Mr. Frank Black…
Trying that on now—like you’re my mysterious confidante receiving my notes in a top-floor government office, but even though the office is super nice, the cut of your beautiful suit is the main story. Or you’re an agent at the American Embassy and I’m in a foreign prison, sending this to you in hopes that you’ll interpret all my secret meaning, decode all my metaphors and use them to convert all the English majors into revolutionaries, commandeer jet planes and bring hell and fury to my prison in such a terrifying way that I walk right out on my own and all the girls get to go back to school without having acid in their eyes.
You’re Black. You created that name, that idea. I’m late, of course, having been stuck on a dirt road when you decided on it. But I’m so down with it. Simpatico. Spinning new yarns for it. Black Francis, Frank Black, Francis Black Black Furor.
That last one has Black twice on purpose and you say it all together—one name.