The Mars Volta - The Bedlam in Goliath Chris Dier 3.19.8

So here I am, stuck in traffic. I won’t find out for another 45 minutes or so, but a semi truck, attempting a sharp left turn has not succeeded in a very ugly way. The truck lays in the road on it’s side blocking both lanes of Montezuma traffic. Police lights flash, road flares burn, street lights blink on and off as the sun sets on this scene. Studious college students will gather amongst other interested observers.
In my car, a quarter mile before the cause of my irritatingly abrupt crawl, I insert “The Bedlam in Goliath,” by The Mars Volta. I turn the volume up trying to drown out the constant questions pounding my right ear in rapid succession and the annoying “Gummi Bear” ringtone chiming in the back seat.
I immediately notice the cosmic wailing of Cedric Bixler. It fits my mood, cuz I’m trippin. My Xanax hasn’t fully sedated my nerves. Brake lights are flashing around me, necks are craning out of windows and the song gets funky with synthed rhythms, and wah’ed riffs. With each seemingly improvisational mixture of sound and avant garde blend of instrumentation, my anxiety builds.
My heart is pounding. Sweat is pouring down my face. My breath is lost. I’m physically twitching. My eyes are involuntarily dancing in their sockets. I feel like I’m about to blast off on space mountain, my world is spinning. The noise becomes so overpowering that I try to cover my ears to stop it. It doesn’t stop.
I remove my hands just in time to catch the first line of Metatron, “Maybe, I’ll break down!” That’s it. This is the soundtrack, to my fuckin meltdown. This CD is the soundtrack to my depressive, schizophrenic, manic, anxious mind fucks.
Breathe.
Breathe deeply.
It’s only song 2.