To Whom It May Not Entirely Disinterest,
I have a theory about love songs. It isn't ironclad. The theory is that any song that claims to be about love but fails to express the pain and horror of sliding downward toward hell is disingenuous pap that affirms the self-importance of the egocentric feelings of the singer and/or listener, and which therefore isn't about love at all. I have my share of love songs that follow this theory ("True Love is a Trip," "Fabulous Dream," "The Heart I Know By Heart," etc), unwittingly of course, as well as my share of songs that might sound like they're about love but are really about being enslaved to all the soaring, infernal emotions that come with it. Also unwittingly. But for those who doubt that the best love songs should express something resembling a helpless free-fall into an open elevator shaft of hellfire, and who might believe love is better expressed by a pledge of allegiance to one's own childish, codependent emotions, allow me to present "Ring of Fire."
"I fell into a burning ring of fire. I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher."
One of the greatest love songs of all time. So there you go.
Of course, some songs that utilize infernal imagery are about things that are miserable and unpleasant, such as "All is Well in Hell" from the new Driving in the Rain video mixtape:
Clearly not a love song. Something more reminiscent of Isaiah 48:10: "Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction."
If you're not familiar with the furnace of affliction, you may be tempted to read a song like "All is Well in Hell" as either a glorification of misery, or some kind of self-absorbent wallowing. Which is the same thing I guess. If you're not into the whole "furnace of affliction" trip, there is plenty of room for you in the Furnace of All Fiction, where unquestioned, widely-held beliefs grow like barnacles on the hearts of the willfully ignorant and prideful self-condoomned. Good for you, I guess.
There are also retroactive love songs, which are like time-release drugs, or bombs set to explode after the building has been cleared. You swallow the pill, and several years later your heart falls through the floor of the luxurious penthouse you have constructed in your soul, in which you have squandered many lost and precious things. "Greaser Boy" from the Calzada Zavaleta video mixtape meets this criterion:
Of course there is always a solution, such as drowning your sorrows in T-shirts and assorted housewares emblazoned with the new designs now available on my RedBubble:
Supposedly,
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