The year was 1980 when a knock on my door shattered the peace, happiness and faith which kept me safe. It was a brutal waste of a life when my younger brother accidentally blew his brains out with a police revolver. The messengers were shocked and sick with an ugly numbness which coated grief like tar. My brother's ghost is preaching to the night. He stands in wounded laughter by my bed. I turn, hiding my nakedness from sight to see the bloody hole shine through his head. My brother took the singing gun in jest to tease the girl afraid of such a tool and like a priest who whispers "you are blessed" he shot himself and broke the golden rule. "He shook the bullets out onto his palm." his partner said. "He looked somewhat surprised as one last missile hidden in the gun blew out the light that sparkled from his eyes." My Daniel lived two hours with partial brains. Oh God this benediction is insane. Bowie released Scary Monsters in September, 1980. I had been listening to it with the passionate abandon of true love. Bowie has always been mine. Then one month later I listened to the songs with a different ear when my brother died a violent death.