Touched by the Flaming Dove: Bowie’s Asteroid Muses

I turned myself to face me In the darkness, a spotlight focusses on a cadaverous, mascara streaked face; the atmosphere is electric. It’s Hammersmith Odeon, July 1973; a  guitar strums a simple chord with a plangeant brush-like sound. The Spiders have vacated the stage,  but this is even more electrifying than any magisterial Moonage Day… Read More Touched by the Flaming Dove: Bowie’s Asteroid Muses

In My Bed

Etienne Benassi In My Bed There’s a body in my arms, sweet cameo of profiles, links up contours in this domain of warmth. There are armfuls of torsos Fell-swooning across the sidelong limb, svelte scandal at my fingertips. There are erections that bite like kissograms (without the extra charge), States of mind which burn till… Read More In My Bed