A Letter To Beck Hansen
- Posted: May 26, 2012 @ 12:35pm
"Can't you hear those cavalry drums
Hijacking your equilibrium
Midnight snacks in the mausoleum
Where the pixilated doctors moan"
Beck - "Sexx Laws"
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I have loved you and your work for what is now more than half of my life and I STILL could not begin to tell you what it means for one to get crazy with the Cheez-Whiz. Or breathe Freon by the candlelight. Are you telling me to clap my hands BECAUSE of bottles and cans? Or are you telling said bottles and cans to clap THEIR hands, which they cannot do because they have no limbs? It's not nice to mock inanimate objects. Why are you stealing kisses from leperous faces? I tend to think lepers would be pretty starved for affection considering their contagion.
Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Perhaps this bizarre dialect is simply how you communicate, in which case this plain-old-english letter probably sounds as much like psychedelic gibberish as your lyrics do to the rest of us. So, let me start over...
Allow me to introduce myself. I am a disco pimp bitch-slapping satellite dishes. I sleep in the forest of the future because the robots told me they like to dance. The wizard reads the teleprompter as he licks my latex glove. I need to know, can you do a backflip into the teenage cesspool? We must save the synthetic socialists from their suicidal soap bubbles, it's an electronic emergency. The ghosts are bleeding neon on the dancefloor at the hoedown, it must be time to shake the treehouse. How much laughter can you fit in your breast pocket? Is it cold within the confines of the coat closet? Like a unicorn on Heroin, the world may never know.
Sway your hips for the marshmallow midgets.