Uploaded on Sep 25, 2009
a faulty chromosome - dancing on the ceiling, flailing on the floor
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Oh Lionel Ritchie, you mustachioed goob! This song came about from watching the 80's music video for the song "dancing on the ceiling." No wait, actually it came about from me clicking on the link for "world's most expensive divorces" while checking all the junk mail in my yahoo account. I didn't know much about Lionel Ritchie, so I clicked on his, and read a bit of the divorce papers, and was pretty disgusted to see that the person who co-wrote "We are the World" spends hundreds of thousands of dollars a year on keeping up his appearance (clothes, plastic surgery, fancy cremes, some sort of aborted fetus smoothie)... THEN I watched the music video, and realized that this ridiculous song about literally dancing on the ceiling, this absurd, escapist romp wasn't just a fun bit of pop, but actually harmful. Mr. Ritchie was already pissing away millions, and cheating on his wife, and planning on leaving his family. So what's the solution? Apparently hire a bunch of Hollywood actors, pay extras minimum wage to dress up like weirdos, do a lot of coke, and pretend that life is so much fun that gravity doesn't apply when they dance!
The song is about escaping your problems in general, and how it only makes things worse when you don't face your fears, and how a series of fearful reactions added up on top of each other produce an absolute mess of a life. And it all seems to be rooted with your parents. When they aren't supportive of you, aren't there to be your friend and love you unconditionally, fill you with their own fears, you push them away, and you become isolated, and feel the need to search for all of these things to fill that void, but until you learn to forgive them for being imperfect, and get over that hump of not fearing their disapproval, you are in for many nights of sleeping on hardwood floors.
Lyrics
.".. I kind of hate it, but it pays pretty well, so I guess I can't really complain, right?"
... and now we're craving to be coddled so we feel fake-safe
'cause we can't quite coalesce and fix this mess they made
- and yeah, we'd love to hug our parents but our arms say no
"make them take their castigation it is time for us to go"
and oh, we'd goodbye-kiss our sisters, but our lips pout pursed
frown and punish, then disperse. curse her inconsisant spurts,
. swore we would never groan like grown-ups, seems we've vaccuum-sealed our fate
still we're insisting something's missing. painting mirrors to escape
and so we wander, us absconders, while we fondle half-asleep
oh, we've exerted all we're willing, we're so silly when we're weak
look at us lying there lamenting over otiose hours we've spent content with
dancing on the ceiling, while we're flailing on the floor again
(we go aaaaahhhhh uuuuuhhhh )
but why? but why? we're always misconstruing.
'cause they, 'cause i no one knows what we're doing
we try, we stride, but balk at signs bruising
we sigh get high, give up what we're pursuing
we sulk, we slide, in juices that we're stewing
and hide, subside, it's womb-like while jaccuzzing
and lies and lies, just makes it more confusing
don't deride, our pride's preventing empathizing soothing!
"You goin' out? Umm.. Could you get me...."
bread, beer, cat food, a gram, butter, cigarettes, and peanut-butter corporal crunch?
woah, wait, we don't even have enough for rent this month!
and we've already given plasma and we walked out on our job
man, there's a myriad of minutia that we can't afford to solve
so we'll just cackle with the cattle call can't care what role we'll play
just have to act like we're amenable 'cause that's how we get paid
and made up like a botched amalgam of a cockatiel and rat
so chubby children in des moines can be berated for their slacks
and meanwhile Mr. Ritchie's mistress hisses for a legal break
"just one more take?" guess there are kinds of happy we just can't quite feign
'cause when the camera cuts no movie magic makes us play pretend so if we're
dancing on the ceiling, we'll be flailing on the floor again
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