Rudimentary Ramblings and David Bowie

What did David Bowie mean to you? That sounds like something your 6th grade teacher would give you to write about over the weekend. Albeit a rad 6th grade teacher, but a shitty, generic statement nonetheless.

So it seems as if friends, friends of friends and relatives old and young had been pushing me to write in a journal. The suggestions were seriously coming at me hard and fast, heh. The very idea of writing in a journal seemed really stupid.

I've since realized that journals are fucking rad and this negative connotation was only because I could never maintain consistency and would become easily frustrated with the very notion of a journal under the idea that unless I could maintain journalistic perfection, it was not worth an ounce of my time. Weird?

Actually this is starting to sound a lot like this blog and also everything else in my life. Brb, just need to put myself into therapy. Jks, I'm already in therapy.

Anywho, a journal can be a place to write all of your deepest darkest fantasies (Becoming a Vampire Wizard on an estate of vicious unicorns); keep track of your goals; log your dreams; hash out issues with your innermost self or write all of those great comebacks that no-one got to hear because it was too late [see: Wit of the staircase (oh, snap! Jack White.)]

I think you get the point. But in case you don't, I'm trying to say that you can write whatever the dickens you want in a journal and generally it stays private (Unless you're 11 years old and your younger brother guessed your password to your password journal... Fuck outta my face, Baillie.) Once I let go of my perfectionist ideals, journal-ling has almost become a therapy. Lawd knows I need a lot of that! jokes, jokes. But only kind of.

Flipping through it's pages I wondered if there was anything I should share with the world wide internet? Much like this blog and my youtube chanel, I do believe this is a 'just because you can, doesn't mean you should' but I'm going to anyway.

The only changes made in this were grammatical.

This was really hard to type without altering my words to sound wittier, funnier, smoother and more interesting. But I'm trying to keep things nice and authentic here. Is this embarrassing? A little.

The day was Monday. I was 2 minutes and 39 seconds through the song 'Within You' by David Bowie. I received a call from Amy. She asks what I'm doing and if I know Bowie? I was holding back the urge to bite back, 'What the fuck do you mean? Had I not played his music on endless repeat throughout the duration of our shared residency? Had you not been present for our endless one-sided discussions of me talking at you, informing you of every way in which I found I could relate to him and found comfort in our personal parallels and synchornicities? What about my bath time Hunky Dory tradition? Or the endless stream of interviews calculating the ways in which we were familiar?'

There was no need to sass a bitch out like that, so I said simply, 'Yes of course, I'm listening to the Labyrinth soundtrack right now and seriously contemplating getting the Jareth haircut for about the fifth time in my life.'

She told me he died...

I immediately dismissed it as a hoax. She replied with, 'Well, it's all over the internet.'

I pull the phone away from my ear and do a quick google search and sure enough, about 2 hours ago.

I manage to squeak out a panicked, 'I'll call you later.'

I hung up and couldn't breathe. Hysterical, I searched my brain for reason, but everything was a cluttered mess. I realize now that it was an unwillingness to accept not only the event that occurred, but also the dramatic effect it was having on me. Before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my face and there was nothing I could do about it.

The following moments proceeding this phone call are what has baffled and dizzied me to a state of absolute exasperation.

Not only am I completely floored by the event itself, but what struck me is the absurdity of how personal it all feels. I've had friends die. Living, breathing humans that I have had real life interactions with. Exchanged words with and shared a history. Friends whose deaths never really shook me, in fact you could say I was quite unaffected upon hearing of their passing. Call it cold hearted or overly accepting. The truth is I will never know why? But I just didn't give much of a damn. 

But this felt overwhelmingly... personal. I tried to fight back the tears, but it felt dishonest. What's the point in living if I can't live honestly? It may seem overdramatic, but this was what my mind was processing.

I had been rearranging my room. It was in a total state of disarray. Books and clothing were stewn across the floor. Posters, postcards and an assortment of decorative jars, bottles and incense lay in chaos across my bedsheets. I sat on a small corner of my bed and gazed out of the window. For the first time in a long time, my surroundings perfectly represented my inner emotional workings.

I recall reading assortments of poems, songs about the suns cruelty when it had the audacity to shine despite a persons grim, caustic mentality. But no, the grey sky, thick clouds, heavy rain and chaotic bedroom were entirely appropriate. For this, I am grateful.

Dumbfoundedness was replaced by overwhelming grief but before I could become fully consumed I began to rationalise and remind myself that I have things to do and can't afford to be weighed down by the heaving emotional burdens that come with being in a state of mourning. For the next few moments, I waver between being absolutely distraught and accepting. Exhausted and motivated, horrified and content. 

I am reminded that this life is not the be all and end all and try to think of death as a sweeter release. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Almost instantaneously as if by magic, the clouds parted and the grey was replaced with magnificent gloomy purple yellow haze. I felt content and alive. Once again reminded of my own mortality and the ticking clocks of the people around me. I am grateful and almost honoured to have been alive at the same time as such a brilliant, true visionary and that I was left with a gift that felt so utterly personal to me and only me. Despite his worldwide adorations.

Almost with a sense of urgency I check Gerard Ways twitter with the knowledge of how touched he would be by these circumstances. Who I could trust to express what I was experiencing. To provide to rhyme to reason, if you will. 

'I love you forever David Bowie' ...Perfect.

Not having the energy to cook dinner I head to my car. I am overwhelmed by a sense of excitement. Although his journey on this plane has come to an end my creative pursuits have just begun. This side of the sky is glorious. Smokey purple, yellow and I see a bright rainbow, a good omen.

Although I'm still momentarily teary and my face is showing a moment where I am inconsolable, not only due to devastation, but because I can't talk to anyone about it. How can I explain mourning someone I never even knew? Especially without sounding immature and a little fangirlee. 

I feel like it hit me on a deep and totally authentic level that only really applies to me and me only. As if he wrote the words and sang the songs and evolved throughout the ages for me personally. Even though the majority of this occurred before my birth. The sky consoled me with its rainbow and light, sheer magic.

I still remember driving in the car as a child listening to Starman on the radio. I was captivated and payed special attention to the whimsy in the lyrics. Songwriting changed.

tasty

So personal, haven't even 'grammed this shit!..

Thanks for reading, kiddos! Means a lot. I don't know why I shared my word-for-word journal entry. My brain just said I gotta.

-Saatana Lee Rose (yo Daddy's role model, tell him I said he can keep my hairpins, I have no use for them anymore...) xoxoxoxooxox Love me.

A Stranger Gave Me A Psychic Reading In An Airport...

Let's take it back, all the way back to a few months ago, shall we? I was leaving the Territory earlier than normal (For those that don't know, I was participating in fly in/fly out study, hollaaaa) and a friend was driving music equipment from Sydney to Melbourne and asked if I wanted to come. It was less than a week before we had to leave. I was down because I'm basically the most spontaneous motherfucker on the planet. Like you have no idea. I'm so spontaneous. My parents actually wanted to name me spontaneous originally because I was born 2 weeks overdue. No fucks given. Just so super spontaneous like that, ya dig? Ugh, so spontaneous. Anyway...

The title pretty much sums it up. I was going through security check in an airport when a delightful stranger took it upon himself to compliment my fully sick rainbow hair. I then noticed his alarmingly vibrant Turquoise type of shirt (one of my top ten fave colours) and told him how I really felt, 'THANKS! I LIKE YOUR SHIRT!'

Apparently it was a golf shirt. Didn't know what a golf shirt was, still don't know what a golf shirt is. I think it's a shirt specifically for playing golf? But I thought people did that in Polo shirts. Wait, are those just for playing polo? This is blowing my damn mind.

Before I continue, there's a couple of stories that you probably should read so the next bit hits just that little bit closer to home.

1. Music was and is everything to me. When I'm feeling really great, really shitty or literally anything in between, music is there. It wasn't until I had a dream that I was telling Gerard Way (yassss) this until I realized it. But because I was made to deal with things as a child that I didn't have the coping mechanisms for, I'd repress a lot of my emotions. Music was a device that allowed me to process the feelings that I had no coping mechanisms for. In an instant, it can change my mood.

2. At 6, my Dad bought me a guitar. I was eager as a beaver and became rather infatuated, even a little bit fixated on this device. I wrote songs, I played them on guitar. From a young age I'd always wanted to be a forensic scientist. Playing guitar put me in quite a predicament. Could I be a forensic scientist AND a guitarist? Fortunately my Dad said yes. I played one of my songs for my Mum and had told her I wanted to be a forensic scientist guitarist. She told me guitarists move their fingers more or some bullshit like that. I'm strong, but I'm sensitive as fuck (shh, secret) and I was crushed. Sure, she had good intentions. But she was young, I was her first child and her delivery was poor at best. I put that guitar down and never picked it up again. Still kept at writing lyrics.

2.At the tender age of about 14, I was at a gig and had an alarmingly unique experience. I've always heard of people having these experiences, but I'd never come to imagine I'd experience this to the same magnitude. In the middle of the concert, it was as if I'd been transported to another dimension for just a moment and I was overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling. I suppose I can try to explain it. It was like instinct, a deep knowing, right in my core that I needed to be on that stage, in that industry. I was still experiencing hella doubt, so I decided to put the feeling down to a heavy involvement in the industry, probably dating musicians.

Fun Fact: I have pretty much exclusively dated musicians (not intentionally.) Another fun fact: Musicians are fucking crazy. The last guy I was seeing, seemed super normal, corporate, sane and (apart from the tattoos) not very creatively inclined. It was nice. He said his first tattoo was a music note and then it began. Turns out, he was in bands when he was younger and spoke more and more about getting into music again. I was partly excited, partly, 'God dammit, another one?!' Turned out he had more issues than Vogue, Cosmo and US Weekly combined. And then some.

3. I did do music as a subject in high school, I had sung in front of assembly in primary school and participated in the school choir. But the idea of music was still absolutely terrifying. Playing it scared me. I'd tell myself I wasn't good enough, that it was basically too late to learn (what the actual fuck.) I basically ruled it out for myself for all eternity because it was so damn terrifying.

4. When I find myself with a predicament knocking around in my skull, I do tend to toss that shit up to the universe. Something as simple as asking for a sign, I find it can bring me clarity. A sign always comes. It has never lead me wrong. It is always absolutely undeniable. Like that time I was seeing the guy (mentioned above) and he was constantly cancelling on me, lying to me and leaving majority of my calls/texts unanswered (like a lil bitch.) I knew I was being treated shitty. I knew I deserved better. But I'm still aspiring for self worth. I was approached by a man, in a bar, after a Steel Panther gig. I told him I was seeing someone, this man looked directly into my soul and asked, 'But where is he now? He does not deserve you!' Even though this man was unduly intoxicated, he had a point. I asked for a sign after this interaction and written in on the wall in bold CAPS, 'DUMP HIM!!!' Pretty direct, amiright? Ask and you shall receive. (Still didn't dump him by the way, still kept entertaining his silly little boy antics.)

Before I embarked on the roadtrip which was to became a whimsical, mind boggling experience of pure magic! I was doing a wee bit of thinking about where I am, where I wanted to be and what I wanted to be doing. The idea of writing, recording and performing music still whizzed around my brain from time to time. I had gathered pages upon pages of songs I'd carelessly written. I started to attempt poetry, which always became another song. I threw the question up into the stars, 'What about music?'

After that delightful little golf shirt interaction, we continued to pass through security check. That's when the fun really began.

He asked me if I played music. I told him that I used to (I also used to play the clarinet. Giggity.) He suddenly entered into an almost trance like state and his style of speaking was very, very direct. He told me to get rid of my self doubt. He said that music was my gift, that I'll bring a lot of people together with my music and to start believing in myself. I was told that I needed to share my musical talents with the world. He then began describing who I was in my friendship groups and my bedroom decor (to pinpoint accuracy) for confirmation.

If I can recall correctly, he said his name was Josh and that he travels the world praying for people. He said that he felt like the message was directly from god and that it was important for me to know and the reason he was drawn to me as I was walking past was because he'd seen music notes all around me.

Pretty magical, right?

Do you want to know the best part? He didn't ask for my phone number or make any sly, sexual passes afterwards. My friend, who had witnessed the whole thing, was instantly skeptical (and rightly so.) I mean, you could look at a person with rainbow hair and an alternative fashion sense and assume that they're pretty into their music. But the fact that he didn't really stay around seemed like he hadn't any ulterior motives in mind. The way he described not only who I was in my friendship groups (quite specifically) but also physical decorations I had on my walls.

Think what you want to think. I'm quite a spiritually inclined person and when I asked for a sign and received this shit, I feel like there's just too many synchronicities to ignore. I also found it interesting that he said he saw music notes around me and just the night before, the person I was seeing had told me about his music note tattoo and the friend I was travelling with also had a base clef tattoo. It was like I literally had music notes on the people around me (no, I'm not reaching.)

Another synchronicity! Once aboard the aircraft, I told my lovely friend that had witnessed this entire encounter about my notebooks full of songs. She reminded me that she'd studied music and offered to help me with the musical aspect of the songs.

Now we meet once a week to work on a song. Was it absolutely terrifying showing my personal writing to a close friend? Yes. It was evening worse singing in front of her and it was absolutely terrifying recording that signing. But we're nearly finished. it's raw and I can't wait for you to hear it!

In the words of my baby, Bowie, 'I don't know where I'm going for here, but I promise, it won't be boring.'

Have you been attempting something that scares you? I do hope so. If not, what's stopping you? The 'Doubt Monster'?

I never took a photo with him, but you can see photos of us at Bondi and me cartwheeling in front of parliament house in the wee hours on the night @saatanaleerose

Just a couple of dope bitches doing dope shit with their lives xo

Youtube!

Facebook!

Twitter!

Instagram!

There was also a lot of footage from that roadtrip that I've been editing. I'll leave a link when it's up on my channel.

Until next time, stay bright, shiny lil cupcake.

-Saatana Lee Rose xoxxo Keep on keeping on. Keep on doing you.