Dear Mr. Plant,
I wanted to talk with you in person, but you haven’t been around much lately. Hair salon or at J. R. R. Tolkien book club, I’m told. There are things we need to figure out, but you only seem to want to communicate through songs. I have received your tape, which I think addresses our project from your perspective. It’s not all that helpful.
First of all, yes, I understand that your wife (or “lady,” as you say) was excited about purchasing a glittery golden stairway. Well, it arrived, and I hate to tell you this, but it’s not gold. Someone just put gold glitter on a stairway made of plywood and old loading pallets, and that’s what got delivered.
But that’s not the big problem here. The big problem is that the stairway is infinity feet tall. It goes all the way to heaven. I didn’t even know they made those. I cannot get it into the house. It already breaks every kind of building code and zoning rule. It’s the tallest thing ever made. Impossibly tall and, really, an affront to God. Right now, it’s in the side yard, creaking.
Our practical challenges for this project go beyond the stairway, however, and your input has been confusing. You say there’s a feeling you get when you look to the west, then something about your spirit crying for leaving. And I need you to be clearer than that. I’m a contractor. Does this mean you want a large window facing west? And the crying spirit thing. Is that for the bathroom? Help me out, Mr. Plant.
Judging by your tape, I gather that you have some concerns about my crew’s conduct on the job site, and I can explain that. The rings of smoke through the trees you reference are just my guys smoking Marlboros. The “voices of those who stand looking” are the guys trying to figure out what we need to build. We need blueprints; you give us eternal staircases and cassette tapes.
Look, there are a lot of paths we can go by with this remodel, Mr. Plant. We can even completely change the road we’re on. But I can’t have my guys just standing around. You gotta meet me halfway. I have other jobs I need to do. Clapton keeps calling me.
Okay. I suppose we have to talk about the hedgerow. I am alarmed about the bustle going on in there. All the guys are. You tell us not to be alarmed because of this “May Queen.” Thing is, what you call the May Queen is, in fact, a live badger, Mr. Plant. You released badgers into the hedgerow when Mr. Page was here last time, remember? When you guys dressed up as hobbits? They’re biting everyone, and there are infections. We need to do something about the hedgerow. The bustle is a real threat.
The forests aren’t echoing with laughter, by the way. That’s the cackling cry of possibly rabid badgers. It makes for a difficult work site.
I know there was more you had to say in the cassette, especially where you get really fast and shouty, but I couldn’t handle it anymore, emotionally speaking. We can address those concerns later. The major problem right now is the stairway. It’s too big. It’s a stairway to heaven. My guys keep climbing it to visit their dead relatives and say hello, so that’s slowing everything down. We have to get rid of this stairway to heaven.
Sincerely,
Your Contractor