Punch it
I got, uh, fed
I got, uh, too much things on bounce, uh, my head
I got to burn 'em up
-- Soul Coughing, Ruby Vroom, "True Dreams of Wichita"
There are certain songs that at times make cruising through life easier by putting emotions into context. Lyrics and melodies, beats, voices, samples, cuts, mixes and familiar refrains congeal a fractured and re-constituted past held together by present experience and mood.
An evening last week found me driving through worn down streets, in a worn down urban area, past worn down people walking down worn down sidewalks. Soul Coughing's 1994 slacker jazz full disc debut fit my mood.
I was hauling 12 large cups of White Castle coffee, three black and nine with heavy-heavy cream, in my trunk to a place most folks don't know exists. They probably wouldn't want to visit if they did. Luckily for the occupants and the community at large the building is tucked away behind an unassuming grey facade with decorative bars over the first and second floor windows.
The guys I was on my way to see that night led some pretty serious lives. Some of their stories are more brutal than others. I've yet to hear one that is not more extreme than any experience I've ever had. Some of the guys may get out from behind the grey facade and live productive lives. Many will only eventually leave to return, or worse. While there they all have hope. They say thanks for the coffee. A few feel comfortable enough to share their problems with me. Many of their daily concerns are reflected in the lyrics above, with "uh, too much things on bounce, uh, my head." Perhaps that is why the song seemed so fitting while I drove.
I remember being like the guys in the grey facade with way too much bouncing in my head. Sure my bars were the one's I placed in myself but I could still relate to the gist of confinement.
Nowadays though after 12 empty coffee cups and an hour's time I get up and walk out, free of my grey locked up place. I look up to the sky over lonely streets and I hum more nonsensical words that make sense.
I've seen you
Fire up the gas in the engine valves
I've seen your hand turn saintly on the radio dial
I've seen the airwaves
Pull your eyes towards heaven
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