I am so sorry that the brilliant Leonard Cohen had to die at the worst possible time.
Perhaps that is why he did. Maybe he just couldn’t take the horror that has beset us.
I must also apologise if this post seems weird, as he was very much alive when Mandy made this perfume for him, and I have just re-posted it on reflex without re-reading it. I am feeling quite deranged, in truth, as I am sure many of us are. The debacle (I can’t even repeat Its name, right now) has left me feeling panicked, claustrophobic, and asphyxiated: oppressed, and panicked, that a new dawn of fascism is upon us. I am blindly reposting things, like the Comme Des Garcons, because it seemed right, but suddenly seems wrong, and this, ditto, because my whole world, and yours I am sure, has been scrambled. I honestly can’t quite think straight.
This man, though, the artist above, who has just passed away, was so much the opposite of that vile hollow creature that it hurts to even include them in the same sentence.
‘Ah, the man she wanted all her life was hanging by a thread. ”
“I never even knew how much I wanted you” she said.
His muscles they were numbered
and his style was obsolete. …