"We could steal time, just for one day..."

If I live to witness the moment aliens land, hear that an asteroid is coming to wipe us all out, or the sun actually explodes and engulfs planet earth (which is most definitely blue today...), none of these events will affect me the way today's news has, that David Bowie has died.

I, like approximately 99% of the people rushing to praise/eulogise or commiserate over him, didn't know the man; his private life is the stuff of legend, and there are plenty of biographies available to anyone interested in that side of his life.

I only know the public persona of the man who came to define what popular music means to me; how he makes me feel, how I've seen him affect those around me, and how, knowing that he's gone, leaves me feeling like the world just got a little bit smaller and less interesting.

The songs speak for themselves (and yes, I do include The Laughing Gnome, which managed to finally make me cry for the wrong reasons this morning...); this isn't going to be a list of my favourite Bowie songs, because the internet just isn't big enough for that, and there are plenty of those kind of lists available elsewhere (just bear in mind that if they don't put Heroes at number one, then they're just plain wrong...)

The performances, be they on stage as Ziggy, Aladdin or The Thin White Duke, or on screen, as Jareth the Goblin King, 'Strafer' or Thomas Jerome Newton, left their mark on not just me, but on the medium, and often on society as well.

You only have to look at the bands and artists who point to him as inspirational; you can turn to any page of Smash Hits, Melody Maker or the NME, from the late seventies right up to now, and you'll find someone saying "if it wasn't for David Bowie...", and although it's never a guarantee of quality or longevity, it usually means they have an ear for a solidly written tune, if not just a penchant for dipping into the dressing up box...

And I know some of you will be non-plussed by the outpouring of emotion you can't have missed today; the strangled sobs of DJ's on the radio, the retelling of personal anecdotes, the shelves, empty of tissues in the shops. "He was just a singer, weren't he?" you'll say. "What's all the fuss about?" you might ask. "You didn't really know him", you'll accurately point out.

The point is, to generations of misfits and outcasts and rebels, David Bowie spoke to us. He helped us discover who we really were when nobody else could or would. He showed us that we could be whoever or whatever we wanted to be, and we could look bloody fabulous whilst doing it. And when somebody touches you like that, you can't not feel connected to and invested in them and their lives. Most of all, he made some of the best music that has ever and will ever be made, and not simply just because he got there first; but because he saw what everyone else was doing and said "I've got a better idea..." and made good on that promise right up until today.

I've cried myself dry today (thankfully working from home, alone) listening to the songs, some excellent output on BBC 6Music, and watching online reaction, evolving from disbelief and despair to acceptance and acknowledgement that he knew he'd left us plenty to remember him by, including the final, magnificent goodbye gift that is his last album, Blackstar, the release of which last Friday must have been keeping him going this long.

Thank you, David Robert Jones, and goodnight Ziggy.

"Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying..."