Today is David Bowie’s birthday. In honor of that fact, I’m going to reveal a little something about myself:
The movie Labyrinth came out when I was eight years old. I saw it in the theater and was blown away. That movie affects me to this day on many, many levels. Not the least of these effects stem from the fact that there, in that darkened theater, at eight years old, looking at Bowie as Jareth the Goblin King, I felt physical attraction for the first time.
Intellectually, I thought he was beautiful. I had been able to identify “pretty” and “ugly” for some time, of course, and to express my preferences. This was the first time, however, my body responded to that beauty. It was a strange awareness—a tingling and a catch of the breath.
Thus began, I suppose, my lifelong love affair with men bearing that seductive whiff of androgyny and moral ambiguity.
“Am I a good man, or a bad man?”
Come to bed, my lovely, and I’ll tell you in the morning.
Happy Birthday, David Bowie. Thank you for your beauty and your art.