Authors of Our Own Existence.

Monday Morning.

This is usually the time reserved for an existential crisis. You know, time for the eternal questions: 

Who Am I? 

Where Am I Going? 

What Is It All About? 

We live on a spinning planet, a moving target. Turns out we are moving targets too. Life is change. Nothing lasts, any answers we come up with really are up to us.

As Philip K. Dick once wrote (if I recall correctly, which is dicey in itself): "You are the Authority."

We are the Authors of our own existence. We make it up moment by moment.  It's a bit scary, but maybe liberating too.  

Crisis? Yes. What crisis?!

David Bowie: "Where the fuck did Monday go?!"

The a.m. soundtrack - David Bowie's "Blackstar." (2016). Bowie's 25th and last record. I do believe it's his masterpiece album. Recorded with a fabulous Jazz Quintet led by saxophonist Donny McCaslin. Stunningly, shockingly great. Bowie was ill, getting treatments for cancer during recording sessions. He knew he was facing death. Mortality, sickness, thoughts of saying goodbye to the things we all love in the world, fading away into the great unknown, hanging over the record. It's  a dark, beautiful, powerful, soulful and blazingly original statement. How does an artist confront death? By doing his work. Doing the good work. Putting himself completely into the act of creation. Creating masterful, fully-realized music. It was produced by his long-time collaborator Tony Visconti. Gorgeous sound. Rich, lush, layered. It's playing right now on my little Bose Music System, and the fullness of sound fills the room, takes your breath away. Every track... shockingly, stunningly fabulous.