A favored bard has died.

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Bowie?  Fu u!  No, a bard for my type.  Lemmy Kilmister.  And, now, the fake part isn't the part you'd think was fake.  Born Ian Fraser Kilmister.  The lead singer of Motorhead.  A band I, when they dropped, was weened upon.

A few of my favored, to give you an idea.  Yeah, you probably didn't hear of him.  And yet you think of yourself as cultured having heard of Bowie?  Psha!  Yeah, these songs mean a great deal to me, personally.  The first was just the way it often was.  The second as I was figuring my way through and beyond the first.  Many people really don't care, as long as their bread is buttered, their linens are fresh, and their meal is hot and on time.  Nor, as I have come to understand, can or should they.  What, exactly, about sacrifice, do some people, including myself at one time, not understand.  Even if it isn't for an exact man or woman, sacrifice is real, and about ideals, even if it seems, at times, to only be for your brothers to the left and right of you.




I may do a round or three to Lemmy tonight.  He brought me great cheer, reminded me of why and what, and helped me through some mighty dark times.  On to seeing... more.  I'll pray for the disposition of his soul as I flush my body with the cleansing action of beer, and a good portion of it.  Amen.

Oh, right, nap time.  Later.