The Tyranny of Tradition

All that is left in my world is Sigh’s new album “In Somniphobia”.  I love it.  I can’t stop playing it.  Over and over and over and over again.  I love it so much I want to rip off my shirt and paint the letters S-I-G-H across my chest and run around the local Walgreens screaming at the top of my lungs. I want to beat myself over the head repeatedly with a claw hammer until I do such severe damage to my hippocampus that I forget I’ve heard the album just so I can have the pleasure of experiencing it again for the first time.  I long to leap off of a bell tower screaming the lyrics at the horrified spectators.  I dream of ripping each of my teeth out and sending it to members of the band to thank them for all the joy they have brought to me.

My love for it transcends all possible love I could experience.  I want to go to a beautiful meadow, set out a picnic blanket and caress the album telling it all the things I know in my heart and have been afraid to say.  I want to run through a field with it in my arms, laughing girlishly, dancing to the wonderful sounds of the wind whipping through the grass.  I want to whisper lovingly into the albums ear, telling it my deepest secrets and most personal desires.  Surrender unconditionally to its alluring charms.  Bathe it in pure, unadulterated affection.

I feel jealous that others will have the chance to hear this album.  When I think of others listening to this album I am filled with rage.  I will kill them.  I will grind their bones into dust.  It is my album.  Mine!  Their love is cheap and tawdry while mine is filled with the sincerity and innocence of a child.  They cannot feel what I feel for this album.  They are mere mortals while I have been imbued with the gift of second sight by the god Amen-Ra.  They live shallow, meaningless lives.  Their love will flicker and fade the minute something else comes along.  My attraction will never fade, no matter what happens.  If nuclear bombs reign down on the city of Atlanta and all around me is melted and disintegrated, the only thing left will be my boney, skeletal fingers embracing the album, stroking its brow.

Don’t listen to the album.  You and the mortals around you don’t deserve it. I’ll know if you are listening to it because I’m in front of your house right now.  Watching you.  I was at the supermarket yesterday when you bought two bags of pork rinds for 2 dollars and 28 cents. I saw you stop at the gas station and get approximately 8 gallons of gas.  I know that you stopped in Hot Topic at 3:45 just to look around.  You didn’t buy anything.  I am watching you all the time.  Even as you sleep.  If you dare to listen to this album, I will tie you to a chair and feed you hundreds of pounds cheese dip until either your stomach bursts or your entire body explodes.

I’d give it a 2,389,124 out of 10.  I am currently in the process of undergoing a medical procedure to add an additional thumb so I can give it 3 thumbs up.   There will never be anything better.  Music as we know it is over.  People should not even bother to try to create anything else.  This is the pinnacle, the zenith, the apogee, the climax of all civilization.  It is the Hanging Gardens, the Taj Mahal, the Great Pyramid of Giza, the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus.  There is no future, there is no past, there is only Sigh’ “In Somniphobia”.