Put Your Ray Gun To My Head

There is a whole cast of strange recurring characters in my dreams. Ice T. Courtney Love. Poseidon. William S. Burroughs. A large group of heavily tattooed yakuza who only speak Japanese (which even in my dreams I do not understand).
Anyway. David Bowie is one of them. The dream characters, not the yakuza.
I once dreamed that I had to perform emergency surgery on him or he would die. All of his internal organs needed to be removed. I remember being so distressed. Not for the reasons you might think, but because he always seemed so ice cold and bloodless, like an elven prince perfectly carved from alabaster, that all of the ensuing blood and gore would surely offend his fine sensibilities.
I’m sorry for dissecting you in my dreams, David Bowie. May you live on in a moonage daydream.