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Keenan Martin Mar 2010
What is a Blackstar?

Is it you or me? Is it we?
I think it's much more than Mos Def and Talib Kweli.
It's what we can be with unity.
They are turning us against one another, but won't fool me.

What is a Blackstar?

Is it  the folks on the corner?
Shining from the things they sold there.
Fleeing the scene when the blue and red lights flash.
Knowing they have more strikes than the batter at the plate.

What is a Blackstar?

The astronomy? is it the Milky way?
The formation of a star to cross or be in line?
The explosion that creates a tragedy,
Destroying mor than different galaxies.

What is a Blackstar?

Is it the church going man who's an educated ****?
Spitting game at the club that saturday night
To make you, the woman, his wife for that moment.
Hoping you awake by his side, but you find him missing.

What is a Blackstar?
Kgirl Nov 2018
I’m sorry, that I’m twisted and full of rage, I’m sorry, that I’m dark and full of blackness in my heart I attack you like a monster, even tho we both know we didn’t meant to hurt each other,
I’m sorry that I was a heartless *******, I’m sorry that I couldn’t treat you like a queen. My heart has gone to the blackness, I maybe a kind soul to you, but the star reveals the truth about myself the left eye of the blackstar that I kept from my queen.
I’m sorry, I was cruel, I’m sorry, for everything my love
I marked my own left eye to treasure all the darkness that was inside my heart, the memories of my personal life, the memories of a star that turned black, I can control my disease, I am a blackstar
- you understand my pain -
Keenan Martin Jul 2010
15 years and 331 days and counting,
A month from 16 with anticipation mounting.
He came a long way from a sort of outcast,
He knew with faith and persistence the pain never lasts.

Even with a camp surrounding him with company,
He knows there is something missing.
The very thing he needed he had searched for so many years,
Was a loving comfort outside of his peers.

He felt his luck was always in the slumps,
Which pushed him to follow the beat of his own drum.
But the more upset he was he was given the notion,
That he has to gain more control of his emotions.

But one event that turned his life around,
Was the sound of his head pounding the ground.
Even though he still does his rights and wrongs,
He thanks God everyday for the strength to go on.

And with that strength he learned to forgive and forget,
Because he is now blessed with intelligence and wit.
He is thankful for family and friends that watched him grow,
Thank God he is this close to 16 years old!
I was inspired by an artist named Talib Kweli to write this.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
well... the hype is over, long gone, done and dusted -
out of Heathen came the soundtrack
of some life - standing out quasi-radio-head black-star,
Lazarus for the video -
girl loves me - and i guess the John Coltrane
accent on dollar days -
but like Caesar said, i too will say again:
i expect a sudden death -
i want a sudden death, i don't want a
delayed letter type of death -
i don't want a thought of death as some
postcard from Monte Carlo - wishy washy
wish you were here -
a sudden death and not this waiting game
under the influence of morphine -
a sudden death, the checkmate -
Damocles' sword hanging on a
horse's hair - VIOLINS! VIOLINS!
during the ballet i charged all the jealous
energies into the art -
i could have looked-on couples kissing
with resentment - with jealousy -
but i put all that cognitive energy into
the ballet - and it worked, plus
i had my Sancho Panza with me, i have only
151 pages of Kant left to finish,
and living in a democratic society
and not being an academic specialist i will
move on to someone else - which always feels
like such a shame to never see the obscure works
of the man - esp. when in such works you
have to engage with the work, you have
to follow the architect like a low-life labourer -
i wish philosophy books could be like
David Bowie's last album, were everyone can
write autobiographies, overload on
subjectivity, sponge in sponge out -
bias and forced trolling - but Heathen sums him up
for me - i wouldn't care for a retrospective on
death - as if it eve gave man a deeper introspective
when he was at mortality's zenith -
i guess it's too bleak at mortality's nadir
to say an introspection is allowed - because it isn't -
it's not magnetic enough for the teens -
it doesn't raise profits - mortality's zenith is
kaleidoscopic introspection - a single image:
a million sound variations, the story is the same:
to leave an imprint akin to the mountain or the sea.
the nadir? retrospection - the limitless space in
a limited time. the English language is good
at shortening philosophical prose of Germans -
but it never really hired enough labourers to
follow the plans of the architect, a book like
Kant's is nothing but a wonky table, when it ought
to be a Statue of Reason - this form of writing
investment will never appeal to many -
read a book of philosophy on the tube and people
will cite very few words of interest in engaging -
you can be truly selfless in the literary realm,
you don't have to do ponce with good-feeling
in charitable work - might as well read Kant -
that's a selfless act alone - funny, isn't it?
i think it's hilarious - i'm working charity on unread books -
or books that if they have been read, get
regurgitated from a single labourer's schematic shortening -
a prior / a posteriori / analysis / synthesis etc.,
i could have worked in charity shop,
Kant's book became my charity shop - i tend to use
my limbs sparingly - why would it be anything else?
the architect envisioned a house, given
the number of eager labourers all he got was three bricks
stacked on top of each other without cement to glue
them firm.
i could have been jealous of the couples in London -
but i charged all my jealousy into the ballet -
i left for home with Kant -
all i saw was butterflies, and 2 weeks from now, est mort.
Sanja Trifunovic Jan 2010
Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing
Now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind

Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace
Sing our songs among the stars and and walk our dances across the face of the moon

In the instant we learn that Michael is gone we know nothing
No clocks can tell our time and no oceans can rush our tides
With the abrupt absence of our treasure

Though we our many, each of us is achingly alone
Piercingly alone
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him

He came to us from the Creator, trailing creativity in abundance
Despite the anguish of life he was sheathed in mother love and family love and survived and did more than that

He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style
We had him
Whether we knew who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his
We had him

Beautiful, delighting our eyes
He raked his hat slant over his brow and took a pose on his toes for all of us and we laughed and stomped our feet for him

We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing
He gave us all he had been given

Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Blackstar Square, in Johannesburg, in Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama and Birmingham England, we are missing Michael Jackson

But we do know that we had him
And we are the world.
the dirty poet Dec 2023
as i told the boys at my favorite music store
“show me a tube amp for a thousand bucks
something i can plug my les paul into and let it rip
gotta be intense enough to play with drums in a bar unmiked
and i came here early so i can play loud”
walked out with a Blackstar
Something happened on the day he died. Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside. Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried, on the edge of his mortality.
He arose into the mist
Of an ordinary morning
And there was a pause, a cease of existence
A spaceman on the moon tonight

An epitaph for the ages
A smile plastered on pages
Of aging kings and moon phases
We will fall into the Blackstar, a **** in our universe
Something happened on the day he died. Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside. Somebody else took his place and bravely cried, the ascension of immortality.
Tawanda Mulalu Aug 2017
Poems, bars: people, stars
Eyes lookin' Life on Mars
Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar
Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar
No time for jokers cause I keep it Nightwing
Fly 'til early morning, next day, coda, swinging
Pendulum, swift; please acknowledge the kid,
even though he skinny like Syd
What a future: even if it Odd
Grimace in my face like I'm General Zod
But I keep it Clark Kent with the moral sentiment
Merriment when I'm flying over all Metropolis
Heaven sent? God bless. Still stressed.
Still flex. Morning breath. Kinda fresh
I guess with your skin under your dress-
aaaaah, where was I again?
Are we having fun anymore?
Not really? We still friends?
I'm sorry we not talking anymore.

Sorry, who are you?

Voice to void to void the void
annoyed but buoyed by white noise
helps to take the fact that there no point
as given, what difference with man with boy

he toys with himself with eyes closed
eyes opened: it's the same, she broiled
and her breath fuzzed like... white noise
fizz-fizz, hiss-kiss.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
******* wanna tango... hell... let's tango! we'll be heading to Argentina to bag us a few nazis and then cruise to Nuremberg... trying to forget that Buenos Aires hot-tilt night of adventure... i ******* love celibacy... you get to take the **** out of so many people that they thankfully never mattered in their bedrooms, as what was the best method to keep them entertained; could they never keep it to themselves? so i'm writing! there's no other reason to counter their need to share that frolicking! it's inverse *******... these people actually needed a ******!

there's a me in an alternative reality,
screaming... *i'd rather be a bus-driver!
...
  apparently that's how
capitalists translate the joke
about someone... listening to the amazing
atheist... and not getting paid for it!
wait wait, that's what? beggar gotta squael?
eek! piggy farming for ****'s sake;
comedy, it really should return to
that silent movie period where ambiguity
was allowed... too much effort slurping clean
a chicken bone... it's like you're about
to perform an orchestra...
i give it to herbie hancock though...
    but what of sonny clark? ******, orverdose,
played a piano like a ******, dead before
he's 30... the only tragedy being,
i dare to remember him...
watching too much of that crap...
the watermelon joke had me...
and then in started listening to herbie hancock...
the ****'s up with these watermelons?
      and what's with herb and cantaloupe?
i bought that double-disk in russia...
   now i'm thinking: triple distillation,
and double that for standard...
   i'm not going to speak this sort of crap
at a street corner anyway...
         just hollywood and thieves of shadows...
the scary part is:
there aren't any nazis knocking on doors
these days,
     so why am i asking for a me in an alternative /
"what if"              reality?
    asking a question tell a joke...
      isn't that what english is resembled as
across the Atlantic?
        counter that, i moved to Sicily and lived to be
a century old...
     'cos' i really gave a ****.
last time i checked, jazz had no script,
thelonious monk could be questioned
writing scripts on the side...
       but it would never be impromptu...
  it could never be: snapping your fingers....
or what the head of hector spoke when achilles
decapitated it...
             the **** am i here for?!
plus hector is a better sounding name...
    not that the gods really matter,
what matters is: why did this whole freak show
go on for so long?
   and god... it will go on for so much longer...
given how frisky and kink prone we're becoming...
    thus as rare as to cite macbeth...
   and say: from this, we are to feel?
    is this the only kindness toward stating a genuine
human heart? from this?!
        then indeed it is from this,
outside the biblical spectrum of constipated imagery...
  but ah... aren't the lucky ones telling us apart,
and providing us with a quasi-gravity impetus,
that rather than unifying us... drives us apart;
for thus: we fake or at least accept:
     a sense of contempt, that is thus a mode of faking
the fakeness of contentment...
   what is man in his faking? a magician?
a chauvanist? something this that or the other?
         man is man set against the elemental...
mas is parasite set against manhood...
           a man can't be if another man thinks
nothing of thought beyond the realm of freedom,
to only implement the exercise of thought
toward slavery... i really could find more abhorrent
things to eat, beside pork, beside crab...
i could take my ego-tongue, and tell it to eat by
the digestion that's thought: islam...
i'm just starving and i've been drinking and i've
been listening to herbie hancock and
i resent the notion of real-time and a "care" for
an "audience"... and all that ******* that is *******...
and how you eventually replicate the apathetic mood
of what you see around you when you begin
investing something in a project, or art...
         i'll watch the oscar ceremony tomorrow
and could begin with: the way people said i sounded
like... but won't...
                because i'll thankfully say:
the world's too big, to distinguish a seagull from a flock
of seagulls.
                      this world exists, only via
a tired god; it really was born from an argument reaching
an end... the tired god said: boom!
    and from his tiresome effort,
                never bothered to be given an argument to exist;
unless you argued some quasi 3G...
   and got all that dough and ***** and B.F.G.;
20 hours fasting can really make you think the oddest ****
when you actually, just want to eat a curry....
or really go through that experiment of adding sourcrout
to kebab meat... with all the toppings... pickled chillies...
raw cabbage... cucumbers... tomatoes...
   what would a kebab with sourcrout and pickled chillies
and all the toppings taste like?
       probably like that david bowie blackstar song...
heaven heaven; speak to me of heaven as if i were eleven.
Lunar Vacancy Mar 2016
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars
" ******* up eyes and ******* down hairdo."
Acceptance

Hunky Dory
" It's the freakiest show."
   Clairvoyance

The Next Day
" As Long As There's Sun, As Long As There's Rain."
Hope

Aladdin sane
"Watch that man! Oh honey, watch that man."
Diverse

Young Americans
" His ever loving face smiles on the whole human race."
Peace

Station to station
"Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere"
Believing

Diamond dogs
"When you rock 'n' roll with me. No one else I'd rather be."
Love

Low
"Sometimes you get so lonely, Sometimes you get nowhere."
Individuality

Pin ups
"Let me hold your hand and be your loving man"
Security

Earthling
"There's nothing in our eyes, as lonely as a moon."
Afraid

Scary Monsters (And super creeps)
"I'm happy, hope you're happy too. I've loved all I've needed love."
Loss

Lets dance
"If you say run, I'll run with you."
Escape

The man who sold the world
" Oh no, Not me. I never lost control."
Regret

Labyrinth
"How you turn my world, you precious thing."
Imagination

Heroes
" We can be Heroes. Just for one day."
Heroic

Hours
"I guess we lived it out. Something in the air. We smiled too fast."
Missed

Blackstar
" Look up here, I’m in heaven, I’ve got scars that can’t be seen."
**Satisfaction
I'll Love you forever, David Bowie
Kobbie Cotssy Jun 2014
He saw me looking,
He smiled,and for a moment I was the young untainted flower.
Never been touched and seeing the world for the first time.

He felt it,
It was undeniable,so pristine,
Drawn to each other we were.

He was my sweet, tall,pure dark piece of awesomeness,
And yes I gave in,
I caved,
I had fallen.

He told me I finally defined clarity,
That I was his blackStar,
With his sultry voice,I believed.

I was lost but yet found,
Euphoria.
Reality had nothing on me.

A flower I was,
Him the water that kept me beautiful as ever.

Then he said it,
I did not believe it,
He said it again,
This time I heard it right.

The pain,
The hurt
The anguish.
It crumbled.

"No it's  not you,it's me."
He said.
"I'm sorry"
He said.

the Salty liquid took its course,
"It's okay" I said.

But why?
Why?
I licked my wound like the wounded Animal I was.

I healed,and was reborn,
And now am on it AGAIN,like it never happened.
Oh! You Pretty Thing
First time I saw you I thought Watch That Man
I really wish he'd Rock N Roll with me All Nite
because he looks like he's coming straight out of 1985.
Unfortunately It Ain't Easy since you already got this China Girl
but Where Are We Now? We made some Changes
and finally Here Comes The Night we'll be turning down the lights
covered in Ziggy Stardust, Dancing In The Streets, I never felt so right.
I'm a Rebel Rebel living on a Blackstar
you say Love Is Lost and just like you I Can't Give Everything Away
but I now that All The Young Dudes ain't got a thing on you
right now I'm in the Quicksand and can't find a way through.
I'll be your Lady Stardust, you'll be my Starman
we can be Heroes just for one night, or we can be us just for one day
so come on, let's go rattle the stars
And, maybe, in Five Years
we'll discover if there really is Life on Mars?
The "infamous" David Bowie poem
Lexander J Jan 2016
A great mind departs into the winter's night-sky
wreaths and shrines adorning the ground where he may lie
died doing what he done best, knowing his time had come
now he traverses the stars with Ziggy and Major Tom

sitting in his tin can far above the likes of you and me
gazing upon our world through tears, alas now he's free -

wanted eagles in his daydreams, diamonds in his eyes
escaping the black side of reality he so very much despised

['Look up here man I'm in danger
I've got nothing left to lose.']

carried away upon a tidal wave of fame
albums meant nothing 'cause they'll sell again,
defying sexuality, pioneering the glam-rock scene
achieving goals only the common man can dream

['Ground control to Major Tom -
your circuit's dead, there's something wrong!']

now his voice is followed by the chilling whisper of death,
sang to the end with his very last breath
body failing but soul very much alive
empty silence filled with his hazy cosmic jive -

and yes, years will pass from this day, but we will never forget who you are

farewell Ziggy Stardust

our brilliant shining Blackstar.

AJ

["I'm happy... hope you're happy too..."]

RIP David Bowie
Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016
Hot tears, streaming down cheeks
like raindrops hitting
on spaceship windows,
just before it leaves this world,
and all it's thin white worry;
Even Lazarus must have counted
the ticking of the clock,
just as his soul imploded
inside the crux of a blackstar;
He blindfolded himself
so we would not see what he saw,
and he never knew the people
he made weep,
but they understood him.

-Jamie F. Nugent
James Daniel Feb 16
Bio
One of my first jobs was as a waiter in a Thai Restaurant
Run by a scary Malaysian who'd taken a liking to me
We went to a rave once
And he gave me 400 AUD for Chinese New Year
Bless him

But one night a tall Singaporean guy called Sunny came in
He was a musician too
He played in a rock and roll band
The Suns

Sunny lasted one night
But he told me about an open mic run by a girl called Michelle
And we stayed in contact
----

Gom was in the year above me at school
Gom was the only African at our school, he and his brother
Goyte also went to our school, he was in Gom's year. At school I was smart and cool, played bass and was friends with everybody. School was sometimes an escape from home life.

Marcus took me to Gom's place once where he lived with his girlfriend Nikki
I took my guitar and Gom and I jammed in the bedroom
A singer and a rapper
----

The first time I ever played live was at a place called Yah man Rastaraunt
It was a Caribbean Restaurant on Hoddle Street, South Yarra, Melbourne
It had that black feeling, of warmth and mystery. Or maybe that was youth and ****.
But I played, and some of the girls were crying
I'd found my thing
I went back the next week and froze up
----

There was a place called Pure on Smith Street. This was where Sunny said the open mic was run by Michelle. In those years, Smith street had a sacred vibe. Maybe it was the presence of an Aboriginal community or the fact that gentrification hadn't yet taken hold. But things were elemental, exaggerated by the warmth of summer nights.
I loved these open mics, the people I've met. I'd invite my work crew and friends. Sometimes I'd pack that venue out, for 3 songs!
----

Gom and I started a band
Melbourne was hip-hop, music, life and Fitzroy was Mecca
On Monday nights you could go to a place called the Laundry and see B-boys doing backflips on dancefloors!
Open mics, Latin Culture, losing my virginity
I was living and working as a waiter in beautiful Carlton, Melbourne's Italy. I love the parks there.

I flew interstate to study jazz
To smoke more ****
Then less ****
To wander like the wind, to bend like the rain, but always circling music and its hubs

I moved to London in 2015
I worked in a cafe and met a guy called Stefan from Austria. He is still one of the coolest and nicest people you can meet. I'll have to link up with him in Berlin one day soon.
He introduced me to Stefano from Italy who played the drums
We set up a band and had a few gigs
We had Hakan on Trombone and Bahadir on bass
Stefano had all these connections to the Turkish musical community
Because of the fact he plays in the Oddbeats, a psychedelic Turkish Band, one of the long standing hippie bands round these parts

I worked in a cafe called Music and Beans on Green Lanes, London's Istanbul. It was run by a musician who played amazing violin and also ran a music school. I lived in a tiny room above the school for a bit. On Green lanes there was a place called Jam in a Jar where you could see all kinds of music, from Mediterranean to Irish folk. It had a festival feel to it.
----

I go to open mics and jams like I did back in Melbourne,
It's very jazzy and jammy in this city. I like going to blues jams sometimes.
But I do like to remember those first gigs and musical experiences I had back in Melbourne
The meditation and wonder of it

I see Lloyle Carner at the swimming pool sometimes
He comes in with his daughter and wife
There I work as a lifeguard
On the days when I'm not working, I'll be working on my music, playing guitar, piano, writing, listening, learning, humming, singing, reading...
Stefano and I set up a house removed from the noise of traffic, replaced by the sounds of birds. There are trees everywhere and a lake nearby.
I've dedicated myself to being able to sing that great song in great condition, so that keeps the number of joints, beers and cigarettes down and the number of kilometers run and minutes meditated up.


I would cite Stevie Wonder, Bob Marley, Aston “Familyman” Barret, Jimi Hendrix, Nina Simone, Miles Davis, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Flea, Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, James Jamerson, Donny Hathaway, Lauryn Hill, Sam Cooke, Bill Withers, Frank Sinatra, John Coltrane, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Carole King, James Taylor, Norah Jones, Nick Drake, Bjork, Portishead, Radiohead, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, Burial, Flying Lotus, Fat Freddy’s Drop, Aphrodite, Charlie Parker, Chopin, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave, Paul Kelly, Jeff Buckley, Jaco Pastorius, Eric Dolphy, David Bowie, Charles Mingus, Herbie Hancock, J Dilla, Tupac, Juicy the song, Nirvana, Crowded House, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Prince, Parliament, D'Angelo's 3 Albums to date, Blackstar, The Roots, Adele, Beyonce, Aretha Franklin, Eryka Badu, Hiatus Kaiyote, Nai Palm, Muddy Waters, BB King, Ben Harper, Joe Cocker, Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, Van Morrison, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, Mavis Staples, The Beatles and tapestries more as inspirations and influences

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