From Where Dreams Are Woven

So here's something strange. Just under three months ago, someone whose work has had an immeasurable impact on the way I write, not to mention the way I think, died, and I haven't mentioned it at all on this blog. My Twitter and Facebook, on the other hands, have been awash in tributes to the man I insist on referring to, thanks to Adam Buxton, as Zavid. Rest assured, though, he's shown up again and again in my writing since the 11th of January. Here's but one example among many. The prompt in this case was one fictional character writing to another about a date with a third. So, naturally, I went with Bowie personae. 

Note: It might be advisable to familiarise yourself with Station to Station before reading the following. Actually, I think it's just generally advisable to familiarise yourself with Station to Station.

From the desk of the Thin White Duke

Dear Jareth,

Salutations to you. I hope that all is in order in your kingdom, as it is in my dukedom. I fondly remember wandering your labyrinth and mistreating your subjects with you, and look forward to your official state visit to Malkuth next month. I drink to the men who protect you and I.

My search to find who will connect me with love continues apace. The latest applicant is a so-called “starman” by the name of Ziggy Stardust, with a distressingly unruly haircut and a face showing some kind of glow. Not the most promising start, true, but stranger things have happened, as well you and I know. On which note, I enclose the latest surveillance of Sarah.

Together, we undertook a trip to a restaurant at the end of the universe; perhaps you have been? I daresay it would appeal to your sensibilities. The journey there was pleasant enough, as we soared with sunbirds and drove like a demon from station to station. The fare, too, was pleasant enough. The milk was fresh and the red peppers spicy. Sadly, they had no cocaine, but I had brought my own supply, as is my wont.

Our meal was disturbed briefly by a tableful of tall Venusians, but I was able to deal with them in short order, thanks to the European cannon, which I had brought with me. Rather, the sticking point was Mr. Stardust, who turned out to be most tiresome. He would talk only about his dreams of stardom, and some kind of spiders who were apparently going to help him. Some nonsense about how the end was five years away, which was patently codswallop given that the universe was in fact ending before his eyes.

No, my dear Jareth, I fear that in this case it was in fact the side effects of the cocaine. Got to keep searching and searching.

Yours,

The Duke.

Incidentally, here is the greatest picture I have ever seen.