If you laid eyes on me right this second, you may be tempted to ask,
"JKB, why ever are you weeping discreetly at your desk?"
And to that question I would respond with a sniffle and a vague gesture towards my computer screen and this video:
Yes. I'm not immediately on board, but this is a good start.
Now we've moved things inside.
Looks like a vaguely period, well choreographed party full of lots of beautiful people of varying races. All of which I love. Duh.
Who are these people? We'll never know. But it matters less and less. Passion, right?
Wait a minute.
Well this took a terrifying turn.
Girl, you on fire!
Somebody should call someone about this, guys.
Oh, now this is happening.
If you were hoping for an explanation, you'll never get it. JUST BEAUTIFUL IMAGERY.
I've accepted it.
She gets hit by a car. Okay.
And we're done here.
So yeah. I'm not sure what it all means, but I know I felt it, deep. All the way down to my bones. I want to find out where and when this party takes place or what happens to that little boy or why exactly that black guy is so into that lady's hair— but ultimately I'm content to ponder the beautiful, Anastasia-meets-Anna-Karenina-meets-German-Expressionism** of it all.
Who needs a story anyway, when you're left with the distinct impression that it is you Katy Perry loves unconditionally?
**Yeah, I don't know a damn thing about German Expressionism and neither does Katy Perry.