You know this: I always want to root for Kanye West’s audaciousness, his totally unparalleled ability to make white tears rush forth like Immortan Joe making it rain on his flock. His is a god dream.
But I’m no true believer. I’m impure, filled with doubts while lost in the arid desert between the oases of his artistic achievement, when all his sheep have to subsist on hot air and mirage. (“I’m trying to keep my faith.”) When he does indeed climb down from the mountaintop with the newest testament—yeah, I know I’m mixing all this shit up, fuck the Bible, dog—the agitated oceans of skepticism he’s engendered in the hearts of many get flash-boiled away by that “Ultralight Beam” (Philip K. Dick’s pink laser visions?). The resulting steam wave is potent enough to power Doc Brown’s time-train, powerful enough, we pray, to rewrite history. This, friends, is everything…