Lemmy, Bowie, Cancer

Don’t let anyone tell you that bugging and begging and annoying and nagging doesn’t work. This is exactly what I have been doing to my friend Jess, also innocently known as… Pistol. I’ve wanted her to write something, anything for this site, simply because she is one of the realest motherfuckers I have ever come across. Funny enough, she is also a dope writer. Here is her piece on the heartbreaking news about two musical icons’ demise. 


As trite as this may seem, I need to get this out. I need to get out what I feel about these three things. Two of them were great, and actually, will always be great. And the other is shit. It’s bad, it’s awful, and it’s a literal plague against humanity.

Lemmy and Motorhead have always appealed to my dark side, the beast inside ready to lash out at the establishment, or anyone and anything that sought to crush me. When I listen to Motorhead, I feel the rebellion and the passion and the sense that accepting the status quo is simply not an option. And even if I can’t give my boss the finger, or punch out every slow walking tourist that impedes my path, I can release that anger and annoyance on some level. And I’m immensely grateful for that.

David Bowie is my light side, my bright side. As a child, I would listen to him and find the flash, the “lightning bolt” of life. He was glitter, glamour, beauty, and pure energy. He has always been otherworldly, as if belonging to some far off fantasy land, and made me feel like I didn’t have to conform to the bullshit expectations of my peers. He taught me that I should never fall into line because I was meant to sparkle. I’m an introvert, but I know how to express myself in any situation I find myself in. Cheers, David.

Despite the difference between their musical stylings, both Lemmy and Bowie gave me something that I value more than anything else: freedom. Even now as I listen to “Fame”, I’m free from my shitty day at work. When I had to work a bunch of overtime at my job over the holiday season, I was busted head-banging to “Ace of Spades” by some construction guys. I offered them no apologies, nor did they even ask for one. The key thing is that music gets me through. It gets me through my ridiculous NYC commutes every day, it gets me through a job that makes me want to scream half the time, and it gets me through every tragedy and obstacle that I’ve ever had the misfortune to face.


And so we arrive to the last thing on the list: Cancer. What can I say about the thing that stole both of my dad’s parents from me, and very nearly my dad himself? The thing that continues to plague my friends, my family, and an increasing amount of my life’s influences. I’ve seen my loved ones suffer from this, I’ve seen them fight it, I’ve seen them win, I’ve seen them lose. It doesn’t matter if it’s ovarian, lung, liver, prostate, pancreatic, or any other version of one of the world’s most prolific killers, it’s quite simply shit. Fuck cancer. I hate it with all of my being. I hate what it does to the people that I know and love, and what it does to many people that I’ll never even have the pleasure of meeting. The thing about cancer, is that no one is immune to it. Not my nearest and dearest, and not the seemingly immortal purveyors of entertainment that we all look up to.

My ultimate message is this: don’t give up. I can’t cure cancer, though I would if I could. Donate to research. Support those you know who suffer from it. And if you have it, kick the shit out of it for a minute, an hour, a day or as long as you can.



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