once i had a nightmare: bruce springsteen was appearing with u2. i woke to find it was real.
listen to them pound and bellow and extreme-emote through this tuneless yet operatic falderal. i'm looking and seriously wondering: can anybody want to listen to that? but i guess they do. myself, i'd rather be gnawed to death by pretentious gerbils, which is quite what that feels like. eventually, people will have a sudden awakening, like what am i listening to? geez, who am i, really? i could be listening to anything, and yet i chose to listen to that. perhaps i should strangle myself to death with my bare hands and abandon this veil of bilge. as i do so, i can take comfort in the fact that in this process my facial expressions and vocal stylings will come more and more to resemble the boss's in that performance. or perhaps someone who loves me will commit me involuntarity to a treatment facility for white tastelessness. at a minimum, if you can get through that video, you should engage in some withering aesthetic self-reflection.
