Blah Blah Flowers

... Oh and that guitar, so clean, so clear, and the crisp sound of the drums, a ten years late "fuck you" to grunge wanting purity through eating dirt, and her voice, as a solitary tear slides, almost unseen, down her cheek and she gives water to the dead, the dead relationship and she doesn't understand how it could be over even though Men are From Mars and Women are From Venus and Uranus will shortly be renamed as the planet ArseCandling to stop inappropriate jokes. Her voice, the voice of the universe in slow torturous heat death, spinning slowly back to oblivion in the black hole at the centre of creation, how could we possibly choose oblivion over her? Because they can't love us like she loves us. This is the language of the twenty-first century, bewilderment, pain, loss. "How can they hate us so much?" recast as the breakdown of a love affair, Romeo's dumped Juliet and gone to San Francisco and no amount of funky green code action is going to resuscitate that relationship.

Which is part one in a hundred part series on why that song is so great.