Last night, on my way out of the office, I called up Blackstar on Spotify—it's okay because he's dead—and went straight to "Lazarus." This is the song Sean Nelson was listening to when he learned that Bowie had died. It begins, "Look up here, I'm in heaven." When dead David Bowie asks you to do something, you do it.

I looked up.

You can't tell because I didn't take a video, but the light through the rain-shined branches formed a white tunnel that followed me overhead as I walked. Whoa. You know an artist has done something when the whole world—when physical sensation itself—seems to be in their grip. It was as if this white-tunnel moment was just another one of Bowie's accomplishments. Why had I never looked up on that part of the sidewalk in winter before? I had looked up into dense foliage many times right there, but never when the trees were bare twigs, when it had just rained, when the light on the twigs converted the canopy simultaneously into glistening cobwebs and a tunnel into heaven.

There was something witchy and magical and so entirely in keeping with Bowie's aesthetic that it was one of those moments I know I'll remember forever.

Now, it has come to my attention that some people haven't listened to Blackstar yet. A friend I had dinner with last night hadn't listened yet. A friend I was texting earlier today hadn't listened yet. Eli Sanders was just in my office and he hasn't listened yet. ("I did listen to Sean talk about it for 10 minutes on Blabbermouth," he added.) Are you people for real? Don't you know what you're missing? Don't you care about art? Don't you care about death?

PS: Check out all the Bowie tribute nights coming up.