No. A night’s sleep didn’t help.
I feel like a locomotive ran over me.
I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m disgusted with how much of my life I’ve wasted on formal education, jobs, religion, and pleasing people. I took for granted that someday perhaps I’d see Prince in concert, maybe even meet him. I took for granted that Prince was available, alive in the culture, occasionally in Hollywood. Maybe I’d stroll down to the W jazz night or some music venue or someone’s living room or patio. Then suddenly I might experience him. There would be that moment.
The truth is I have experienced Prince my entire life. Through his music. Through his performance. Through his delightfully signature subversion. A subversion he elevated to an art form. Perhaps that is enough. But instead of thoroughly enjoying “Cream” when he released it, I was busy insisting an Animal House “college” deserved my newspaper. Instead of enjoying “1999” I was returning to California to waste 7 more years seeing “The Big Short” to its conclusion.
Maybe it’s that I resent wasting so much of my life trying to chase money and please moronic clowns clutching employee manuals or diplomas or Bibles they can’t even read. I’m too nice. I listen to vaguely plausible people too much. I’m too generous with my life. Had I woken up a bit sooner, gotten a bit more impatient and angry, perhaps right now I could recall “I remember when I saw Prince and he …”
A Marked Spectator 