Clockwise Rain

EDITOR’S SCRATCHING POST:
CATATONICALLY SPEAKING
Nelson PRINCE Rogers: A Perfect Sign O’ the Times
This past year has seen a staggering number of artists - writers,
musicians, actors - pass away. On the one hand, it would appear that
something is in the water; on the other, it's clearly the natural order of
things, and we must embrace, however resignedly, the idea that more of
our idols will pass as time goes on. This seems blatantly obvious, and yet
we as a species seem to have trouble acknowledging the deaths of those
close to us or those whom we admire artistically. We are a death-denying
society, content to pretend that immortality reigns - until we are shown,
with a hammer to the heart, a scythe to the psyche - the crushing contrary.
The deaths of otherworldly artists whose influence cosmically reverberates
are especially tricky to process. David Bowie and Prince are not supposed
to die, we tell ourselves. They are supposed to be immune to extinction.
Now, some may be commencing heaving sighs and quaking head-shakes
and epic eye-rolls at that last statement, and that's fine. Not everyone
cared about Bowie or Prince, and not everyone idolizes artists. Sure, idolworship
can be toxic, but in my view, cultivating a healthy admiration for an
artist can be one of life's exuberant joys. We look to artists to inspire our
own imaginations, since, imagination, is, as Einstein said, more important
than knowledge. Indeed, imagination is everything; it is the fertile ground
on which we live our lives more fully - if we use our imaginations in the
right way, that is. So much of our imagination potential is tragically