Last night, I went to downtown Minneapolis along with a few thousand other people to listen to music and to be with Prince fans. It was way more jubilant than somber, which felt great and right after the events of the day. I had volunteered to write something for The Current and when I finally got home late late at night, I did try. I started at least five essays and finished two. All the while, ideas for a million others pounded on the door to get in. My head was like First Avenue and the thoughts were like fans — everyone wanted to get inside and dance all night. Finally, I fell asleep, having failed to write anything I was satisfied with.

And this morning I realized that any essay was insufficient. Even this one. This essay is not going to work. It will not do the job of summarizing Prince, his music, his presence, his influence, his voice, his style, his humor, or any other noun you choose to put after the word "his." There is just too much about the guy. He was too many things. I've been a writer my whole life and have never had a more challenging assignment than "reflect on Prince." Words really do fail.

So let's not use them. Here are THINGS that Prince was and is:

The planet Saturn. Colors and rings and distance and mysterious amorphous gases.

Sex. He is. You knew that.

Purple. Luxurious, gaudy, regal. Beautiful and tacky. Goes with anything but stands out against everything.

Outdoor swimming. Like on a warm day and you swim in a lake and there aren't a lot of people in it. You just glide underneath the water. You're alone but you are a part of something greater. Think of that and then think of a funky Prince bass line with an insistent guitar riff on it.

Sex. Needs to be said at least twice.

Dancing with a stranger.

The blooming of deciduous trees, happening right around now, actually, where something has sprung to life.

Baryshnikov here.

That feeling when the plane first takes off, rumbles a little as you take to the sky, and then smoothes out as you are above everything, marveling that such a thing is possible.

Freshly picked strawberries at the height of their season.

Breaking the law with a crime that hurts no one and knowing you will not be caught.

Sex. This whole essay could just three letters long, is what I'm saying.

Being alive.

Being still alive no matter what happened to your body on April 21, 2016.

John Moe is heard every Wednesday on Oake & Riley in the Morning, commenting on the latest Internet trends. He also co-hosts the podcast Conversation Parade (with Open Mike Eagle) on the Infinite Guest network, and is an author of a number of books, including The Deleted Emails of Hilary Clinton: A Parody and Dear Luke, We Need To Talk, Darth: And Other Pop Culture Correspondences.