Stop Mourning David Bowie

Stop Mourning David Bowie

The explosion of support for David Bowie and why that's so harmful
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A lot of people in the spotlight died this year. So many people mourned for these people as though they had known them. Plenty of these people touched our lives in ways that they couldn' have imagined. I can understand that. I can completely respect the feeling of loss surrounding these deaths, with the singular exception of David Bowie.

We make it a priority not to talk about it, but David Bowie was a rapist. A child rapist at that. In addition to the 1987 accusation made by a woman named Wanda Nichols, a girl by the name of Lori Maddox revealed that she had had what she deemed 'consensual sex' with David bowie. The problem there being that at the time the 'consensual sex' occurred, Bowie was nearly thirty while Maddox was only thirteen years old.

Among the Bowie fans that are aware of his actions, there is a trend of behavior to try and somehow undo it or make it okay. The three most common trends that I have noticed in such articles are as follows.

His actions were a product of the times.

Torture was also a product of the times. Lynchings were products of the times. 'Everyone else is doing it' is not a justification for anything, let alone a justification for committing child rape. Even if at the time what he did had been legal (it wasn't), that still would not have made it right. It used to be legal to beat your wife and illegal for people of color to vote. That doesn't mean that domestic violence was okay or that a latino guy voting is wrong.

The girls are lying. Or maybe just confused.

You'd think that after Bill Cosby, we'd know better than to dismiss women who come forward out of hand. Still, for those of you who are unaware, no reputable source has ever predicted that the percentage of rape accusations that are false are any higher than 4% at most. We also know that when someone is falsely accused or rape, they will almost invariably be a black or latino man. Given that money, fame and power also contribute to being less likely of being falsely accused of sexual assault, the odds of Bowie not having raped these girls are astronomically small.

Separate the artist from the art.

You cannot separate the artist from the art any more than you can separate the abuse from the abuser. To consume the things that the abuser has produced is to support him or her, both ethically or financially.


What with Bowie being dead, it might seem like there aren't consequences in celebrating him or in consuming his work. I would like to reassure you fro the bottom of my heart that there absolutely are.

Not only do these actions inform abusers that what they have done is not, in fact, forfeited their humanity, but is more like something akin to misbehaving; It also takes an emotional toll on victims. It sends the message that what happened to them wasn't really that bad of a thing and that both it and they do not matter as much as this really catchy song does.

As a rape victim, I'm not sure that I have the vocabulary to describe what I feel when I see someone lamenting the loss of Bowie, or giving Woody Allen a standing ovation. I don't think that there are words to express the sort of grief and rage that this brings. the only way I know how to describe it is to put it in the context of something else.

I remember an instance where I was being molested in a stairwell. My chest was entirely exposed and I was looking at the ground, trying to leave my body behind me. As this was happening, half the frisbee team came into the stairwell on their way to practice, with me in full view. I yanked down my shirt and stood there as they filed past me, feeling my throat burning. As they walked away, and my then-boyfriend returned to his assault on my body, I remember hearing an indistinct voice saying something about 'her' and the others bursting into laughter. The feeling I get is not unlike the feeling that I had in that moment. The shame, rage, powerlessness and complete abject humiliation, that I felt then is very similar to the feeling tat I get reading facebook posts about people mourning "the passing of such a great man."

Someone is an abuser before they are an artist. Before they are a visionary or an activist or a political force. You didn't actually know this man. But I promise you, you know plenty of rape victims, even if you don't know that you do. Part of growing up is realizing that your heroes aren't who you thought they were. They might even be the bad guys. Bowie falls into this category. The world is a better place without him in it. It's painful. It sucks. I get it. Still, there is beauty in that realization. It comes hand in hand with the realization that if these people weren't the heroes we needed, then maybe we have the responsibility and the chance to be.

Cover Image Credit: Den Of Geek

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8 Reasons Why My Dad Is the Most Important Man In My Life

Forever my number one guy.
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Growing up, there's been one consistent man I can always count on, my father. In any aspect of my life, my dad has always been there, showing me unconditional love and respect every day. No matter what, I know that my dad will always be the most important man in my life for many reasons.

1. He has always been there.

Literally. From the day I was born until today, I have never not been able to count on my dad to be there for me, uplift me and be the best dad he can be.

2. He learned to adapt and suffer through girly trends to make me happy.

I'm sure when my dad was younger and pictured his future, he didn't think about the Barbie pretend pageants, dressing up as a princess, perfecting my pigtails and enduring other countless girly events. My dad never turned me down when I wanted to play a game, no matter what and was always willing to help me pick out cute outfits and do my hair before preschool.

3. He sends the cutest texts.

Random text messages since I have gotten my own cell phone have always come my way from my dad. Those randoms "I love you so much" and "I am so proud of you" never fail to make me smile, and I can always count on my dad for an adorable text message when I'm feeling down.

4. He taught me how to be brave.

When I needed to learn how to swim, he threw me in the pool. When I needed to learn how to ride a bike, he went alongside me and made sure I didn't fall too badly. When I needed to learn how to drive, he was there next to me, making sure I didn't crash.

5. He encourages me to best the best I can be.

My dad sees the best in me, no matter how much I fail. He's always there to support me and turn my failures into successes. He can sit on the phone with me for hours, talking future career stuff and listening to me lay out my future plans and goals. He wants the absolute best for me, and no is never an option, he is always willing to do whatever it takes to get me where I need to be.

6. He gets sentimental way too often, but it's cute.

Whether you're sitting down at the kitchen table, reminiscing about your childhood, or that one song comes on that your dad insists you will dance to together on your wedding day, your dad's emotions often come out in the cutest possible way, forever reminding you how loved you are.


7. He supports you, emotionally and financially.

Need to vent about a guy in your life that isn't treating you well? My dad is there. Need some extra cash to help fund spring break? He's there for that, too.

8. He shows me how I should be treated.

Yes, my dad treats me like a princess, and I don't expect every guy I meet to wait on me hand and foot, but I do expect respect, and that's exactly what my dad showed I deserve. From the way he loves, admires, and respects me, he shows me that there are guys out there who will one day come along and treat me like that. My dad always advises me to not put up with less than I deserve and assures me that the right guy will come along one day.

For these reasons and more, my dad will forever be my No. 1 man. I love you!

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Monsters

An excerpt by Katherine F. Messina

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Fear clawed at my stomach as my heart threatened to beat out of my chest. My legs were shaking from the exertion when the grass beneath my feet turned to concrete. Sweat caused hair to stick to my face. I stopped, looking around, my breathing harsh. A sudden flash of light blinded me as screeching filled the air. I backed towards the woods quickly, tripping over my own feet. My backside hit the ground with a thud. A metal contraption came to a stop inches from me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

What is that thing?

A tall man stepped out of the strange device. He had large arms and blonde hair. He towered over me.

"What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road? I could have killed you!" he shouted, waving his arms.

I tried to scramble away. His eyes swept over my ripped clothes and bloody feet, and his face changed into one of sympathy.

"Hey," he said in a soothing voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?"

He held his hand out towards me, and I eyed it suspiciously.

"I'm Tucker," he offered, "What's your name?"

"Sh-shay," I stuttered.

Rustling in the woods behind me spurred me into action.

"Let's go, fast."

Tucker stood completely still and stared into the woods, drawn to the rustling. The Kurasa crashed through the trees, searching for me. Their black eyes landed on Tucker and lit up with malice. They stood a foot taller than him, nearly 7 feet. Their grey skin looked like mud. Tucker froze, and panic filled his eyes.

"In the car," he said, his voice tight.

I didn't argue. I jumped into the metal monstrosity. He was across the road and into the seat with the circular object in front of it in what felt like seconds. I could feel the iron throughout the car. The Kurasa kept their distance. Iron repelled them like most fae even in small doses. I was feeling sick, and I'm only half faerie. The tires squealed as he took off, leaving the Kurasa behind.

"You alright?" Tucker asked, "You look a bit pale."

"Yes, I'll be fine."

"I know that was scary, but it'll be okay. I'll get you far away from them."

"You seem oddly calm for someone who just encountered that," my suspicion rose.

"It's not my first time. Hopefully, it'll be your last. I hunt things like them. Or I used to."

Warning bells went off in my head. What would he do if he found out I was one of them?

"You can let me out soon," I said.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to take you to my place and let you clean up. You'll be safe there, I promise," he gave me a warm smile.

Until you find out what I really am.

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