reality niches. 

 

In 2012 I messaged my eldest sister on Facebook and asked her if she knew whether or not M had an account at all? My sister said, "Don’t get involved with her?" then she added, "I bet she's as beautiful as ever?" 

 

The following day I could see my sister and M were talking publicly on Facebook and I seized the opportunity to send M a friend’s request. I had no intention of getting romantically involved with her. It had been 18 years; it was out of the question, who knows what she was like? I'd just settled into my new apartment in the states with my wife and we were happy together, and I checked up on several old friends from decades earlier, chatting to people overseas was safer at distances. I could answer unresolved questions; we could be mature and still be friends. I had sent numerous requests to old acquaintances and received numerous requests from old acquaintances. My wife still had her friends from when she was in high school, as do most other people it seems to me.

 

M accepted the request and it took her about a week to inbox message me although she had hit the like button on a post where I had compared the police cars with flashing lights I had walked past earlier in a parking lot off Pacific Avenue to been like a "mobile disco without the music".

 

We chatted on and off for around two weeks and she may have been on my friends list for around three years in total without further chatter, before one of us deleted, I think it may have been me. 

 

She told me that her mother had always been fond of me and she said things like she had said she'd wished we'd stayed together, I don't know if this is true or not, but it seemed pleasant to read and I was saddened to hear of her passing. 

 

Her mother had almost adopted me when I was 15 years old and still in high school and she would have done had my Nan not stepped in with authority and said, "He’s coming to live with us", which was much more boring, although it meant I would live only a short 20 minute walk away from her.

 

It wasn't just M I lost when we broke up, but the closest thing I ever had to a family.

 

I don't recall talking about sex with her at all across the internet, I certainly wouldn't push something like that, however I recall her telling me who she was involved with and that he had gotten out of prison recently for a serious and violent crime. That would have put me off any further interpersonal involvement with her at all.  

 

She told me her son was starting university and she posted photographs of him looking smart and dapper and I remember she told me that she didn't like my mother at all and that I always deserved a much better mother than her. It was unpleasant to read, and I didn't respond, even though her words seemed experientially true to me.

 

This is one possible scenario I imagine may have happened; M's male entourage know Bob the artist, Bob knows David Bowie, I guess this may have been how our interaction was passed onto David Bowie that became misrepresented by the sensationalistic and scandalous lyric in the Next Day, "I'd rather smoke and phone my ex be pleading for some teenage sex". We had never exchanged phone numbers at all. I would have never pleaded her for sex.

 

A lot of people have wanted to judge me for this line in a rock n’ roll album it seems. They all seem to have their own specific agendas. I would relish my day in court, seeing all these adults of the same age as one another lined up before the judge which would seem comical to me. The tyranny of the totalitarian teachers, and teenagers, on the hill, and the media-police state alliance seemed obsessed with this line from a rock song. The Oregonians have proven themselves to be scandalous liars. The accurate portrayal of reality befitting of “expert witnesses” was just not condemning enough for them.

 

They seem to have had a bullshit paranoid-fantasy-based latency theory, supposed expectancy that wasn't substantiated by empirical reality. I wasn’t interested in students, or getting involved with another American, or of even staying in the country. If sexual advances don’t appear in one's behaviour, then they don’t magically become so by wishing them to be so. If they appear in one's behaviour then we can describe that. Empirical observation showed that my wife was in her late fifties, I ignored advances. Outside of their purview I had once spent a night with a fifty-five year old woman as a twenty-five year old man.  

 

Pacific University attempted to artificially construct confirmation by sending a young blond female student across to me as I was minding my own business walking home one morning along Pacific Avenue. She timed her horizontal walk across the road to match and imitate my vertical walk across another road as I headed upwards toward Forest Grove Library. She stopped by my side so as to converse and I ignored her and continued walking, I sensed from behind me that she seemed to feel snubbed. I discovered afterwards a teacher lurking on the corner as I crossed further up, they were attempting to confirm irrational theories at a time I wasn't even conscious of their model. I had passed their test, but like with the CRB clearance posted onto my Facebook page, and like the Youtube video I'd posted of my wife saying there had never been any violence or abuse, they would not cancel out their presupposed models and would not adjust and update their reality lenses. I must like “children”, the professors thought, just like professors do. How can anybody not like spending time around teenagers? What they were really looking for, theoretically, was the 50 year old man who was known in the village to sit in a room with students several nights a week, and sometimes it seems to be known that he even talks about sex.

 

They seemed to think I must be a corrupter of youth. I didn’t converse with any youth the entire duration of my US visit.   

 

Just because a person appears on television or/and CD it doesn't mean their words are legion, it doesn't make them omniscient. We primitive H. Saps have a superstitious response to media, it sometimes seems. The media of music seems like the ancient Egyptian God Thoth handing down writing to mere mortals. It seems so new and advanced a technique on an evolutionary scale that we can only aggrandise it out of all proportion. Hence the "rock god" perception-phenomena.

 

In their ignorance and pursuit of slander and defamation they wanted to turn an old past love into a crime. We were 15, we made lots of crimes, she was on the contraceptive pill. Today we were older than the cops and the one cop who had seemed to convey this paranoid sense without evidence to my wife as I insisted my innocence to her.

 

As a teenager I had lots of teenage girlfriends, my first sexual relationship was with C. I was 15 and in high school and she was 17. She was working in a clothes store which was great because it meant she had money and could buy me beer every weekend, and sometimes clothing, like silk boxer shorts. I dated C and my friend Stew dated B, B was best-friends with C, B was 19 when she became pregnant with his baby. Stew raised the girl into adulthood after B became suicidal shortly after giving birth.

 

 

David Bowie had an agenda from before he had heard of me as a specific individual. In the concept album Outside in 1995 his character baby Grace suffered from my illness, "the mental and devas hand". The album was subtitled in some editions as The Ritualistic Art Murder of Baby Grace Blue. I bought and knew the album as The Nathan Adler Diaries, ignorant of alternate titles. In the concept Grace was been held hostage by a celebrity in the art world who appeared on television and of whom had her hooked on “interest drugs”. In the song Spaceboy he makes a reference that seems paedophilic "do you like girls or boys?" he presumes to ask. I was 19 when I first heard this album, I was not homosexual. Bowie had played the role of the Goblin King in the movie Labyrinth where the adult David Bowie snatches an innocent child like the demon Moloch and seems romantically infatuated with a young teenage girl called Sarah, played by Jennifer Connelly. Outside of the movies and albums he has a documented history with the statutory rape of minors. Lori Maddox was one such teenage ex; Bowie was a man at the time she lost her teenage virginity to him.

 

It appears that because of the disease I inherited that I was sold like a slave to the multimillionaire David Bowie through Bob the artist that had discovered me in my personal living environment in1997. He seemed to know immediately what he was going to do hence how wide his eyes were when I walked into the room. He was carrying a robot, and was armed with Hidden Agenda stickers. He would often lie on his back and feign eye pain, an attempt at magical imitation. A year after first meeting him he introduced me to a music promoter from Wakefield called Dave Beer who owned a nightclub in Leeds. I hadn't spoken to him at all that night, and I knew nothing of their intent. I was wired on a Mitsubishi disco biscuit, he'd come over and shaken my hand and looked me in the eyes and asked if I was "alright?" I nodded the affirmative, but I wasn't, I was undergoing a stressful and arduous time with Bob who subjected me to sleep deprivation, I had lost my flat, and my girlfriend was f*****g all my former friends. Dave Beer took to the record decks and played shamanic hand-drumming. I bought a bottle of beer and sat facing away from the dancing crowd. I never went back to the nightclub again. 

 

In 2003 when I was officially informed that the Hours album had been written about me I headed off to London leaving the bookstore that had been given to me as a gift behind forever. I certainly wasn't going to meet Bowie as he and others seemed to presume I would.

 

I saw Bowie star in an episode of an American TV series called The Hunger in 2015. The show was filmed in 1999 and in this episode he lays down his business proposal of murdering his victim and turning him into an amalgamated art sculpture with himself. I had imagined the final scene post-release but twelve years in advance of seeing it. "I'm not going to be some dumb fan who shows up thinking he's meeting a rock star just so the pied piper can walk him off the cliff". Had I seen this episode earlier I would have never become involved with the pop singer for his Heathen album.

 

On Newsnight with Paxman in 1999 David Bowie slips in a statement amidst the interview saying, "I always liked to kill my characters off", and on the Jonathon Ross show he seems to be confessing to having murdered Vince Taylor who was the inspiration behind Ziggy Stardust when Bowie says with a mock German accent, "why did I kill Ziggy, why did I kill Ziggy?" He was Bret Easton Ellis's Bateman going to the party as "Driller Killer". The Freudian advice from the novel, listen to what they say. Take it seriously. 

 

The song Seven was named after my room number in the hostel that I rented after enduring the Bately Bats experience. Bob upon visiting the minimal sized room had pointed to the number and said, “That’s a really good number”. There were several versions of the single released and one of those singles was remixed by the music promoter I'd met at his nightclub under his label Back to Basics. Their version of the song repeated “die” over and over so much so that I jumped of and switched the CD player off. A waste of five pounds. He'd also remixed a song on the Sound and Vision box-set that I discovered in 2003. At the time I'd met Beer he had a song out in the pop music charts, I am Miami, I was told. I was also told he was a heroin addict. He made a lot of money out of me, I believe. The denotation of Thursday for the first single and song on the album came from the identification I had formed with this day of the week which I had begun to see as holy. It was the day I got paid, and I could buy smoke and enhance a religious type high.

 

I sketched a man on a page of a notebook; on the adjacent page I sketched an eagle. I thought I could combine the two images together and I arrived at a man-eagle hybrid. The following day in Ottaker’s bookstore I was browsing the psychology section when I discovered a book facing outwards in the neighbouring Occult section. There was a painting of the man-eagle hybrid design on the front cover. The book was entitled Enochian Magic, and I bought it so that I could learn learn more about the painting. I flicked through and read about Horus for the first time. The theory that I held as to what the album title Hours pertained to was in relation to Horus, but sometime later I realised that the hour hand can most often be represented as the shorter hand of a clock, the hands of time seem asymmetric. Of course Horus can be turned into an anagram of Hours, and we measure time in relation to the sun , but he was symbolising the visible stigmata of my illness. 

 

 

 

In the summer of 2003 I was treated in the Lydia clinic at Guys and St Thomas's hospital in London for an STD that I'd contracted from my former girlfriend J in 1998. She passed the virus onto me after having an affair with LR who was always telling us guys about it. I had turned to her at the time and said, "you do know he has genital warts?" and she looked mortified and as though she needed to go to make an appointment at the family planning clinic. LR was 25-26 years of age, it was still a legal liaison. He once called out across the Inns of Court so that everybody could hear and thus draw attention to his conquest "so are you still together with J?" I didn't go with another female for the five years I carried the infection.

 

Whilst Dr R was examining my male membrum with her hands and eyes I pointed out to her that the warts were configured as such so as to form a three-pointed-triangle, "like the trinity" I said, and I asked her if she could "scientifically verify that for me?"

 

I told Dr R about the last time I had taken LSD which had been as a 23 year old where I'd had this experience of a colossal 3-dimensional universal triangle inverting and its apical tip had centred right on my middle regions. I'd battled with the neuro-somatosensory phantom pain of this hallucination for a long time on bended knees.  

 

Afterwards I had clambered into the red leather Chesterton chair and had taken consciousness for a joyride around my body, down my spine to my feet and back up my legs, to my chest, and into my hands, and then back up to my head again which seems to be where most people subjectively experience consciousness when I went quaquversal and became every single dimensional vantage point of the room. I was observing myself sitting in the chair. I had become a Hindu, a Mysterion. 

 

Whilst the Dr was taking her time with a thorough examination I didn't mind so much I talked about some of the front page tabloid headlines I'd experienced of events that had come true from my predictions, I was uncertain whether I was precognitive, and I told her what would appear on the front pages on the following Tuesday. Pete Townsend who had played guitar on the song Slow Burn on the Heathen album and that I had contributed a few scattered lyrics to would be arrested under charges for pedophilia. 

 

The headlines appeared on the front pages on the designated day, I didn't read the article and I have no knowledge of its content, but I understand that Townsend was discovered to have been innocent and I can only apologise. I was angry with David Bowie because the song had been such a threat to me. It wasn't magic, I was influencing media.  

 

Bowie promoted the Heathen album on Parkinson's in 2002 and he sat next to Tom Hanks who had teenage sons and Bowie made a reference to the beat poets and that they were into teenage boys so he knew they were exactly the type of thing for him and Tom Hanks had flashed an alarmed response, and appeared to my mind to look uncomfortable. I had thought, I hope to God J isn't watching this, because she thinks I like him. I didn't want anything to do with him saying things like that, wanted no association with him. He seemed to be openly and unapologetically proclaiming himself to be an homosexual and pedophile. The former I had been aware of.  

 

I hadn't realised at that time that J and Bob were in collaboration with Bowie for the Hours album. That they knew him, I didn't know. The music promoter had said in the documentary movie about their nightclub, "Even David Bowie and Chrissie Hynde wanted to make records with us". Aspects of the album had just seemed unbelievably coincidental to me. They didn't know I had lyrics scattered over his next album Heathen. That hadn't come from them. 

 

The first thought I'd had upon opening up the inlay card when I arrived home and seeing that he'd printed the two lines from the song Sunday independently of the lyric sheet was that, this is not Lao Tsu, or the Buddha, why has he printed them? And, does he think these words are profound? 

 

It took me a while before I realised Nothing has changed, Everything has changed had come from me. I had spoken the words in December 2001. "It's almost like he's applying language to my process. If that's true then I should be able to predict his next lyrics as it's my process, well, what has changed since the last album? Nothing's really changed, but in a way, everything has changed". I’d also said, “it feels like I’m at the centre of it all,” this resurfaced in the song Blackstar.

 

There had been an advert on television for Guinness with white horses rushing to the shore, and before the second version where they changed the narration to tick follows tock, the words had been, “Chris follows Bob follows Chris follows Bob”. A piece of toast slipped off my plate and I stood with my mouth agape.

 

Years later I realised that J was supposed to be represented by the girl in the Thursday's Child video where Bowie with grandeur and presumed authority pretends to himself and his audience that he is some kind of protector of this girl's innocence. For years after seeing the video I had assumed she and Bowie had been f*****g, she went with everybody else I had loved at that time. 

 

J and I had broken up for the types of reasons teenagers in love and out of love break up. Few people pair-bond for life at that age. 

 

When my niece was a teenager and fighting with her boyfriend during their breakup I kept out of this entirely, he was jealous I'd heard, so what?! they were teenagers. And similarly when my step-daughter broke with her boyfriend after he'd become abusive I stepped back even though I'd been asked to intervene. Other people's domestic disputes are none of my business and nor were they the business of the elder Bowie's to get involved in the breakup of two younger people. It's not like she had been hurt at all, at all.  

I recall been angry a lot with J during the last 5 or 6 months of the relationship. We hadn't argued for the first year and a half, but things had turned from sweet to sour after she arrived home from vacation and told me two months later, "I was raped on a beach, I ran into the sea". 

 

This seemed a contradiction to my young mind, I found it difficult to reconcile as this is what she was saying before this time had turned her on. I blamed Kurt Cobain. Unfortunately there was nobody mature enough for me to seriously talk to.  

 

I had exhibited Jean Genie screaming and bawling moments, I had wanted her out of my home environment almost every night, I couldn't stand to be with her, and during the break up one evening I once tripped her up, swept her feet from under her, and she fell onto the grass of the playing fields on Newton Hill. As she laid on the green looking up at me she was begging me to hit her, "go on Justin, I know it's what you want to do, please Justin I really want you to", and she looked like she meant it, and I didn't hit her. 

 

A few weeks before she had been speaking immaturely as we walked back to the flat at 123 Bradford Road and I mimicked her words playing them back to her in an even more immature way than she had spoken them to me and she flew into a fit of rage and was jumping on my back and swinging blows at the back of my neck and head. With a balled hand, I rudely pushed her away, the hand on her upper cheek bone. This was not a punch, it was not snap-hit-retract and there was no mark or bruise. 

 

Over a year later I had glossed over the "Riding to darkness on my soul" line, I hadn't personally recognised it other that I had mistakenly thought on occasion he may have meant the Bately Bats experience, but  it was just a CD from the store right? The HMV store was situated to the side of the main entrance of the Riding's shopping centre. Riding is an old Nordic word that denotes, three. The Danes a thousand years earlier had separated their territories into Ridings. His word choice contained the information for a location. 

 

The line I contributed for Thursday's Child was "Everything's falling into place". This was said to R when I first moved into the second number 4 in the summer of 99. I had predicted the 4 in a collage and had said to R that "the number 4 is a very powerful magic number". R had said "why is it?" and two weeks later when I moved into the flat I pointed to the number and said, "You see, I told you it was a powerful magic number." R took my words to Bob and Bob to David Bowie. Chris had laughed aloud when he heard the lyric, "innocence in her heart". And when the album had spun its last cycle he said, "Don’t listen to him!" I didn't listen to Chris, I went over his entire back catalogue. "This ain't rock n' roll, this is genocide". Uh, what?

 

I've personally heard accounts from women who have told me how severely they have been beaten up by their ex boyfriends, they've had subcutaneous wounds, bruises and abrasions and I always felt hard done by David Bowie. Even with the burden of disease I would never hurt a woman. I had a ten year duration without relationships after I broke with J. 

 

In 2003 I learned from Bob she'd had a baby and B said, "that was ages ago, didn't you know?" and then, "you're not still hung up on her are you?" And it had been five years since we had broken up and I really wasn't hung up on her at all and I expressed this so, "I don't care for them", I pointed out was also my line.

 

In 2017 when I read the blurb for the movie Mute which I still haven't seen even though the title was taken from my Flickr account I was very angry with the misrepresentation through insinuation that I still wanted to be with this girl. I was nearing 40, this was absurd. 

 

Bowie's son seemed to be trying to maintain the narrative by manipulating movies in alignment with his father's songs, "I should have been a wiser, kinder guy, I miss you," I really didn't. I had great years, reading and studying and drawing and painting in solitude after we had broken up. I created a little heaven in a grey and gloomy city.

 

Had Herr Bowie meant J in his Next Day Lyric? "Teenage Sex"? she was born in 1980, and I in 1977. He had mentioned her closest friend Anna in the album. I always loved the name because it meant Heaven and she was cute, and an artist. Bowie slurred and insulted my wife with the line, "Miss American Anna fantastic Alsatian". 

 

When I was in high-school the girls always dated guys who were two or three years older than themselves, much to our chagrin and annoyance. This could be on account of the female brain maturing more quickly than the males, being less complex, and so they look toward their own homeostatic balancing niche. 

 

After myself she fell into a relationship with a much older male, I would guess mid-thirties, he had become follicly challenged, but this wasn't an illegal relationship even though she was studying for her A-Levels. I cannot imagine that Wakefield College would have taken any paternal like interest in this arrangement. I think comparatively youths in the states have longer protracted childhoods than the Brits. They call Universities "schools" for instance, which further suggests and reinforces a semantic illusion of children.  

 

I didn't talk to a student the entire six years I lived next to the playing fields of Pacific University, most outsiders to Forest Grove simply are not interested in the students at all. The town was even hardly like a University town, it seemed more like a ghost town and I seldom even saw any students. Not that this would be an issue in Britain, 18 is regarded as adult age. Two mutually consenting adults are not the state's business. A student of that age may learn a lot from an older person, and it may even be potentially financially prosperous for them, females always look to older males for resources. Yet Pacific were concerned with the "teenage sex" lyric which irrelevantly in my opinion freaked them out. In addition to this so did the song and presumably the video to David Bowie's Valentine's Day. The song was co-mapped onto the theme of a school shooting, Bowie theatrically employing his guitar to feign a firearm. I never even owned a gun.

 

Terry and Judy were the artist Bob and his friend the music promoter Dave Beer from Leeds who had sold me for a profit to Bowie in 1998. I read online from the states their nightclub in Leeds had gone, down. The university assumed I must have physically or violently harmed them. 

 

I said before leaving Wakefield for London, "If you have any problems in the future, get the church! What will these old church buildings be used for a thousand years from now?" I had suggested, but I knew what I was going to do, and I knew how easy the mind-police would be to trigger. You’re not putting my house number in a work of art in a public place and creepily moving onto the next street to me and getting away with that.  

 

 

On Valentine's day 2018 I'd walked past Pacific University's main entrance as two professors, one male, and the other the female with the skin pants, responsible for Madonna's immature auction letter, and the Amanda Cazalet Justify My Love lesbian hoax, and they were walking toward a man with arms extended to greet him when I called out loudly as I passed, "it's a dragon! it's a dragon!" I was jabbing my finger at their reptilian insignia. Then I spoke in the language of the Queen's conjurer. 

 

The same day, the professors arranged for the media to hoax the Parkland massacre which was said to have been at a school in Florida on Valentine's Day. This became headline news.

 

Previously, they had hoaxed the Slender Man which was taken from a photograph of a tall long shadow that was cast from my body that had fallen onto their grasslands just off College Road. The metaphor from the creepy modern mythos reads to me as though it is about an older professor teaching teenage girls to kill. I had taken the photograph and posted this image on the day DJ Shadow had released his album The Mountain Will Fall. I hadn’t understood his album at the time, and I even went to his show in Portland.

 

 

 

In January 2013 David Bowie released The Next Day and in November The Next Day Extra. In the latter CD he wrote a song about my wife called God Bless the Girl. This was the first song recorded for the album and apparently he moved it up and down the album's playlist before it eventually appeared on the Japanese only release version of the Next Day Extra.

 

In the song he describes my wife as "a slave without chains too afraid to run away". At the time the song was written and recorded we had only recently moved into our first apartment together at the Boxers and as it was pointed out to us by another, "when you look back you will see that these were the happiest days of your lives". 

 

Bowie had maliciously recapitulated his misrepresentations of me that I had been familiar with since figuring out the 1999 album. To maintain his agenda of ethnically cleansing mutational types from the genepool he has to systematically extricate positives for subjective and ostensibly slanted biases. With his model one could have been as good as gold one's whole life only to find his Fascisto propaganda machine subsumes one's entire history.  

 

I posted the song on my wife's Facebook page with the message, "David Bowie's written a song about you". Her response was, "I don't like it". 

 

Why would she like it? We'd had no reason at all to argue until after December 2016 when I had to try and explain to her about Blackstar and the other albums he'd created. This was much harder than even I anticipated at this time and I knew it would be difficult. I had become Jason Bourne attempting to motivate a very happy and complacent , but simple cashier who was settled for life and really could not understand at all. 

 

David Bowie was not central to my life. He was a background nuisance at best; I often kept an eye on him, but of whose narrative misconstrued my behaviour and experience. When I first told my wife about David Bowie my wife comically said, "Next you'll be telling me Madonna knows you".  

 

Madonna had known of me not only through David Bowie, but through the Keep it Unreal concept, "I love that weird little album by Mr Scruff, it has so much personality" she was quoted as saying in Mixmag.

 

In 2007 during my interrogation by Paddy and the Mind-Police I had briefly talked about Madonna and I had uttered the idea of Madonna using words at a women's march event that I had imagined where I said she could say, "I have often thought about blowing up the White House, but I don't believe it will do any good". My emphasis and point was always the second line, not the attention grabbing and sensationalistic first line. The larval psych was smug, because he could foresee this would cause me trouble in the future.

 

Paddy relayed the words to David Bowie and he to Madonna, I never wrote the speech down and never wrote a letter at all as has been claimed in encrypted magazine articles. I had entirely forgotten having spoken the words until January 2017 when I was told by others, "Madonna's threatened to blow up the White House".

 

I believe she was probably paid millions of dollars by David Bowie to read these words from a script in her hand and after this speech she has obsessively shadowed her aesthetic from my online Twitter and Instagram posts. Madonna became the bunny boiler from hell as she tried to show and prove her distance from the words she read out from a script at the march which was an ulteriorly motivated set-up. Reality Winner; the Daily Mail reminding me of the speech by exaggerating “You said you wanted to blow up the White House and everyone in it!”

 

 

 

In 2012 my Motorola cell phone died. I had used this minicomputer with a horizontal keyboard tray that slid out from underneath for the previous two years. I read books on a classical literature app, and I would write poems and post them online. I also used the tool to communicate with my wife as we had several thousands of miles of oceans and land between us.

 

I asked at the Orange and T-Mobile stores "if I bought a phone here, would it work in the states?" I would be given a firm and resolute "No! You would have to buy one over there". 

 

I wasn't certain whether or not I would be accepted for immigration and if I were whether I would be given approval this week, next week, next month, or the following month. I was poor and so I  wasn't going to waste money on buying a phone that could potentially prove useless after a week. 

 

To pass the time I sat in my chair in my bedsit and I wrote a book of poetry off the top of my head. It was rushed work, written in a state of anxiety, and didn't contain any of my poetry from my vast back catalogue. I then published the book online and posted a link to where it could be downloaded. 

 

In one poem that was described as my "Magnum Opus" by one, and "my greatest work" by another, I had reminisced about an old friend from college, it was set in the last decade of the 20th century. I had written of our trip to France and a fight we'd had in 98 after he'd been smugly boasting in admittance of having been with J. This was "the big mistake" David Bowie was using as an excuse to lay down the death sentence in the song Something in the Air, from the Hours album. Whilst at college, I had stood in front of the former friend and watched him double fist a pupil in the face. Had this been known by the professors he would have been expelled. He did actually fail the course. 

 

In the poem I had mentioned a number of people from my teenage years, K who was one year younger than me I was very fond of and regretted because I was unable to elope with her due to the STD I carried. Without telling her about the STD which would have caused me considerable embarrassment I had instead embarrassed her, she wouldn't have understood why I had turned her advances down. R had assumed I must be gay for not going through with the copulatory act. She was pretty.

 

I had been reading Irvine Welsh's Porno during the weeks I was writing the book and like a mad science experiment I contrasted the somewhat vulgar with the somewhat sacred to see what the effect would be and what it would read like side by side. The online forum was polluted with US puritans and I was an experimental writer. I wanted some controversy and shock value. We were teens, we misbehaved, I thought I would give them an experience of Britain. A female poet friend of mine had once said, she loved how I could turn a poem about unglamorous household objects and with them transcend the mundane into the sacred. I was trying to do something like that.  

 

L isn't what I would regard as an "ex", but as an old friend. We had known one another in our teens and once or twice had "made out". J had once told me that L had said to her that she and I had sex together which was untrue, it's not that I wouldn't have, it just didn't happen, the regrettable line in the poem I had used was, "a sticky finger isn't enough". I had been on top of her, fully clothed, and we were kissing and, that's all that happened. I hope the poem made that clear. In high school I'd had a similar tale told by my closest friend's sister and it had been untrue, I'd never even spoken to her, and he and I were never friends again afterwards. 

 

L was in my eldest sister's year at our school and one of her good friends which would make her 1980 or 1979. Just because two teens "make out" in high school or college doesn't mean that 23 years later they desire to be with teenagers. I didn't like teenagers when I was a teenager, older women were the turn-on. Bowie and Madonna would like to fool themselves and others that they're protecting children. Different rules seem to apply to me it seems. Madonna has said in the past she's had sex with a 15 year old boy.

 

I posted the link onto my Facebook page where there it was read by B and David Bowie, "I can read you like a book", he had said in The Next Day. The book had needed proofreading, but not by him. I deleted the book after two weeks, dissatisfied with the work, it hadn't been of a high enough standard. I had written better poems than that. 

 

 

"The teachers and the football stars" came from a passing comment I had made against Wayne Rooney which seems pretty standard and average for the time, particularly amongst United fans. He'd played a great season preceding his wage increase and then the performances seemed to decline. I had criticised his three hundred thousand a week salary, I was moaning, I was hungry. He hadn't seemed worth the wage to me. Bowie turned this line into Valentine massacring football stars which was absolutely absurd. I had no idea the words would become known by Wayne Rooney himself who started to use the eye in the triangle symbol after he scored a goal as the book had featured the eye as the front cover design.   

 

 

 

In 2012 I’d added an old artist from Wakefield called Tim Burton. His son was in my year in high school and Tim owned a second-hand bookstore on Westgate, I’d once in 1999 purchased some of his artwork. I didn’t know Tim at all to speak to, but I knew that he knew Bob.

 

He posted a photograph of one of Bob’s paintings and I commented on the photograph. Later, he uploaded a photograph of Bob drawing in black marker pen on a white sheet of paper in the back room of his bookstore.

 

Tim and Bob were observing the posts I’d uploaded to the website.  They wrote and supplied David Bowie with the 42 word list which was the only officially published commentary about the album, The Next Day. Tim’s name appears written along the side of the word list as do Bob’s initials, BB.

 

Bob would write books composed of one word per line when I was younger. He would hand out fliers to us college students with the word Methamphetamine running down the page. I once sat in his armchair and read several of these books he would have laying around his pad. He was a serious hoarder.

 

In all likelihood Bob passed my Flickr account details over to David Bowie. His son, Duncan Jones purloined the title for his movie Mute from this account. For whatever reason, they seemed to have amended the date of the “Mute” post. The rest of the sequence was posted in 2016 and has been date stamped as such.

 

 

Why does David Bowie sing the lyric, “Only women and children smile” in the song Blackstar?

 

I have never really known any children in my life experience at all throughout my adult years. The few that I have known can be easily documented.

 

I had uploaded some family photographs to Flickr in the first years that I moved to the states. I was with my wife and her sister and her sister’s husband and their daughter who was 18 years old. She was my niece. We had travelled by car to the Sandy River and to Multnomah Falls. At the time of posting I wasn’t aware of how people in media read photographs. If my wife appears near her niece in a photograph, this does not mean that she’s a “child bride”. I didn’t learn to read the meanings of photography until 2017 when I became involved with the Daily Mail and Guardian and then afterwards the pop singer Madonna.   

 

There was nothing at all lewd or criminal at all in any way about the photographs, but in hindsight I should have put more thought into posting family days out onto a public website where they could be seen by individuals with a twisted and manipulative agenda.

 

The other children I have known during twenty two years of adulthood have been; my wife’s granddaughter, my young sister, and my ex fiancé Helen’s two children. She’d actually had ten children, but she lived over 200 miles away from London, and I didn’t meet them. Three of her children had been taken away from her by social services when she was a teenager due to an abusive former husband, and the five boys had stayed with their father, her fiancé who she lived with in the midlands. I met her two year old daughter twice who was Greg’s, she had brought her to London with her to meet me and we all had a fun time. I met her new born son four or five times only in total.

 

David Bowie includes this boy in his song “Sue”, from the Blackstar album, “for I know that you have a son”.

 

In addition to her live in fiancé, Helen was also engaged to be married to Greg, and also engaged to be married to myself. I learned this from Greg the week Helen learned she was pregnant. She didn’t show in London, and Greg called me from a phone box as he was meeting her from the train station, when she had arrived she had called his mobile number and he put her on loud speaker and I could hear her saying to him in the background that she loved him. Greg believed the boy was his, but the week before Helen and I met for sex in a cheap hotel in the midlands, she had met my online friend Eltel. Eltel had a heart murmur. The boy was hospitalised with a heart murmur.

 

The landlady where I lived at 26 Pinfold Road from 2005 until 2012 would not have allowed children staying over at all, she would have been aware, because her and her husband were frequent visitors of the property.

 

I believe the media may have hoaxed the Turpin scandal from shortly after learning of Helen’s ten children. Louise Turpin seems to be a lookalike of Helen and David Turpin has similar hair and eye colour to me. I never read any of the articles.

 

 

 

I was one day with my wife’s granddaughter outside in the grounds of the Boxer apartments at Forest Grove. My wife was upstairs in the living room.

 

The Afro-American lady who lived opposite us and whose cat we adopted after she was evicted by the police was a middle-aged Pacific University student. This day I was standing vigil watching over the three year old grandchild in the play area when the lady came out of her apartment, “You have such a cute daughter”, she said as she walked past me along the footpath. I responded by saying, “oh, she’s not mine”, and I received the strangest looks from her, like no other possible alternative options existed. Ever afterwards she viewed me with suspicion and paranoia. Maybe she told the university-police about this?

 

I do not understand David Bowie’s lyric, “Only women and children smile”, and it seems extremely difficult fighting empty air and the shadows of baseless charges.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Still Revising.