I love Prince. I miss Prince. I was so saddened by his death last year and with the anniversary approaching, there have been many stories about the cause of his overdose adding new depressing layers to the story. Prince was (and remains) a common source of musical conversation between my brother and me; they share a birthday and my brother, who vehemently denies the existence of any sort of predetermination beyond mere coincidence, was convinced that if he was driving a car, Prince would play on the radio before he parked. I think it spoke more to Prince’s persistent popularity than any sonic connection.
The conceit of this blog is sort of intimately tied to that foggy space between sleep and whatever my waking life can be considered. But I also don’t love deep discussion of dreams because the analyses end up being akin to horoscopes—you can find whatever you want in there. I do, however, enjoy hearing about silly dreams and sex dreams, especially if they involve cute animals or me, RESPECTIVELY.
Anyway, this song was playing in a dream and stayed in my head all day. I don’t remember what led into this particular vignette, but it was framed almost like a music video. In the middle of a wood paneled, square room was a small square table with a man sitting in its only chair. He was holding a fork and knife and staring intently a paper plate containing a single, peeled peanut. Somehow it was known to the audience (me) that the man had a life-threatening allergy to peanuts.
Yes, my jokes are just as bad in dreams.
“I’m not your lover, I’m not your friend; I am something that you’ll never comprehend.”