The Daily Swarm

Postcards from the Ledge, the blog of Sherilyn Fenn from Twin Peaks:

So now, in the city of Lost Angels I was. Just another angel among the masses and as lost as the next….. still sneaking into nightclubs and being a crazy 18 year old. One night me and my brothers girlfriend Judy went to dance at Carlos and Charlies. It was on the infamous Sunset Blvd and was an exclusive nightclub above a restaurant. Dressed beyond my 18 years in my hot 80’s garb, a white leather mini and matching motorcycle jacket. Camisole, inspired by Vanity 6, a look Madonna would later steal as her own as she stole MANY things from my Prince. And short sexy silver and white boots. It was on, crouton. Dancing, drinking, and gasping as I looked over and saw my Prince walk in the door. I almost died and am certain I cried.

He was small, my size, not the giant from the concert I remembered. He had on colorful clothes and high heeled boots which did little to increase his physical stature. He was still a god to me. As pretty as I thought he’d be. Maybe prettier. And oh, so sexy. The club parted like the red sea as he made his way to a great table right next to the dance floor where he could partake of a favorite habit of his. Watching people dance, sometimes getting up himself. Seeing what the pulse of the crowd was in terms of what music they were listening too.

I think I barely spoke three words but I danced with he and Judy. Then with just him. He had golden eyes that were playful and mischieveous. He would watch me as I moved around him to the beat. I thought I was Vanity, I rocked. I shimmied and shook and felt so alive. I had so much fun. Sure I had gone mute but I still had fun. That ever illusive fun I seem to have lost the ability to have now as a 44 year old woman.

He was also very smart and funny when he did speak over the blaringly loud music. He was wise and flippant and would tell jokes. He had this low kind of husky sexy voice. Not high pitched like a woman’s as I would later experience MJ to have when I met him with Prince. He was simply cool. Either you are or you aren’t and he was. Still is. “I’m so cool…ow.ow.ow. Ain’t nobody bad like me!”

Part 2:

Driving to the recording studio I had stopped channeling Helen Keller and was back to my chatty and somewhat loud self. We girls from Michigan tend to be that way. Just plain LOUD!!!
So as I was zipping along through the Los Angeles streets in my little cream corvette [baby your much too fast!] I was feeling like I was living a dream. A rather loud one at that…

I am fond of using peoples initials. PRN stands for Prince Rogers Nelson. Yes, it is his birth name. His father was a musician, a funny, funky and at times volatile man. Purple Rain is quite autobiographical and was meant to be about he and Vanity. Replaced by the awful [my opinion] Apollonia. Even though the name comes from Godfather II where Micheal Corleone goes to Sicily and marries a young woman who gets blown up in a car shortly there after, to me she was still, just, Yuck. Also the film contains the ever present added ingredient of Hollywood “based on a true story” bullshit.

To be with PRN in his environment is to enter a kingdom like no other. From the inside of the limo to the decor of his Minneapolis home. Or a temporarily inhabited hotel room to a recording studio. His unique mark permeates all time and space. All 5 senses are engaged. There are gorgeous colors, pillows, silks, feathers. Candles everywhere day or night, a habit I cannot shake myself. Incredible smells of perfume, incense and beauty. In this place,yes, beauty actually has a smell. Dark, warm and inviting colors. And, of course, the funky back beat from the very soul of the man.