Somewhere north of Blytheville, Arkansas, heading south on Interstate 55, we were listening to Alice Cooper scream/singing, “I’ve gotta get outta here! I’ve gotta get outta here! I’ve got to get OUT-OF-HERE!”
I was singing along when I realized, “I am out of here.”
"Wanna go out?" I used to ask my dog. Of course! Bouncing up and down, he was always ready. Once outside, all of his senses were engaged. At work, in my office, I was feeling the same way. I couldn’t wait to get out, to smell the air and feel the rain or sun on my face.
"You go in
You go out
You go in, but there’s no way out. ” I used to sing the song, Jihad on My Mind, when I was singing and drumming in the band, Blort.
There have been so many instances of thoughts and punk rock songs about tearing it all apart, books and poems about ripping through the fabric of our self made illusions and diving into the unknown. These have always appealed to me. Labels and false appearances have tended to repulse me.
It seemed symbolically appropriate, that as a snowstorm began to rage in Chicago, against the advice of reason, we would make our escape. We got into our little car and began to drive. An hour south of the city, the skies cleared and we were free.